Ever wondered if
love is a conspiracy?
A sacrificial game;
hearts are its currency.
Who brings shame,
and who shows fidelity?
A race of whom to blame,
and who had spoken sincerely.
Is it a February’s warmth
mixed with tranquility,
or a tempting deal
to live the ambiguity?
It is not always fought,
nor won intriguingly
where someone could leave,
at least, with marks of fertility.
​
They say : "Violets are blue, and Roses are red.
Love to share; it's me and you."
But what about : "Hello Mr Traffic Light,
i am only here to get a sign.
If it is love, please pick Red
because i cannot get her out of my head.
If it is Green, sigh out loud
because it's marriage, and i have to be a stout.
If it is Orange, just whisper in my ears
because I am afraid my smile would turn into tears.
And why Mr Traffic Light does Red take time?
Is it out of protection, or she doesn't want to be mine?
And why Orange is orange, not directly green?
Does that mean I shall be patient , and not cling so tight.
I am terrified of love
because Roses are red too,
and Violets are blue,
and I still, cannot will not have you."
my body, ultimately, withers
so fragile, i am mostly tethered
to the dreary nights, hopeless
where thou strength, thou courage
beg for rest, and so you
thy eyes have darkened, turned grey
and thy muscles shortened their stay
thy breasts have wilted, ceasing beauty
from thou eccentric cries of woes
'where is my awe?' lightly said
i have no more minutes, nearly dead
if not today, tomorrow, you should pray
when hair blooms whites, when teeth gone,
side by side, and you cry 'where is my grace?'
'why do i look such a way?', so appalled,
and so afraid, of uncontrollable change,
and unsure fate, and nigh death,
hoping it's not too late, and now,
my foes, whose to praise? if not thou,
than eternity, you must chase.
​
It kills your passion, with cold blood, until you become a statue of mud. It steals your attention, hungrily, calling the name of love to be merged with dirt. It besmirchs your soul lasciviously demonizing your thoughts, possessing your moves, and hovering your emotions. It is the limerence, the desire, the urge, the devil, calling you to join the wanderers in the hell of prostitutes. It turns you into an addict who's solely abused by the idea of corruption. Every move is a sin, and every sin tastes the blood of lust. Some feel it occasionally, and some drown in the swamp of hallucinations, like a pill which gives you the freedom of choice. And you choose, whether to preach the savagery of surreal ecstasy, or to notch the achievement of existential bravery.
In a world controlled by the notion of intimacy, distorting the perspective of love to become an illusion of sex.
It kills your passion, with cold blood, until you become a statue of mud. It steals your attention, hungrily, calling the name of love to be merged with dirt. It besmirchs your soul lasciviously demonizing your thoughts, possessing your moves, and hovering your emotions. It is the limerence, the desire, the urge, the devil, calling you to join the wanderers in the hell of prostitutes. It turns you into an addict who's solely abused by the idea of corruption. Every move is a sin, and every sin tastes the blood of lust. Some feel it occasionally, and some drown in the swamp of hallucinations, like a pill which gives you the freedom of choice. And you choose, whether to preach the savagery of surreal ecstasy, or to notch the achievement of existential bravery.
In a world controlled by the notion of intimacy, distorting the perspective of love to become an illusion of sex.
Everyone will judge you
based on your looks,
your eyes,
your nose,
your teeth,
your hair.
based on your skin,
black,
white,
brown.
based on your race,
African,
Indian,
Asian,
European.
your family name,
your wealth,
your worth,
your past,
your current status,
your aesthetics,
your clothes,
your beliefs
and your physics,
fat,
or
skinny.
but a little do care about
your knowledge,
your kindness,
your piety,
your trustfulness,
your health,
your wittiness,
your ethics,
and especially,
your heart.
So, why does it matter?
Just live this life
by the way you want to leave,
and care less about
people's mischievous beliefs.
In English they say : " I am leaving to study, but I will be back. I m leaving for vacation, but I will be back. I am leaving for work, but I will be back."
In my language we say : "باش نهجّ، باش نڨطّع، باش نحْرق، باش نخرج منها و معاش راجع"
Fair enough, for people living in despair to run, run away, not only from misery, but from a lively-death. Why? Why do we want to leave, without return. To our homes. To our families. To our nation. Who is responsible for all this?
Rather! Lemme say, who is not. When people throw their dirt outside, but not in their homes. When people claim to have ethics at work, but accept treachery; their favorite rewards. When a child's dream fades from being a doctor to a Stewart. When people live by
" روحي روحي و لا ترحم من مات", living our whole lives under unpaid debts. When you only care about your will, your home, your garden, your bed, and your family. But what about the Society? the Unity? What about others? When people kill animals for humans to live. When people kill each other for a father's land. When people kill others' dreams, only for theirs to survive. "We the people" turns to be "We, not the people". When you see thousands die within bare ocean, and are willing to die, only to live, and ready to drown just to leave. When people's favorite word is a curse, favorite game is gambling, favorite food is a cigarette, and favorite show is a meme. When "We, not the people" do not even know North from South, encaged in a small state. If you have money, you will live. But if you stink, you must leave. If you speak with "ڨ", you're not from our land. And if you speak the truth, let me not mention who's you're going to meet. Reality is harsh, but who's willing to pay the price. If "We, not the people" we already did, and just waiting to die— or leave.
