Reverie

she sketched her delicate impulse on a salivating skin. his. embracing him with a flesh of innocence; a virgin naivety.

with rousing intimacy, resting her dreaming head on his silver shoulder. she unraveled herself, hurling in between, burning confessions.

'kiss me'
she said: with the fullness of your courage; bathe me in the certainty of a surrendering promise. yours. deny me a feast of doubts.

'absorb me'
she said: with an inquiring infatuation; a hungering sensation in lust for mindful conversations, yield to my abundant devotion.

'read me'
she said: with the curious thoughtful details of a writer, discovering a dashed narrative in the darkness of mind, immersed in naked dialogues.

'pursue me'
she said: with philosophical investigation; in close-corner confrontation with a crouched awaiting suspense.

'motion me'
she said: to the widening rhythm of melting blues, the groove jazzy afternoons of me & you, the comforting thrusts of murmured memories.

'draw me'
she said: in concentrated colors of a daydream, mixed with strokes of rich ecstasy, abstract conceptions; swirling beautiful lively possibilities into existence.

'contain me'
she said: within the distance of
unseasoned desires till they breed, within the guts of fresh honesty; the outlines of a scripted fate dancing away to destiny.

'engulf me'
she said: in the glittering chatter of midnight laughter, the savored-traces of shy pleasures awakened from an early slumber.

'seduce me'
she said: with the golden instruments of a throbbing longing, spreading infinitely;  translating sweet sweat, to the flinch of my young veins.

'crave me'
she said: with undying hope. with the intensity of bad habits; the birthing speed of new habits, through the pitches of a silent certainty.

'submerge me'
she said: in the flood of troubled waters; the river waves of experiences; the shading closeness of a bowing respect.

'nurse me'
she said: in a warm wrap of patient acceptance; youthful forgiveness; in the largeness of a heart rescued with compassionate understanding.

'touch me'
she said: longer than a glance; linger longer than the blush of perfumes, longer than the placed evidence of truth, longer than time's keeping of secrets.

'trust me'
she said: with the worst in you; the damaged hideousness of a hard winter, the salt of neglected tears; the aching stretched-open wounds of a cruel womb; of a Life.

'love me'
she said: endlessly.

endlessly like this. 

The HourGlass

a shrinking presence crowned with forgetfulness, break the shackles; the withered memories. let it die out it's poison. let it die with.

a thirst for hope; a will given to the greedy flesh drains you. pillars of excuses weakens the pulse of a second chance.

no more possibilities clung at half a truth. no summoning back a false fiction of companionship. those old times erased. the hour-glass has finally ran out. silenced at an end.

hidden ugliness reflected with the sharpness, the pitch of a mirror. those preoccupied, suspended at despair, a lack of reason. drowning in an abiding nauseating malice.

those in a conflicting pursuit of exaggerated selfish wants, crawling off to the emptiness of misery. those who perceive but their dim darkness, deaf to the cries in need.

I pity them.

Flashback pt.2

I look around at my childhood home, what remains; the house that is aging. the crooked walls standing tall in despite of it all, every corner reminds me of the untold history; the stolen nighttime hours, the hospital runs, the emergency lights, the ice cold floor, the resting of tired head on my brother's back, the waiting between flickering nerves, bitten lips and cracked nails, the reciting, the recording of Surat Yasin, with an insomniac heart kept & held clinging at my fathers hand. the children all grew up before dawn, look around, look around at the ruins of people. the aftertaste of sadness in the air breathed; the salt of tears. in the rooms that no longer contain it's people. my people; distorted and isolated. missing the one supply of relief: faith. look around at the memories ripping their sanity. look around at what's left of them. the house is dying. my home is dying. look around. 

Flashback

 the tenderness of her world, of a loose interpretation of a past that serves no purpose. the limitations she set upon her mind, upon a ground of reality not firmly held, tossed into an imagination stretched so wide. she carries paint alongside, colors on top of colors to hide behind. it takes a lifetime for a heart's healing. she's waiting with a brush, to touch boundaries yet with another stroke. death is slick with blows after blows. death is the hardness broken into pieces, scattering everywhere, crushed with an awful cruelty. death waits for no one, lurking in a darkness, ready steady to snatch an oblivious life. rampant states of hysteria, in the blackness of nights. the morning hours breathes the wind of peace so softly, before misery hung up the tired backs. death is all around. I hate that it knows I'm afraid of it coming back. 

She Told Me

She told me we water our grieving hearts with patience, silent prayers, yearning in trust of closeness with the Creator

She told me love is devoted, not the bookstore tales type, love peels the courage off his back, arching you to sustain him with both hands

She told me love is hope awakened at 4am blessing the ground, with wept whispers of his name, wet in the palm of your hands

She told me love is reciting the Quran, holding your breath in his precious hand, knowing it's the last time

She told me behind the mist of sadness, there's a river flow, a home all souls long for, there I'll greet my companion once more

- My mother 

Threads

loneliness is inescapable. it's roughness persist within, notice your detachment in an alienating prison of unforgettable past. some of us are lost in confusion, to the extent in a belief we deserve that. we attempt letting go. we test the waters, hardly ever do we plunge in. childhood is funny now, we had not the vague concept of things, but that never stopped us. faith showers us with awareness little by little. to pull ourselves back to gravity. how much of you, have you lost the past year? do you still remember, what the ache laid in front of you? touches of poetic reverie to calm the waves a little. little by little we regain trust. never so much devotion. is it selfish, to be engaged in the conviction of bettering oneself, deliberate to grow wherever it led you to go? do not question life, with like-minded people. reality is merely an expression. newborn details emerges from lengthily descriptions: insight into the interior nature. concentrate, you'll discover a new eye-view. float-in the river, to replace the burden to please, with rapid moving toward goals. illuminating conscious with sharpness. be gentle. be gentle with soft strokes. care for you. intimacy is imagination birthed into life. find pleasure-passages enfolding your body. make a home to home love. nurturing dreams for a future, containing the both of you. leave a little room to call change. always. 

Soft Language

The soft language of forgiveness is often imbalanced, unspoken. pride devoted. we water our grieving hearts, wash it gentle with patience, uncovering silent prayers, yearning for sustaining trust in closeness with the Creator. sadness swallows up life's identity, morphing it into a doom, yet sadness interaction is necessary, for emerging self out of dark alleyways. for arousing meaning, passion in the scenery with a fresh window breeze. pain stirs cruelty. aggression. stillness. numbing guilt. & estranged distance. yet when time is adopted, openness, comes together with vulnerability, fragile bonds believe in finding relief again. fear of mortality holds power, driving deranged focus into shallow rivers of short praise and hesitated applause. the reason art suffers. the reason art is a second-guess. the reason art is in deadness. emotions, felt experiences painted over with artists' mirror-impressions. shame. who is to blame? fear of solitude, caged in lonely separation, resisting to read the hurt history, to sprinkle peace along the pages, then close the past chapter all together. reflect: that is your provider for expressing regrets, for inhalation of sins. prayer of comfort. prayer of weeping. prayer of collapsing. prayer of begging. prayer of scratched backbone. prayer of prayer of prayer. prayer of in need of more prayers. prayer of forgiving the softness. prayer of soul. prayer of soul.