supple soul


You age,
stiffen your sinews,
bones etched with hieroglyphics of hurt
and beautifully,
your soul becomes supple.

I couldn’t show you how this happens,
when vigour clouds your judgement,
when youth gives you hope,
yet numbs you of tasting.

There’s an agreement with time,
relinquishing your affairs to their allotted appointments,
trusting beyond your comprehension,
faith if you will,
in being faithless insofar as holding God accountable,
rather, holding Him capable,
of anything, of anything.

Your soul aches for this flexibility,
but first,
your body waits for the battering.

-Wesam El dahabi

Lure

 

I was only a boy,
when I learned to swallow my voice.

I kept mute,
not because I wanted to be silver tongued,
but because I wanted to be musk breathed.

I hoped,
that it was merely my presence
that would lure them to me.

Years later,
a mouth full of silver,
and a bellyful of musk,
I hope,
my absence keeps them as far as possible.

Lure,
is a burden,
the antithesis to my sanity.

And yet I am obliged,
to be utterly in service,
ever the servant.

I observe,
more than what my heart can contain,
I feel,
with intensity that only tames with violence
and I taper my temperament,
to continue to be unnoticed.

My youth has a reoccurring theme and what echoes the most is its ordinariness. Contrary to clichéd thought, I believe ordinariness in those primitive stages of growth are what allow imagination to thrive.

One doesn’t need a wretched childhood or an upbringing that dances around psychological trauma to be creative or inspired, to be able to achieve a goal for the pure satisfaction of completion.

Sometimes, its all that emptiness, and freedom to roam as wildly as possible in your own world, inside yourself, with no threat, nor external persuasion that allows you to comfortably nestle into a unique niche and make sure the world knows just how extraordinary you are.

W.E.

introversion – seventy one

Three AM silence,
is not a healthy way to find your breath.

Depriving ourselves,
of what is normal for others,
awake when they sleep,
awake when they’re awake,
takes its toll on you.

When you think of it,
it’s double the work for half the survival.

That survival is only temporary,
before you use up your heart.

W.E.

introversion -sixty four

Oh the thought,
of being twice inside myself,
unrecognisable to my eye’s eye,
so alone I can’t ever know anything but the depth of a pale stare,
of everything that was the colour blue,
turned to a blank whisper of semblance.

Nothing,
no remembrance,
except He,
amongst the perishables,
a recanting syncopation of heart pulse,
and counting litanies on phalanges,
in that epiphany of knowing,
that the decorative’s of this world are non existent,
the simplest of pleasures,
be it the breath of an infant,
or a ground coffee bean,
irrelevant,
as you reconcile with your innateness,
that is, to deny being source-less,
and lose the amnesia you had,
clear the fog of being mad,
that your endless chase to be seen,
stopped you from seeing what deserved to be seen,
and being madly instead.

What bounty He might be,
if I only took my allotted place as I should,
forge my soul with fire, hammer and fire,
until the mere mention of it cuts me down.

W.E.

higher

They lied to you,
learning how to think slowly,
is the most profound thing you can do.

If this is default,
ignore the urge of society trying to change you.

There is only loss in between,
missing things,
obscurity and events unseen,
when your focus is so blurred,
experiences absurd,
and speed is what you fiend.

Instead, slow your breath,
and take three more between them,
learn the art of slowing down time too,
so you comprehend events in micro-chasms,
so the movements of anything coming your way are intercept-able at will.

This includes your own thoughts firing at you,
your ego commanding incessantly,
your limbs going places they shouldn’t.

When you can slow it all down,
inversely, your speed will be imperceptible.

W.E.