Category: Uncategorized

The glowing window of knowledge and thought,

Illuminates with facts, ideas, and opinionated mental rot.

A stark light blue glow, poisons the eyes with fatigue.

Wears down the soul, with social outrage and intrigue.

Like a spirit from beyond, it leaves us waking, missing rest.

A portal of vampirism, poised upon our labored chest.

Attention so solid, so unbreakable a digital chain.

All in hopes to see something different in a sea of the same.

I should be tired, should be sleeping, but instead I rise.

To go find late night refrigerated, nourishment lies.

Now I watch an amber glow of light, as a plate heats heaped,

with pizza rolls, maybe fish sticks, my acid reflux to keep.

Now back to my rectangular master, resting in my hand,

perhaps as I eat, I’ll play a game, or listen to a new band.

Late night anxiety isn’t so bad with a dosage of lithium ion.

Feeding me it’s stream of thoughts on what to try on,

On what to eat, what to think, what other people are doing.

It’s simpler to not dwell on the evil wrongs that are brewing.

It’s an addiction, intravenous, intoxicating, digital cyanide.

Your likes, ad info, will be your legacy long after you’ve died.

But that’s alright, don’t worry about it, here’s a new meme.

Save it, share it, comment, like, and watch the new stream.

Entertainment, political satire or personal dumpster fires.

It’s a mental incubation, come join the online quagmire.

impossible heavenly blue

outlining the island beaches

a blue that into my soul reaches

skewing what I perceive as true

this crazy, sparkling, crystal hue

I’ve seen this sight and lost my way

mainland drudgeries fade and fray

waves create hazy rainbows fine

that steal a heart that once was mine

how will I ever get away?

l’hypersensibilité,
c’est être au milieu d’un océan
et vouloir ressentir toujours plus
provoquer les vagues
faire danser la houle
puis s’y perdre
s’y noyer
submergé par l’écume
surpris par le trop plein

l’hypersensibilité,
c’est nager dans l’océan
s’égratigner contre un rocher
s’éloigner, grimaçant au contact de l’eau salée
puis revenir à ce rocher,
se blesser encore
plus fort
plus profondément
après tout, on l’a un peu cherché

l’hypersensibilité,
c’est regarder l’océan
l’admirer au loin
l’envier
l’aimer
le détester

l’hypersensibilité,
c’est être l’océan.

hypersensitivity,
is being in the middle of the ocean
and wanting to feel more
provoking the waves
making the swell dance
then getting lost
drowning
submerged by the foam
surprised by the deluge

hypersensitivity,
is swimming in the ocean
scratching ourselves on a rock,
getting away, flinching because of the salt water
then coming back to that rock
hurting ourselves again
harder
deeper
after all, we were asking for it

hypersensitivity,
is looking at the ocean,
admiring from a distance
envying it
loving it
hating it

hypersensitivity,
is being the ocean.

The time before was not worth writing down,
I was uninspired, demotivated and often felt like a frown,
The thought of the future made me feel lost and tied to the ground,
But then you came along and I finally felt found.

You gave me something entirely new to care for,
I look at you and feel like I want to be more,
A feeling so amazing I hope it never goes away,
But when I am quiet just remember, these are the words I want to say:

I want to be your mountain,
Solid, steadfast and strong enough to bear both of us,
Regardless of time, I will always be there for you.
I want to be the anchor that keeps you steady,
when you start drifting away.
When you cry I want to be the columns that hold you up,
So I keep a brave face.

I am just now realizing that time is short,
So I want to spend every waking moment with you.
I stay awake stretching out time,
So that we will have more of it together.

You have given me so much,
More than more than i ever could have asked for,
The needed step to look reality in the eyes,
To see the light above the clouds,
The lost key to free the fullest of my being,
The missing piece I didn’t know I was looking for.

All these things i desperately want to repay,
So when you feel undeserving of the things i do for you,
Just remember,
You taught my heart how to sing,
For you, my love, I would do anything and everything.

“Lie still now, soldier”, the Union General said,
As he knelt down beside the boy’s bloody, wounded head.
The dying young lad, no more than fifteen, if a day,
Wore the blight of cannon, from being in its way.

The General swallowed hard, to fight back the pressing tears,
Before he gazed upon his soldier, now less his limbs and gear.
“Is it b-bad?” the soldier asked, in a voice filled with fear.
“Not at all,” the General lied, knowing the boy had not a prayer.

“You’ll soon be headin’ home,” he continued in a whisper.
“Back to your mammy and your pappy, and your favorite dog, Kipper.”
The soldier forced a smile and then closed his swollen eyes,
“Why Sir, I think I see them! Looks like ma baked me two pies.”

The General shuddered knowing, the lad’s folks died years ago,
And the dog named Kipper– killed in an avalanche of snow.
He only knew these things, since he had taken the boy in,
As this dying soldier’s father had been the General’s next of kin.

