hueman

hueman
My anxiety is a trap,
the battle in the middle of the ring,
me against myself,
knowledge and ignorance,
and the middleman trying to make them touch gloves,
is the black and white referee.

He’s black and white for a reason,
pardon me,
he’s a he and a she,
he is you and she is me,
bottled up anxiety,
is a fist and a cheek,
the powerful and the meek,
out cold, and last one standing on their feet,
in the mist of socialising breath, cigar and cheap perfume filled arena’s,
or alone with a street lamp in the street.

It’s seeing the punch coming,
knowing how to avoid it,
but knowing your bound by the rules of fate,
and copping it sweet.

It’s looking your opponent in their eyes,
when done is done,
smiling the smile of knowledge,
both of you aware,
you could have beaten him any time you chose,
but you were stunted,
and bound by what God wanted.

In essence,
your anxiety,
the hue that haunts you,
undecided on black or white,
trying to mix a palette of grey,
is a reluctance to submit,
knowing,
you are most definitely not in charge.

You can very well have all the foresight in the world,
and knowledge of the sages,
it means nothing,
if you don’t accept,
what is written,
in ages,
in predestined pages.

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.

Entitlement

10_25

Entitlement

If you cannot see,
that the reward for obedience,
is obedience,
then you are void of obedience,
and have no business,
demanding a reward.

Conversely,
even if you are obedient,
seeing your obedience,
is self-aggrandising,
and since you witness yourself so well,
you will be called to account,
against yourself.

And the one rancid in disobedience,
aware of their disobedience,
may just reap the reward you so seek,
from the remorse and brokenness of their state.

W.E.

2950e5a09ff85da5f54f8a3c6907c7c2

Revolted

revoltedMy safe space,
my comfort zone,
is too taboo,
so I have to do it alone.

So long as I keep my hyper masculinity on my sleeves,
like bulging biceps or an inflated chest,
I can keep my emotions buried and hidden,
between this fleshen nest.

Men can’t be both,
we’re either too soft,
or too hard,
too together,
or too apart,
fragmented into convenient bits and lots,
able to be filed and sorted into slots,
convenient for comfort,
but let those feelings rot.

Keep them buried,
leave the platform for the meek,
let women herald the stage,
as for men,
leave their emotions only worthy,
for ink on a page.

W.E.

What’s up with that huh?
Can’t a burly bloke walk the lines of poetic prowess,
whilst like a gorilla, size you up, fisticuffs ready and beat his chest?