Power hungry ignorants


To beg to be understood,
to pant and pander for the approval of people,
is akin to sleeping with dogs.

The world and all that is in has no value,
so what then of the opinion of its inhabitants?

Only the feeble wait for recognition.

I have no patience for those who prostitute their character in favour of status.
Nor those who like children wait for every praise,
I don’t care an iota for myself,
what then makes you think I would care for you?

Leave this wayfarer alone,
leave him abandoned and in search,
lost in the wonder of discovery,
alone in solitude,
drowning in reform.

-Wesam El dahabi

Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.  – Abraham Lincoln

What you can’t see

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

introversion – fifty two


There’s only so much I can contain. I believe every introvert feels the need to come out of the cocoon, much like every extrovert want’s to eventually recluse.

Our souls don’t differ much. Despite what the world wants to keep feeding us, wish-washing our natures apart from each other, convincing the masses we are all separate from each other, that we’re such unique individuals.

We’re not!

We’re all sinew and love, all marrow and anger. We’re eyes, skin, sense and breath, and we all need peace and chaos to remind ourselves of our extremes, to remind ourselves the middle path is always more beautiful.

I’ve been quietly building myself up, and men my age are telling me, enough is enough, to let go.

I’m trying so hard to shed this shell, and my skin is aching to dance with this raging sun.


the optimist


The optimist

You’ll find me adding salt to the sea,
taking to the sky with a brush of blue,
spitting on grass one mouthful after the other,
urging it to grow a greener hue.

I’ve always found a way,
as unconventional as it may come,
I’ve found a home locked inside myself,
whilst others created slums.

When I was still drinking a milk bottle,
I’d use it to oil my bike,
I’d pull things apart, put them back together,
just to know what inside was like.

This became the way for me,
curious, day in and day out,
I found solace in quiet, irrespective of riot,
stayed contained, even though I wanted to shout.

Thus I found there’s no end in sight for me,
even nature has no ceiling,
I’ve quietly contained, limitless and insane,
obscure, and amidst the torture, found healing.

I find it odd when people are pessimists,
looking at the world from a lens of gloom,
I know why they are like that though,
it’s because inside of them, they’ve never decorated a room.

It takes a lot of quiet and reserve,
selective hearing, and I don’t mean ignoring,
rather I mean listening intently, watching closely,
seeing the details and dreaming, whilst others are snoring


-selfish urn

-selfish urn
all this time you were boiling
not realising you were actually brewing
and God was making you
tea for the soul


will you now serve of yourself

haven’t you received your lot
haven’t you filled your pot
haven’t you understood
all that you got

whilst the world rots
hand picked, sun drenched,
dried and odoured
you’ve been watered
and are now fragrant in
a tea ceremony in God’s plot

He sprouted you
covered, a hidden thing
gave you strength
to break through soil
and touch light
reach and curl to heaven
flower and become pollen
even before pouring from the spout
spreading by the mouth of a bee
falling on far lands
becoming more trees, more tea
spread seed like progeny
and you complain of this little discomfort
this rise in temperature
a scold
punishment not, is all this burning
you’re tea for someone else’s hurt
someone else’s yearning

if all you feel is the burn
it’s time to sip slowly
it’s time for you to finally learn
exerting effort to your affairs
is what you do
but how he decides
is not of your concern
be tea
be light pouring from the urn