Suffocating, to live, but not breathe
A dreadful body just begging for ease
Reticent from the outside,
but from the inside, i need help, please
And despite all this rigidness,
i still find no tears
is it the hollow of anguish,
or a metaphysical fear
The sky has darkened
when the clouds blurred the view
over the moon, what an act of envy!
To feel blueish, but with saturated vibes.
Luckily, the birds were the allies
huddling, swaying, praying, and dancing
left and right.
Chirping chorally only to defy the night.
If the moon wasn't there
I'd be your moon
in your mode of gloom
just for you to bloom.
And if the stars weren't shining
I'd be your sunshine at midnight
even if necessitates to steal some light.
And if— (enough of prideful talk)
But i swear, doggedly,
If i were to be with you tonight,
i swear again, honestly,
I'd be your ultimate kinght.
They say: "chivalry doesn't exist anymore, it is dead. We are now called 'the free world'"
But whoever turns to be a stout
to call the pledge of love
as the enemy of cowardice.
Where a man leads,
and women are protected (i am not going to tease you)
Where men feed,
and women, inside their homes also feed.
(you should've got the idea)
For a man to be proud living in an era full of doubts. And for a woman, surrounded by prostitutes, you got our applause.
We fairly know how to say no,
We hardly believe that love could let us above,
We somehow forgot etiquettes from our grandpa's tales.
Sometimes i ask myself what are my dreams? What do i want to be Because due to my volatility i cannot define which road shall i cross emotionally hovered by a mother's wish, a social media tale and even a friend's advice. But mine? Buried under thousands of thoughts and i keep asking myself where am i? honestly, i still do not know Those sinful bruises molded in a shape of thorns could either create a vengeful man or a sensitive creature.
When do we actually love?
in real life,
when we stutter in front of our beloveds
or when our eyes meet theirs, but the flame within decides to turn ice.
when our hearts nearly stop because of — the infatuation; someone paid the price.
Maybe in literature
when authors reunite the lovers,
when poets count the endeavours,
when heroes save their queens
perhaps, also in my dreams
when i draw you like it's my last day on earth
when i recount our moments from the day of your birth
and most of all
when i dream of you
that's the day of my rebirth.
Friends aren't your enemy,
love isn't only within books,
and poets aren't really misunderstood.
Because a friend never betrays,
and a lover never leaves.
But for poets,
even when judged
they know how to find relief.
some suffer to sleep at night,
some turned the gloom
into an hour of anecdotes.
Stories to remember,
a future to draw,
and a past; still finding a way to close the door.
some lie,
and many cry
about faded dreams,
about the notion of allies.
If you ever found a partner
just ask him why
why me?
who shall i be?
and when shall i leave?
​
the void within is unbearable. the heart of mine seems to be unreachable. Darkness inside became untamable. And silence shall be known as the language of nobles. Since when do love speak on my behalf? Did i die or did pain turn into something sweet? Do you enjoy watching me going bleak? I'll applaud every time love seeks more out of me. It's not fear that i fear, but the amount of grimness it could impose on me. Bearing a disconcerting defeat. Not against a fruitless love, but myself that scolded the notation of my anatomy.
Swear to me
that you're not a thief,
and my heart
wouldn't be
down, down by 20 feet.
if you ask me
what i seek,
I'd say your name
mingling with mine,
I'd say your spectre
being by my side.
Swear to me
that you won't hide,
that you won't play
a game of lies.
A relation
that isn't full of why's,
nor goodbyes.
I'll take your swear, then
and keep it inside
directly into my heart.
Could you swear to me?
Could we feel the love
without any reason to hide,
the love of mine,
and the promises of yours.
Do they know you
as much as I do.
Your friends,
do they care
as intense as I do.
Maybe the case
is not always about me,
but my poems will always
carve the name of "you".
A sturdy love
that fiercely stood
against a sensitive heart
weakened by floods.
Let them know
that I care so much,
but don't let them notice
how much I love you.
People will envy you
how does poet
mention her into his book
each corner,
each margin,
each space,
has a meaning
as long as it is
about you.
Love the lie,
and lie about the love.
Marry to cry,
and still lament how far they are.
Forever till we die,
just like creating a star
that never shines.
To be the moon,
what is your thought?
But, we still lie
yearning for touch,
and grieving the silence.
Physically, your body's itch
Mentally, your mind turned into a snitch.
And yet, you still lie.
About the love.
Calling it love.
How dare you?
How dare me?
How dare us?
To love,
but always lie.
Teach me to love
hold me to stay
Don't give me your back
Let me be your babe.
Don't fall too hard
With a maniac who cares
Lowkey I know, subtle details
Don't just go home
Let me be in.
What is a love
without you my Red !
If only i know
how to spell your name;
Lily,
or Rosette
Still 'te Quiero'
I swear.
Safe,
without love.
But safer,
between your arms.
A dream,
botched by morning alarms.
Keep me away,
or let's just sway
in the vastness of dreams
forever to be; I pray.
I have hundreds of ways,
for love to be decayed.
To be a thief,
or a fiance.
It's still a dream, my babe.
​