Raulwrites - Hello Poetry

When the time comes, You may look for Qais in the arms of Laila— for it’s written- by him, in her name. Never mind the voice that reasons nor the headlines that argue. Never mind what the locals tell you. When the time comes, You may look for Qais in the arms of Laila. For it’s written- his soul rests where his quest ends. where all of his quests end. “La Illah, Laila.” (translates to: "no god, but one god")

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Aug 8, 2021

Aug 8, 2021 at 12:07 PM UTC

La Illah, Laila

When the time comes, You may look for Qais in the arms of Laila— for it’s written- by him, in her name. Never mind the voice that reasons nor the headlines that argue. Never mind what the locals tell you. When the time comes, You may look for Qais in the arms of Laila. For it’s written- his soul rests where his quest ends. where all of his quests end. “La Illah, Laila.” (translates to: "no god, but one god")

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I start where your fingers soften I rest in your breath My existence is an ounce of blood that runs through you all the same You're my beginning and my end

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Jul 20, 2021

Jul 20, 2021 at 2:18 AM UTC

Qais

I start where your fingers soften I rest in your breath My existence is an ounce of blood that runs through you all the same You're my beginning and my end

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(Dedicated to Hassan, my last drop of tear) If you read text like you sip wine- first with your eyes, and then, the heart You’re bound to be intoxicated by the written word. But in that moment’s worth of peace- whilst he who’s died a thousand deaths dies another and this, his last Consider it a privilege- that of having known life. And to have it known in the words of those who’ve lived— not enough.

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Jun 24, 2021

Jun 24, 2021 at 10:41 AM UTC

Privilege

(Dedicated to Hassan, my last drop of tear) If you read text like you sip wine- first with your eyes, and then, the heart You’re bound to be intoxicated by the written word. But in that moment’s worth of peace- whilst he who’s died a thousand deaths dies another and this, his last Consider it a privilege- that of having known life. And to have it known in the words of those who’ve lived— not enough.

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I wait in anticipation, for god's own diet. It must be on its way- she must be on her way. Somewhere along the hall, my entire diction is placed and dusted as a prized possession- For she knows my Atwood from my Manto. And ever so often, my resting abode feels like the comfort of a thousand feathers. I wonder how she does that with two paper-thin sheets, one cushion, and a single blanket. - Must be her attempt at magic. In any case, my mother is an artist. The one that hides in plain sight. Her audience today, is old and grey Some having lost the sense of sight even! But there she goes, holding an invisible paintbrush. “So what if I was married into a house devoid of art?” She says, The world is her canvas. And myself? all her colors.

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Jun 20, 2021

Jun 20, 2021 at 11:54 AM UTC

On an artist in hiding

I wait in anticipation, for god's own diet. It must be on its way- she must be on her way. Somewhere along the hall, my entire diction is placed and dusted as a prized possession- For she knows my Atwood from my Manto. And ever so often, my resting abode feels like the comfort of a thousand feathers. I wonder how she does that with two paper-thin sheets, one cushion, and a single blanket. - Must be her attempt at magic. In any case, my mother is an artist. The one that hides in plain sight. Her audience today, is old and grey Some having lost the sense of sight even! But there she goes, holding an invisible paintbrush. “So what if I was married into a house devoid of art?” She says, The world is her canvas. And myself? all her colors.

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I see the bright of yellow, I see it stem from green I see it glimmer in the first light of day But sunflowers I do not see. It might as well be a cloth hanging dry or a dazzling pinwheel soaring high To no fault of their own but mine, I’m inescapably caught in this ravine of time Oh, dear! Is this how living without you is to be? Tired of resisting and having fought, Questioning what is for what is not.

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Jun 15, 2021

Jun 15, 2021 at 9:05 AM UTC

Sunflowers I do not see

I see the bright of yellow, I see it stem from green I see it glimmer in the first light of day But sunflowers I do not see. It might as well be a cloth hanging dry or a dazzling pinwheel soaring high To no fault of their own but mine, I’m inescapably caught in this ravine of time Oh, dear! Is this how living without you is to be? Tired of resisting and having fought, Questioning what is for what is not.

11

Afraid of the dark, I trembled under the night sky for he promised to meet me under the stars.

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May 26, 2021

May 26, 2021 at 4:34 AM UTC

And then there was a promise.

Afraid of the dark, I trembled under the night sky for he promised to meet me under the stars.

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Speak of me in those silences you share Speak of me as your wildest affair For those petals of red you kiss ever so often Need to know your utter despair "There is someone else", I hear you say can you cut me open some other day? If I were her and she was me Had it saved me from this misery? If I call out your name, one last time would you look back as you promised that night? For I’d take even the love born out of despair I'd even daydream in this nightmare Only if it were to make me your wildest love affair Oh! for once, would you please dare?

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May 26, 2021

May 26, 2021 at 4:29 AM UTC

To the love that's lost

Speak of me in those silences you share Speak of me as your wildest affair For those petals of red you kiss ever so often Need to know your utter despair "There is someone else", I hear you say can you cut me open some other day? If I were her and she was me Had it saved me from this misery? If I call out your name, one last time would you look back as you promised that night? For I’d take even the love born out of despair I'd even daydream in this nightmare Only if it were to make me your wildest love affair Oh! for once, would you please dare?

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We can't understand each other, can we? You'd say one thing, I'd hear another Both, lost in translation. Why is it then, that we always find our way back? Aren't you as tired as I am? Perhaps there lies an answer- somewhere beyond the realm of your eyes If only I could get past the way you see me I'd realize.

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Mar 29, 2021

Mar 29, 2021 at 2:39 AM UTC

Running on Empty

We can't understand each other, can we? You'd say one thing, I'd hear another Both, lost in translation. Why is it then, that we always find our way back? Aren't you as tired as I am? Perhaps there lies an answer- somewhere beyond the realm of your eyes If only I could get past the way you see me I'd realize.

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There's an old poem on love and life without- A classic really! And a very boring one at that. You know the kind only the wise would fall for? Yes, that. But take me for a fool, the one that I am, for I can't find you in it. Neither within the metaphors nor the words that I'm so much in love with. What you are to me is its very last line, where all of it comes to an end- When I can finally turn the page and hope only for a better indulgence of time. The world is like that one old poem on love and life without- and you, my dear, are its very last line.

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Mar 14, 2021

Mar 14, 2021 at 7:00 AM UTC

What you're like

There's an old poem on love and life without- A classic really! And a very boring one at that. You know the kind only the wise would fall for? Yes, that. But take me for a fool, the one that I am, for I can't find you in it. Neither within the metaphors nor the words that I'm so much in love with. What you are to me is its very last line, where all of it comes to an end- When I can finally turn the page and hope only for a better indulgence of time. The world is like that one old poem on love and life without- and you, my dear, are its very last line.

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I'll keep you in my prayers, She said as they parted ways. He scoffed and he mumbled On love he rumbled Light kissed his forehead for years to come He lived in her prayers, while she was worshipped in his words As is the gamble of love that's lost- if you've sunk, you've swum.

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Mar 14, 2021

Mar 14, 2021 at 1:22 AM UTC

On love, light, and prayer

I'll keep you in my prayers, She said as they parted ways. He scoffed and he mumbled On love he rumbled Light kissed his forehead for years to come He lived in her prayers, while she was worshipped in his words As is the gamble of love that's lost- if you've sunk, you've swum.

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