1996 -    
Maybe it's not about courage.
Maybe it's more than a closed-eye moment of bluntness.
Maybe you like the interior design of your mind,
And you want to stay there with no intruders.
Maybe it's not about courage.
Maybe it's more than a closed-eye moment of bluntness.
Maybe you like the interior design of your mind,
And you want to stay there with no intruders.
Mona Mohamed
Mona Mohamed
2 days ago

Are people separated
by bodies?
Boundaries where one person
should end,
That's like saying
this square inch of the sky,
Is where my line of sight
shall extend.

How can I ask you
not to spill
Parts of your thoughts
into my mind,
Can I open the faucet
at the end of the day,
And the warm water will clean
the blues left behind..

Do the muscles of a heart
carry the weight of one?
Separating the troubles
in terms of origin,
Those I'll feel less,
those I'll feel more,
And today no one
shall make it past the doormen..!

I don't think we could
dissect,
The parts of us that intrude
past the physical lines,
Or close the shutters
to a strong wind,
In an aim to keep our
happy currents confined.

Where does one person
end?
How can people turn their backs
when the sky gets dark,
I'm balancing too many
fragments of people,
And the world is dispersed,
I don't know how far I can walk.


•●•

Mona Mohamed
Mona Mohamed
3 days ago

We're sitting next to a sunset,
The weather says how are you today,
Staring at the blue horizon,
For a moment you thought it'd stay,
But then it leaves like it always does,
And all the blue birds learn to fly,
Fueled by a sinking fear,
That they might disappear into the night,
When was the last time,
That it was okay, to be so juvenile,
A word lost in a closed book,
To judge life by a cover so beautiful.

We sat and talked in the looming warmth,
The sun's not gone, the waters are blue,
Tracing the peaceful tracks in our mind,
Twilight's shadow cast over the greys we drew,
And the dream was looped,
It started from the beginning every few seconds,
Dooming truths as illusions in this world,
Where memories are made from our favorite color palettes,
But oh sleep unlinked our hands,
As it branched into the shades of morning,
Once again your hair covered your face,
And our days went back to their habit of forking.


● ● ●

Mona Mohamed
Mona Mohamed
4 days ago

All the angels are asleep,
Their shadow selves on the earth open their third eyes,
In the hypnotizing light of the moon,
You must learn to tiptoe between carefully crafted lies.

And in the scarce everglow
Of informality, we sail past a once safe territory,
Trying to impose a new way of survival,
Guided by a thin rope of our frail telepathy.

On islands doomed with demons' names,
We maneuver our demeanors on the peripheries of black holes,
One slip of a condemned tongue,
Is all it shall take to elicit an inevitable fall.

Don't fall for the horizon in view,
And never concede to promises made by Time,
The angels could never wake,
And then you'd forever tiptoe in this infernal night.


•●•

Mona Mohamed
Mona Mohamed
5 days ago

I take my straight lines and curve them for you,
Latching onto a tomorrow obscured from view,
'Cause as long as your empire towers over the days,
I'll mold to the ground to make this route one way.

My heart is matted for all your fist sized questions,
In a clean fashion, color coded answers are my defenses,
And my head twirls through volcanoes till it's desensitized,
A kind expression is all that your pleasantness comprises.

My memories are calenders unfurling with ink,
Cardboard supports my back for when the pages are flipped,
Hand gestures and one-word replies designed into loops,
So that the automatic reflexes start after a reboot.

Backgrounds have lost their intensities to a lone figure,
Every slip on a thin distraction calls for a trigger,
Stained-glass windows tell the story of a shadow in motion,
And the interior swears the remnants of a soul will never be awoken.

● ● ●

Mona Mohamed
Mona Mohamed
5 days ago

Inclined to stay in that imaginary pause,
Where you're being pulled into inertia's triangle,
The image of a sunset front and center
To a cloaked morning, where existence is deniable.

Suffocated by the storm of dust,
That the departing horses have left in their wake,
Behind the weight of two closed lids,
The silence is a marathon that inner voices partake.

And the world is but a whisper, so far away,
Trespassing to reality's sullen grounds is forbidden,
The difference in pressure makes my legs stateless,
Too tired of treading the same roads, eager to stay hidden.


•●•

Mona Mohamed
Mona Mohamed
6 days ago

In different shades of blood, we came to recognize ourselves,
The last on the complexion scale, never comes first,
We're nonbelievers in racism, we play mildly with the concept,
And what we see today is only tomorrow's excerpt.

Crowns of hypocrisy adorn the royal heads,
A compass of instinct directs the essential regret,
Rivers shall pour, flags raised like swords,
But only if the water is close enough to destroy the fort.

And I've come to learn that hearts beat in different melodies,
To affect the layers of ignorance you'll have to rhyme the tragedies,
Equality is only present in mathematical calculations,
In this world it's an illusion to our shattered nations.

We draw lines in the sand, and firmly stand behind them,
Weary of what to say with our quivering pens,
And finally we eloped into different species of humans,
The elements that used to bind us degraded to ruins.

We are only names and lands, north and south, black and white,
Labels are what make us, and the anthems we recite,
The more we breathe in the soot of what we've become,
The more the deers cower and the more the lions run.

•●•

Mona Mohamed
Mona Mohamed
6 days ago

I don't plan to be luminescent,
I'd rather watch the moon from afar,
And I'd rather share the ocean's anger
when the waves are at war.

Perforated dreams -
skipped like stones, tease my sleep,
Every shimmer of disappointment
is a part of the night I keep.

With cloudy perspectives
that continue to fog my bones,
Every unnecessary attachment
speaking a narrative of its own.

I don't know what I am
under those roofless days,
Maps unfolded and doors ajar,
letting the present have a wordplay.

Life degraded to mint greys,
thankfulness and a few whys,
I'm just a bait for
the conspiring stars to further pry.

But atop a lonesome mountain
where dandelions bloom,
Spring promised to grant me a horizon
and wider room.

I found myself as further away
from the tides and the shores,
As a pen and a paper
that have never met before.



● ● ●

 
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