Quzzical. Questioning. Eccentric. Evolving.
10 years in WordPress =D Thank Allah Almighty! Not everyone can write this long =)
I am happy whatever I have written here. Writing has been there for me during VERY troubled times. And, I am happy to have had it. It makes me so happy to know I can still write and that it has the same meaning to me as it did then as it does now =)
I wanna continue on writing for hopefully another 10 years! =D
Why am I sad? Because I wish to exist
in the microcosms of ordinary pleasures
where the everyday is not passaged by
the parties of food and wine. Where I know
a quite labour of reading your fine mouth
over a cup of coffee and the satin taste of tea
I do not belong but I am no imposter
I am no fugitive but I refuge behind clouds
no venegeful storm but I carry water
I do not profess to know anything other
than the incomplete dictionary of me
will you meet me behind the sphyx layered
of time and travel?—
I will bridge you with the birch
between our tongues; cloister
my speech as though it was
a language you know and I toast
yours as my own.
lexicon our saliva and nodes
and finger my spine with yours
do you see the wetting of my eyes
do you know how to rotate yourself?
The slickness of appetite
rouses up in my belly
and throat
which offers itself as cups to drink
do not mistake this as obedience
and I will not mistake yours
as entropy.
Tied to the larynx
met with the hungry mouth
of dialogues as the sexes unite
an acrhway cathedrals its way up
towers its way down and the minarets
lay the tone.
coupled in between our lashes
we kiss uncontrollably.—
I haven’t written
And, I haven’t chosen to be written;
though I am written in leaves and blood
and the mud — snapping with teeth
like the branches of the woods
Oh, youth, you made me feel fresh
And immortal
Not a serving of flesh cased behind a bone
and all the bone is chewing to break out
to now what it cannot know, now
I wanted so much to know what it was like to write
to have known if I had written anything of any value
I am writing as I will always write
clutch my blood next to the quilled ink
sparrow along the ridges and dominant the
lull of the breath; stay passive at the apex of the muscle
I will knead into me a belonging in poetry
as the bread knows the yeast and the sky knows the sun.—
