I often question my aversion to groups,
and distrust in closeness,
and then I remember,
it’s rejection, that’s built my walls so high,
made my tongue fancy with wit,
my hand flowing with writ.
The reluctance to vulnerability,
has furnished my soul with all the excuses,
of why I crave to be close enough to catch your scent,
yet distant enough for you to long for mine.
This connection I crave,
is nothing more than a muse on crack.
Wesam El dahabi
The heart can dry up,
even the most moist tongue,
uttering litanies of thanks,
uttering wanton prose of need,
is quietly begging rainfall,
to stir the seeds that lay dormant,
because we have a desire to be content,
and we know we can’t get it with stuff.
I’ve thus found it easier,
fought myself at both ends of my wit and found,
it’s not hard to be wet with contentment,
when you’re bathing in gratitude,
when you’re drowning in gratitude,
Alhamdullillah, wa shukr lillah
Necessity spawns creativity.
There’s a reason why you’re deprived of things.
You must believe in a wisdom beyond your comprehension.
All that banishment,
all that parchment
is preparing you
for a poetic end.
It’s easy to be infatuated with the idea that you are owed a perfection of practise.
Of being able to sail through your art, your craft, your day to day chores without resistance.
What you deem is the world conspiring against you, is sometimes the world conspiring for you. The value in everything is intrinsic, and for you to realise what you have will require continuous external pressure until that manifests.
-Wesam El dahabi
Nobility has its passage,
and it is not a dragging robe,
it’s dragging your ego in the dirt,
until it is one with the soil of humanity,
until you care not from where truth comes from,
as long as it comes.
If it comes, it comes.
If it doesn’t,
there will be aloe for ink.
Have you ever thought the same,
running away and forgetting your name,
having no identity, no guilt, no blame,
living moment to moment, without shame?
Intimacy is still possible,
with people who hate one another,
this often happens,
when you stare in the mirror long enough,
what’s different then,
in being enthralled and appalled at once,
reconciling and irreconcilable,
in a union of secret eloping with your inner most bits.