And what if I don’t want happiness?
What if purpose, is my calling?
Would I be less joyful,
if meaning and contentment are my aspirations?
If ever a delusion remains,
fed in all its rabid gluttony,
it’s this appetite and scavenging for happiness.
We scathe, like drug fixed fiends,
like un-sacred things.
Selling our identity,
cheap whores for mundane,
and temporary thrills.
Eventually, brokenness becomes a muse,
waging war against your insides,
All is not lost though,
even though you don’t heal,
there’s poetry, at least to maintain you.
You wine and dine and bathe in the brine of hurt,
in the bile of hurt.
Don’t get anxious,
about the world not happening,
it’s un-happened forever for me,
and I’m still at its throat in spite of it.
I’ve let it drive itself mad,
waiting for my approval.
It’s a dog, barking with fever,
I’ll feed it when I see fit.
-Wesam El dahabi
Poetry is how I repent,
am the greatest sinner.
I’m aware of where inspiration comes from,
there is a price to pay for everything,
and I’m driven mad,
with accounting myself.
The greater the urge to rid myself of fodder,
the easier the pen flows.
The decision to be drowning in prose,
means you also exorcise your demons relentlessly.
Painting by Hossein Irandoust Moghadam
stiffen your sinews,
bones etched with hieroglyphics of hurt
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,
your body waits for the battering.
-Wesam El dahabi
How do you weave the tapestry of gratitude into your heart so that your limbs lead the way?
I could answer, but answering would be worse!
Gratitude sitting in the mind,
is lesser than;
gratitude sitting in your heart;
is lesser than gratitude sitting in your limbs;
is lesser than gratitude acted out.