“This bloodshed has to stop!” the General roared and shook his head,
“Did our boys grow up together just to shoot each other dead?”
“Must be something I can do!” he snarled, rising to his feet,
To be silenced by a bullet as it grazed across his cheek.

The soldier took a breath, his head fell back- eyes open wide.
The General took his sword and laid it by the boy’s side.
“Go on home now, son,” he said, “back to those you love,”
“And give them my regards; in fact give your pa a shove.”

Just then, in the distance, he heard another soldier cry,
“The South has just surrendered as stated by a Union spy!”
The General stood up slowly and brushed off his dusty knees,
Wiped away a single tear, and called out to his company.

As I walked to school one day the rain fell from the sky
So I ran into a vacant home so my clothes could dry

The only thing inside was a time stained wedding dress
Inside a dusty closet with an old wooden chest

It had been there for years time had not moved
a dream filled hope chest that never came true

It only took a minute to break a fragile lock
and open all the things someone wanted lost

It was full of old memories and personal effects
The unfinished dreams inside a LOST HOPE CHEST

I never made it to school that day but I sure learned a lot
From a vacant old home time had forgot

I still see the pictures and the letter that I found
I took nothing with me but some things you can’t put down

Just some old memories and personal affects
The unfinished dreams inside a LOST HOPE CHEST

Humans have done a lot of progress,
Still humans are oppressed depress.
Due to poverty out of hunger die people a lot,
Still humans against humans conspire evil plot.
We have developed good thought,
Still silly barbaric fatal wars are fought.
We have learnt many aspects unknown,
Complex mysteries are yet to be known.

Life is to live and enjoy, not to fight,
Life is to feel and share, not to compete.
Break the boundaries of all nations,
Make it equally free for all humans.
Humanity should be our religion,
Saving humanity must be our mission.

Stoop sittin’ in the summertime…ole Mr. Knobby drinkin’ that wine
Ms. Flo with hair that shines
Looking up at the moon, Thinkin’ bout them good times….
You remember? I know you do, Cause you thought you was cool
Havin’ fun, laughter, and joy…That Ole man….wantin’ us to touch his ‘toy’

Life those days was sweet as wine
Stoop sittin’ in the summertime

Hundred 15th and second avenue…East Harlem, El Barrio.. ‘Uptown” Little Italy too
Playin’ in the courtyard sprinklers, Days were fun, playin’ in the sun,

Life those days was sweet as wine
Stoop sittin’ in the summertime

Worries… we kids didn’t have any
Just fun and friends, music and playin’ aplenty
Outdoors, they played stickball in the street
On the corner, That’s where we’d all meet

Nighttime was the time… older folks came out
Playin’ their music, you’d hear someone shout
Turn down that noise, I’ll call the cops
Yeah that was a joke, Cause they’d never stop

Man life those days was sweet as wine
Stoop sittin’ in the summertime
© 2013

07:13
108th day without Him
My sacred sun,

As I lay on my back to what once was the temple of my Lord,
your light awakens me each day as it glides into my room and slides
like hands hourly further up my body.
A slow and timely burning for my idolatry.

But no matter how much your light may caress me,
my soul is damned to remain forever in the cold darkness of
knowledge that…
There is no us.
There was no us.
There will never be, an us.

Your beams conjure a melancholy nostalgia in my nocturne.
You tease me great sun because,
Once upon a time, in the night He was my sun
Once upon a time, He lay upon me like your beams
Once upon a time, my body burned, consumed in his Holy Flame

With all that fire, how did I become the desolate moon?
He raised me to the heavens and hung me in the empty night for all to
bare witness.
Cold.
Lonely.
Yearning
Naked
Revealed.

An example for all mortals below to see what should happen
if they dare make a God of their lovers.

My face forever imprinted in the night sky in agony.
Condemned to know that we will forever share the sky
but our celestial bodies will never meet again,
And as long as He lives, even like this, I can endure and exist
If He shall cease, I too will disappear forever from sight.

No mortal would be able to gather me.
No mortal would dare bury me.

I will remain eternally in darkness, waiting for His light to burn me
once more.

Entering home, the strong smell of tabbouleh and handpicked mint, my grandma’s voice,

deep and soothing. Concerns about corruption and cancer were voiced.

My home country that I have never visited before feels familiar, my mother tongue, spoken in every corner of the city, we walk on our ancestors’ land, hand in hand.

Strangers drinking tea, as if they knew each other for years. That is the country I have grown up to love blindly. Regardless of dirty streets.

We drove to ancient ruins and visited salted water. My teta’s tired and veiny legs, covered by her long abaya, designed with burgundy-colored beads.

Her smile, heavy and firm, carried a thousand stories. I keep a picture with me of the cake she made us. The oud and derbakkah’s music carry her voice.