Your joy is etched in the sky.

Seeing your smile lift the indentations of your cheeks
is like the seeing the sun, rise from its hidden tavern and lift the stars
Back into their labyrinth of infinity.

A Muse on Love & Humanity:

    There is a quote I read a year ago that I still carry till this day, "There isn't anyone you couldn't love once you've heard their story." It shouldn't take us more than the mere fact that one is human to love someone. That we are like them. Persuasion becomes irrelevant in the realm of similarity. One of the oldest Arabic poems states, "All strangers are kin."

    We are all lost and wandering travelers in this world. No one is truly established here. And travelers… they survive in groups. We are all broken. We all have little porcelain cracks lining the parts of us only we can see. We are all fragile little skeletons awaiting just the slightest jolt to push us back down, crumpled on the ground. We all want acceptance, truth. We all want to feel like we belong. And it's true, I tell you. “Love” for us humans, is not a craving. It's a survival instinct. We need something to hold onto. Something to submit to. Something beautiful for us to feel infinite and everlasting. Something not tangible, but dreamy that we can fly with; settle on pink dipped clouds of ivory with.
    Bodies, materialism, are not enough for us. We want to go deeper. We want to scoop into every soul. Touch those little parts of people they have never even felt; those little crevices and black holes and abysses upon abysses that exist between our delicate ribs. We want to change people in a way that will leave a lasting imprint. We are criminals; trying with all our being to leave a stolen fingerprint on the hearts of all those we love. And we may not feel it... this love of strangers. But it's there.
    We all have a soul. Forget the mouth, eyes, ears, legs, and arms anecdote... we ALL exist with an inane wanderlust, trying, pushing, digging to find that perfect paradise... Some of us think we've found it here, in this mortal world, and give up all that the paradise in the next holds. Some of us, though, still believe in a beauty greater than the human eye can behold. Some of us still remain patient with all that this paradoxical world may throw at us and just hold on until we can reach the paradise we still believe in. In the afterlife. In the life where love is without bounds of material, mortal, mortar. Where happiness is without the bounds of reality... and life is just a never-ending dream of smile after unbridled smile after smile.

My Lucifer

Slow and steady

You shake your head over and over again

Doubts swirling

Stomach churning

Low-growl yearning

500 degree internal burning

A fast-paced nirvana turning …

These thoughts fill your head and slowly consume you to dust

Where you drift, drift, drift.

Blow away….

And you yell at them to stop!

You scream, cry, shout.

Like a mad man,

grabbing at every ounce of possible sanity.

“Where is your life going?”

It whispers

Like a snake zigzagging through the twists and turns of your mind

It makes you want to gag

This drag

Of ‘if’, and ‘what’, and ‘why’.

This glass eye of your conscience

It’s not you..

..Not you.

Not-

Not me

Can’t be

Please make it stop!

And the thoughts they keep consuming you, you’re the Sahara now, millions of particles of scattered memories, lost hopes, regretful realities… drifing, drifing, drifting….

A marvel for those who don’t understand.

Until you can only scream: “STOP! Stop this madness, I order you- you spineless, false, false, fal-“

You can’t find the words for the thing inside you, suddenly recognizing the voice, the slow and steady breathing; the words of your little Lucifer.

Suddenly, realizing who it is.

Silence.

A breath. A whisper.

Drifting, drifting, drifting…. Gone.

DIARY OF A MADMAN:

Dark ideas float around my head

The id suspended from its breath; barely dead

They stir a black mist about my aura

And leave my existence, a mysterious danger;

the box of Pandora

I don’t know whether my conscious is right

I don’t whether these notions are wrong

but their exhilarating evil creates an arc light

illuminating my solitary song

I watch things from behind a black veil

my soul reading emotions in Braille

blind and still

everything’s become a dream

this poison mill

everything’s become surreal

disconnected, my physical being lingers

but its alter ego electrifies the tips of my fingers

my virtue slowly growing weaker

my vice is now a pleasure seeker

the words become etched

 in this dream

where I exist

reminding me everything

 is nothing

with a twist.

A short poem on innocence and war,

Little chubby hands
hold flowers to their baba's lips.
Almost beckoning his lifeless body
to taste their hope.

A Tale of Modern Growth.

Generic

That’s our world

We’re thrown into society

Injected with artificial will and passion from needles of vagueness

Left to slowly and poisonously turn into clay

Then strewn into the oven of this world that shapes us with every ghastly push and punch

After that we bake

In the heat of our anguish

So the result?

Generic

Haiku:

Tender thoughts remind

Me, that I am human; Can

I scream “pity me.”

A love poem.

And if I laid my words for you

S i d e  b y  s i d e

Would they hug the world
tight enough?

If only I could measure the decibels of your voice

Catch them as they f
                               a

                                  l

                                     l

from your lips

             And store them in a vile to drink when I feel I have run out of words. And

darling, if there ever was a drought that

drained the oceans

I'd cup the vile of loving words I saved to your lips

Till the fish spoke

Of     kissing     their     sweetness.

Significance: a stream of consciousness.

We are merely vacuoles

Floating holes of emptiness

Trying to hoard as much nonsense as possible to feed our irrelevance

Debris.

And a globe

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

Paradoxical and massive and complex

So that when we zoom out our universe is a marble within a greater universe.

And humans. Dust.floating.

Significant only in thought, in being, in soul.

Neverquitedecipheringbetweenlogicandfeelingsandviceanvirtue

Speaking words and understanding them like they are a n  y th I n  g     b   u t    m    e     s  s    es    and    p I    xel   s   o    f       I    n k   .                                           ..   .

D-isjoint/ed    -th…ou’ght,s

A beautiful chaos of aspiration so possible that our minds can’t quite have faith in them

Too good to be true

                                    We                                         Let,                                               Go,

Greedy, cruel, lustful,

We are not convinced to do good merely because and for the sake of good.

We are quite the cynics.

 But then a baby’s slight, innocent, toothless smile that looks into the air like there is something more beautiful out there that our tainted eyes cannot see. Their grab at the air like there is something there to catch. Their sleeping face that’s more peaceful than we can ever remember being even though we’ve lived years and they’ve lived a few days.

Makes it all worth it.