Tag: Marriage
I wrote you a love letter
My dearest,
Do you want to know what hiding anxiety and depression look like?
Try an erattic pulse, forgetting to breathe, anticipating the worst and soothing that only comes through the reassurance of intimate connection.
Try looking at the relentless gym goer, the man obsessed with providing the best life he can to his family, or even extend an eye of empathy to the war mongers who see no healing except through expressing how much they want to kill themselves, by curating outwardly creative, yet deceitful ways to justify killing others.
And on the topic of suicide, how do they hide, those suicidals?
We hide in prayer, in worship, in devotion to something larger than ourselves.
You may think strangely of the above, but if you allowed yourself deeper reflection, you’d realise, that we have to stop pathologising these things, and rather see them as symptoms of not extending every last fibre of our being to a cause.
Not expressing the immense tapestry of our abilities onto the world and releasing it in creative and artistic splendour.
It’s the soul taking you to account, the inner knowing, that voice that speaks to you and again is not a stigmatic label like schizophrenia nor a disorder of any fashion, it’s that buzzing, that noise that won’t go away, urging you into action.
Anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts and a whole host of concocted psychological disorders are just by-products of unfulfilled potential incessantly knocking on your door. It’s the gnawing consciousness ear bashing you, soul crushing you, so that like cardamon, you release a fragrance.
Don’t be sold on these ideas that are hell bent on categorising you and lulling you into inaction and the comfort of a diagnoses (read: excuse). Rather, understand them as cues to spring into action because your soul knows you are capable of more.
So see all my efforts and exasperation as just answering the call, as a reluctance to procrastination, as a fulfilling of a Godly command, to realise our fullest potential in total and utter gratitude.
Wesam El dahabi
introversion – sixty seven
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?
W.E.
The easiest way to put it, is that I want to be saved.
The easiest way to put it,
is that I want to be saved.
I believe we lie to ourselves,
everyone is waiting for reassurance,
a promise that there is better awaiting.
Everyone thinks they’re worthy of prophecy,
redemption by default.
Ah that lurking thing!
That hovers between our sides, that aches and moans for conviction,
we’re sentenced into madness.
But she waits for no one,
she’s poetry,
and she never has to write a word,
speechless servitude,
graceful and clear,
tunnel visioned,
loyal to her cause.
I’ve seen women drown in prose,
who wear fire on their eyelids,
and they’re hardly the soul you’d want by your side,
and others mute,
hiding behind a veil of concern and courtesy,
and you’d never know who they are.
Choke on your mind,
gag on your ability to put another man down,
feed that insatiable self until gluttony is so habitual,
it’s inevitable you’ll be the only one,
left to your wit and mock,
the lonely laughing stock.
W.E.
#happyvalentines
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infidelity
If a bird is rustling away,
in a man’s gutter,
racing to finish it’s nest before the storm,
if a grass blade flicks back dew into the air after being stepped on,
if a car rolls it’s wheel with a nail in it, percussing down the road,
or a child tugs at their mothers dress, unable to speak,
but longing for a suckle,
I hear, see and feel it all, so much at once.
Of the hardest thing to have learned,
is to muffle out this influx of stimuli,
only to relearn how to open it’s floodgates.
I unlearn when ugly is the streaming of happening,
I relearn, when I need to write it all for you to know.
The sight of stringing along a man,
cowardly taking material from him,
in exchange for the faint notion of a proxy security,
is the hardest thing to attempt to un-see,
and yet the most etched image in my mind.
Your gender,
does not give you the right to consume souls.
W.E.
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.
Anniversary
Where will we be in fifty years,
stretching ourselves to fit into the weaving of acceptance,
the normalisation of rejection,
ever the optimists, anchored in perfection.
W.E.
-vows
-vows
I don’t have ball in my throat
I have a boulder in my neck
A mountain on my back
A planet in my prostate
My universe has always imploded
And now the residue is about to find its way out
Into streams of hurt and rivers of torture
This gap is so wide to walk around
How, how do I not fall
Not choke
Not crumble under the weight
Not gasp and quake
How ever do I knead the mend into my being
When the one ingredient needed to make this soul rise
Is you
How, can this colon heal
When I felt your absence all those years ago
I held on
I held on for so long
Do you know how hard it is
To use food as a bandage
And pretend all is well
Easy to swallow
Hard for it to find it’s way
And fill the gap of your attention being diverted
Cancer doesn’t just visit one randomly
Something has to die one way or the other
Perhaps lose someone
Until cancer becomes the intimate lover
Thus it embraced me with its claws
Gnashed it’s teeth into me thirty years ago
And I’ve worn its wedding ring ever since
Now we celebrate our vows
In sickness and in health, till death do us part
My colon has burst
My kidneys have rotted
I’m a man apart
Cancer, has my heart
W.E.
-marriage
-marriage
all women have secrets.
most men are afraid to ask.
for them,
marriage is a burdensome task
do I ask, don’t I ask,
do I ask, don’t I ask,
he afraid to,
she reluctant to tell,
both wearing masks.
W.E.
ask her secret
or you won’t be able to hold her down
ask her secret
before you don’t find her bound
ask her secret
if you want to keep her around
ask her secret
and forever she’ll be your crown
tell your secret
if you want to keep him close
tell your secret
and he’ll heal you like aloes
tell your secret
and he’ll raise hair on neck and curl your toes
tell your secret
if you want to hear his prose
-W.E.
-pair
-pair
there is nothing quite as gracious
as a woman
giving you the whole of her
W.E.
“And we created you as pairs”
I am utterly at a loss for words sometimes.
What did I do to deserve my wife?
A woman who is the definition,
of the other half of someone.
She gives me her whole being entirely,
emotionally, intellectually physically and spiritually.
I ponder over men and women that shared bed,
that shared bread,
who have lost civility,
abandoned humility,
and become barbarity.
Now, vexed against one another,
ready to cut each others throats.
How on earth one can get to such a degree,
to forget the subtitles, the intimacy
and live so detached
in such disharmony.
I must have done something right
to receive such devoted sincerity.
-W.E.
lonerloaner 