anticipation

anticipation

Anticipation,
is an arid tongue,
hope, far flung,
poetry, unsung,
waiting, knowing,
it’s not going to come.

It’s the beating of a skin-torn drum,
hearing the murmur of your hearts hum,
for odes that wont ever be sung,
you know, you just have to succumb.

Be content without, with only, some,
putting your hand in the same hole,
knowing you’re going to be stung,
leaving surety, to the whims of the young.

Don’t despair they say,
but I’m choking on impatient lungs,
it’s no wonder people end it early,
when anticipation feels like,
waiting to become undone.

W.E.

Shadows of me

me5
And what are shadows,
but bits of ourselves that allow light to bounce off,
and make pretend we’re not temporary.

We’re definitely temporary,
ever so non necessary,
if granted pardon,
for the folly of ignorance,
and being carried away with importance,
we still, are responsible for remembering.

None of us have amnesia,
not so long as we have breath,
the soul records everything,
to the egos vexation,
and the scroll awakens,
when we lather,
to the spume of death.

A prayer bead hovers over my right shoulder,
ever the reminder,
that it should be between my fingers.

Were it not I had family,
I would have wandered in starvation,
in rags,
in desolation,
isolation,
a dervish, a gypsy, a vagabond,
nomadic, poetic, troubadour,
an alchemist of the heart,
absorbing strangers misery,
sorrows and hurt,
and returning a poem.

W.E.

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.