1986 -   
i write about butterflies, and the way they glide through the stratosphere. it's quite the love affair, between the flaky wing and a backdrop of clear skies.

i write about the days we determine what is to be thought in a system of opulent transgression.
i write about butterflies, and the way they glide through the stratosphere. it's quite the love affair, between the flaky wing and a backdrop of clear skies.

i write about the days we determine what is to be thought in a system of opulent transgression.

It has been 20 something years.
And on a single day within layers of hours.
I've felt a shrug for the first time.
Like pins on the pillow you have
left behind when all the dust have settled.

The ball has dropped. A million times.
And then some.
And on a slope slippery and distinctly
overwhelmed.

I've felt a beat within my rib-cage
slightly loud that it has shaken me
in sleep.

The dust you have left to shrivel
still dances around my plethora
of emotions, unsettled.

And, I'm standing here, surrounded by
what could have been
but should have never been.

Saved by frantic clicks
on a keypad. Typing into the existential
delusions of your listless memories.

I have stood here, unshaken, by the mistakes
we have accumulated down the polarizing roads.
And the dainty trickling down the drain.

I am standing and withstanding
a shootout of the most frivolous nature.

Like the pins striking this pillow
in a poetic wave of dissonance.

Rasha Omer
Dec 28, 2013

Well polished shoes
Walking well polished tiles.
It's almost time for the escape.
Yoga.
It's all yoga.            

In the evening, within the cracks
It's the sound of calm
Going against all that you believe in.
Like yoga.

Frantic needles and nonchalance
Reflecting upon your reflections of
Truth
And the myths of self actualization
All in yoga.

Well groomed thoughts
In a well groomed world
Waiting on yoga.

Put your face between your thighs
Wake up to transcribe your lies    
All for yoga.                  
      
Fists uplift your desire
To dance with yoga
Freak with yoga
Get down on your damn knees
And be inhaled by yoga.

Grate your smallest desires
It's just yoga                      
And bite the fat on your thighs
For the love of yoga.

Rasha Omer
Dec 7, 2013

The shields and the mellow
Borders passing the time
In our tantalizing memories
Of running and falling apart.

In the riots off the pavements
And the times I passed out
Floating atop of perfection

In the decisive turns of token
Relationships and the despair in your exhausted exhales.

I toss and turn in inflicted bliss
As I slowly decipher the exquisite dalliances all around us.

I sit uncomfortably whilst I twitch in the famished dissonance.

In the pauses and the gaps. In the strides and the tirades. In the flights and the clauses.                  

I sit back in the deja vu of the night.

Rasha Omer
Jul 19, 2013      Jul 20, 2013
  1. Under the bright lights, the car parked.

    "Is it wholesome?"

    "What is?"

    "Just like the canaries on the roof. They lean on each other so helplessly yet so beautifully"

    "...like a movie?"

    "A play."

    "Why not drive again?"

    "I was driving slowly, but I strayed away when a sudden moment of painful retention appeared in the rear mirror."

    ______

    2. How long has it been, since we’ve flown three and a half kites across the black sky?

    “I sought refuge within a shell.” You once said. “They wouldn’t buy your jewels.”

    “I lost my sandals, in an ocean.”

    “In our ocean?” You hushed. “You weren’t wearing any.”

    “The sounds of the battle, has cost you your sight.” She laughed. “And, your insight.”

    _____

    3. What makes the world go ‘round? (1)

    “I left you a note, seven years ago.” You held your breath. “Have you not read it?”

    “The sports page?” Her face is aglow. “Your beloved fluorescent pink marker? How could I miss?” She closed her eyes. “Your cotton-candy, and your umbrellas? Have you never known me?”

    _____

    4. The shooting stars never fail to disappoint.

    “Our fates intertwined” You’re half-asleep. “So did our shambles.”

    “I’ve waited on you.” She’s made a sandcastle. “I’ve swum through a thousand knots.”

    “Yet, you’ve lost.”

    “After I’ve tried.” Her wings in bubble wrap.  “I’ve been to the closure and back.”

    “They’ve shot my heart down.”

    “I’ve taken my pieces.”

    _____


    5. In harmony we detained our secrets, and cremated our bones.

    “They told me of stolen years.” You wonder. “Where have they gone?”

    “Many a lie consumed breathing air.” She swallowed her tears.

    “This gift is worthless, if you can’t break your wings.”

    “Derange my world?”

    “Drown your life.” You sighed. “Save mine.”

    “Your heart, my jewels, your shell, my wings, your notes, my sandals.”

    “Yes.”

    “Yes.”
    ______


    (1) Al Green.
prose from years ago.
Rasha Omer
Jun 23, 2013

I'm only happy when I write,
But the words only mutter their
Way out of my palms
When I'm downtrodden in the alleyway of self-induced tragedies
And the infinite pool of senile smirks.

I'm only happy in my utter love of despair
And despite all of the sweetness pouring out
Of my deranged pores
I'm only perfect when I write.

And when I write the syllables expose every fresh wound wandering with the whiff of sunrise.

I'm not sure how to transcribe a smile
Even when the hilarity ensues from within the depths of every over excercised drama lesson
From every corner of the televized reality.

I'm only happy when I write
Even when the soundtrack is overhyped and autotuned
To its very small inch closer to the grave of sanity.

I'm only happy when I write
Even when the wine has dried and morphed into a need to quench a thirst from a well of burnt tears.

I'm only happy when I write
On the overtime commute between
The verses overjoyed with the  euphoria of making the perfect pun for all what is faulty with the theories of competence and competition in elation.

I'm only happy when I write,
But I only write when the darkness of despair grows thick and wild.

Rasha Omer
Jun 16, 2013      Jun 17, 2013

We are all heads floating in a tunnel,
For split seconds on ends, our shadows fit perfectly with the holes,
In the walls.

Let us cheer to the sweet decay in
our childish dreams.
Turn up the volume and carry on
Stuttering, sulking, seducing,
Snarking or just swim against the current with all of the baggage of the
Morning still crackling through your eyes.

Hold onto the rails, and dance across the nightmare of endless consumption
Sandwiches upon sandwiches within
Sandwiches.

We are all shadows in motion
To the gods of gravity and brevity
Our lives on hold a midst the commotion of gasoline tanks whirring
And, the forthcoming shortage of ambition.

The war is marching on
But who's got time for war,
In between the decadence of these slime-y streets?

Who's got time for war,
When you've got to put the kids
To sleep?

Rasha Omer
May 28, 2013      May 29, 2013

Some seven months down the road
Your thought would be an afterthought.

You would be like the morning haze when my eyes are
Wide open and my comprehension is lacking.

But for now, you are the every thought which
Shadow my most vulnerable encounters
With this thing we like to call affection.

I have been out of touch
With the ways of our sentimental misconception of life
And my faithless love affair with your notion
Of perfection.

I revel in my self-inflicted misery as if
It was my most polished skill.

But when you start gazing down my throat
I lose all the will and all the power and I’m nothing
But a vessel for your sanctioned whims.

It’s within your whims that,
I feel like I've never felt before.

And when you gaze right through me
I begin to wonder if there is an equation
I still need to learn.

But when you have lost touch
With the simple nuances of romance,
It’s really damn hard to catch up.

 
To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment