seeing ahead

seeing-ahead
I know what is to come,
and the lack of fight in me,
makes me a coward.

How else can I stare,
with certainty in my heart,
at what has transpired ahead,
knowing well,
the said and unsaid,
and drag my self to the pace of indifference,
gaiting along,
baiting the futures song,
and still commit all this wrong.

We have the lore laid out in front of us,
the law above and around us,
and still we shy from our fate,
ignoring God,
but in our ego placing full trust.

We’re a special kind of stupid,
to be given all these gifts,
only to tear open the wrapping,
and spit in the face of the Giver.

W.E.

We is

emption-is

Emotion is;

The gentle tap,
of the heart on intellects door,
reminding it to stop with analysis,
and feel more.

The mind is;

Just a melting pot,
for all that you know to settle,
just a holding spot,
whilst the world tests your mettle.

The heart is;

Where whirlwinds of emotions,
go to confide,
where secrets are kept,
either come out, or hide.

The ego is;

Such a heavy burden,
and insidious reasoning,
only when subdued and slayed,
can come your awakening.

The body is;

Just a vessel, container,
a carrier for all,
whatever your size,
buried, whether grand or with shortfalls.

The soul is;

Innocent and free of,
all of the above,
pure and intact,
only attracted to love.

So where are you,
in your mind,
in your body,
in your heart and soul,
where is your ego,
are you parted or whole?

Do you even know,
whatever you trick yourself to believe,
will be denied when time comes,
and your soul replays, and your mind retrieves.

On that day, you’re mute,
tongue tied and can no longer lie,
that day that is coming to us like an arrow,
when we die, try as you may to deny.

Wesam El dahabi

When there is no water

when-there-is-no-water

Ablution is performed with water,
water, is a large proportion of our make up,
that, we can agree on.

But when water is unavailable,
the subtlety of our make up becomes apparent,
that we’re fashioned,
by the hand that wishes upon us consciousness,
awe, love and submission,
what else is left,
but an utter admission,
of impurity,
of sin,
so heed this admonition,
and know, your road away from perdition,
is to know the fabric of your soul,
your earthly composition.
W.E.

Overwhelmed with guilt

wave_prints_black_and_white

Overwhelmed with guilt.

I’m cleansed,
I’m forgiven,
the ocean said so,
and I’m running,
with sand between my toes as proof.
That is why I swim so much.

When the heat of your sins burns you,
whips you with a molten blade,
flagellation is an easy task.

So I must,
dip my being into the ocean,
be one with the multiplicity of hydrogen and oxygen,
all of me, and all of it,
what a wondrous love affair,
that it bathes my fear away,
with the loofah of reassurance.

I’m washed, and ready to sin again,
one day, this ocean will dry,
and I will burn,
then, it is you God I beg for pardon and ocean.

W.E.

completion

completion
All this time,
you think this wall of me,
is the reflection I seek?

Swollen solitude,
until feet in one place assures you,
you have no place.

There’s nothing as caressing as silence,
when your life has been cavernous with noise,
bottled up rage is louder than any scream vocalised,
and that is why her silence is so appealing.

I despise the man that inflates his flesh,
gorges his appetite until he is inflamed with pus,
with the trickery of trophy women,
loud, lusting and yet longing,
and they both assume,
their flamboyance will carry them,
into the memory of pages,
nay,
into no ones poem.

W.E.

wash to separation

ful

-wash to separation

You smell like longing,
And I’ve never wanted to wear your perfume so much,
But then you linger like clinging,
And I can’t wait to be rid of your touch.

And wash you off,
With abrasive cloth,
Away with your scent,
Remove your gown of sloth.

Pheromone savy,
when your soul is begging,
Odorous stench,
When entitlement abetting.

You wear the pendant,
of a victim-woman,
But all that glitters,
Will dust to tatters,
When I reject your ransom.

Taste then my abandon,
My conviction in non-wanton,
And I serve you my eviction,
From my hearts wagon.

Go you scheming lot,
I was woke to you long ago,
From horizons I see your plot,
I’m not interested in your throes.

W.E.

This flower is called Ful in Arabic, it’s unique to most Arab countries but grows anywhere. It’s known as Biblical Jasmine. Similar to Jasmine but much more heavenly as the name suggests.

You usually find them at the entrance of many Arab homes. It’s traditional to pick them and give them to guests entering and leaving the home. Perfume, is a way to anchor your memory in people’s hearts.

This is the first of the blossom on my little tree.