And you, whose dream in reality
Still hasn’t come true…
Except for the remnants of silence in a moment of your quietude
Your word calls out to your death
Your word has become nothing but life itself
Strung like beads of a rosary in the hand of a nation
Upon which fear descends…
When trials befall it
It waits for salvation
Your truth in the formation of your letters
Falls upon the city’s brow
Between every green patch
An olive tree
And a thousand witnesses to the martyr’s feast
When you decided to dream, forgetting your tear
Upon the wall
The cruelty of a day
Wandering over the cities of “Galilee”
And that same song of yours
Sleeping on the bed of a stranger, waiting
Witnessing forms of siege
Between praises for the seas
Between massacres and destruction
The demolition of bridges
You were the land… the covenant of writing
A poem from you is a cannon
A shell holding the saliva of steadfastness in its embrace
Peace, a rose, and a waking dream
Your fate is that you dreamed
Worthy of your dream, young man
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 8:49 PM UTC
I learned to grieve in silence,
As much as I learned to love you,
To surrender to your longing and die within it.
A bitter truth set me free:
That your love for me,
In reality,
Was a spider.
My simple dream was to find you,
Carrying my burdens,
Standing tall within my eyes,
My blood flowing through your veins.
I gave my heart to the sunrise,
Only to awaken and find you were a guillotine
In the hands of your own love.
And my love for you,
Was the whole point of the problem.
Your beginning was painful,
Your ending, crafted in deceit,
Cut to fit,
Without prayer.
I used to worship you,
Not even as a pagan to an idol.
I didn’t know the end of my love for you was nothingness,
Lost in regret.
I was like dough,
Shaped by your fingers.
I would find a future blooming
Under your sun, under your shadow,
And I’d forgive my past days
For ever
Having loved you.
Don’t deny I was the only one born
From your sky with two stars,
Two engravings on my forehead,
Perfectly matched.
The sun of dead truth was colored
Between my sincere words and your fake smile.
Your phony lines were created:
Sometimes an angel,
Sometimes destruction,
Sometimes your flaws were an epic poem
You’d tell with feigned innocence.
Your created devil didn’t leave
In the fire of your cruel loneliness.
Between the soft whisper of your voice
Filling an empty time,
I was there,
Remembering you calling him.
My heart was your toy,
You’d try it out.
It was no good except for being sad.
And for years,
When your dream would come to me and then leave,
I’d feel choked.
I’d become like the truth when it’s hanged
In the eyes of the wronged.
And for years,
When you were the cloud for me,
And the thirst in my tongue would howl,
Like wolves
Standing over a feast for the dead,
Waiting to share the meal.
My look was the orphan.
Your look… was the ambush
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 4:51 PM UTC
Your land cast you out,
So you settled on the wing of a poem.
Perhaps its letters won’t mislead… the one who failed you.
A homeland at the gate of hell, even if it seemed so—
Abandon it, for it wasn’t worthy.
The opposing trunk of the palm tree wasn’t shaken
So that ripe promises, like dates, might fall into your hand,
for the waves of a sea
whose cruel desires perhaps
tempted it…
to **** you.
Your land cast you out.
The breast of Arabism was no longer enough
to nurse you
a dream, shadowed by darkness,
its modesty within the borders.
The lofty ones accepted exile
with a dawn of sorrow that neglected you.
And you, who
took from your priest’s hand
the ember of preservation for the eternity that
will not betray you—
you believed those dwelling beside your soul,
and you were burned.
Destiny did not will it for you.
And it was as if they were the piece of candy, my child,
that fell from your mouth.
The sea does not nurse its children…
Sleep, my beloved.
It is a paradise for eternity, loftier
than a false nectar
we smell like a grave, its dwellers unconcerned.
And the lamb concealed in its lips
a song for the sorrow of your childhood.
Sleep, my beloved.
It is no longer from within history
that your innocence is condemned
or questioned.
This is its nature:
The sea does not nurse its children.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 4:48 PM UTC
Let the halos of my heart fall from my brow,
A light I thought I'd find while resting on the shoulder of the word,
The one that hums a tune through the folds of this poem.
Illuminate for others my journey, this bitter taste of a homeland's pain,
The anguish that fills it, stirring with every dawn
That rises on a morning full of nonsense.
The word was powerless then,
Unable to forge a new space for confession,
Or pluck a bejeweled pearl from its sky
To gift to the poor, the orphans, the forgotten,
Those on the brink of death.
I know I am the zero from which all poets begin,
The seed whose sprout only grew in the shadow of my ancestors’ verses.
From them, I drew the strength to survive,
Dreaming of their blissful, generous seas.
I lean on them all with a pride that lifts me
Into realms bright with the light of their wisdom, O Lady Poem.
All I ever wanted from you was salvation,
To end on your shores.
I began you (or you began me) among the transients
In a city whose streets had all gone dark,
Forgotten by long wars, then awakened just once
By the triumph of survivors, and drops of hope
That thirst couldn't defeat.
Between tables of gunpowder and ******
Scattered limbs and blood-stained walls,
Jackets lie vomiting on the sides of ruins,
With the words "I was here" scrawled upon them.
A hemorrhage of questions.
How I've longed for my poems to take them on,
A path to grief and to release.
I craft my shoot for the fated crowd,
And belong to the march coming from those forgotten lands
Hidden in the folds of shackles and prison cells,
The torment of hungry stomachs,
The gasping of tongues behind cries for departure,
The absence of hope for a coming brilliance
That carries on its face the radiance of the impossible.
Lady Poem, I know glory in your proof.
I know the secret in your river.
This is how we meet, and with us, we meet
A life that has no shrine,
A life that only survived through an impossible bargain
Between a bundle of thorns that grew just once
From the pain of salvation.
I am destined to live and to see the city
Be the first to bless the burning heat of a step toward freedom,
Swearing by the fading glory in its children's eyes,
The honeyed treasures flowing over a new homeland.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 4:45 PM UTC
The heart speaks, "dum dum dum,"
And love comes out of a flask.
For you is the life that draws
Happy dreams that please me so.
Happy dreams that picture
My entire past life, now changed.
My coming life, with you, will light
The darkness of my torment and despair.
Gather the joy before it passes,
The harvest of happiness it gives.
It grows sweet in your clarity, and I no longer wish
To bring back a single year from my life.
Happy dreams, in them, is all yearning,
You are the bliss that waters them.
You are the song and the sweetest meanings,
Happy dreams that please me so.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 4:39 PM UTC
with the taste of the cry and the lament,
and the tear from eyes with rusty cheeks, a sign.
I am the end goal,
scattered by the winds of bewilderment…
and I am divided
on the faces of weeping… an address.
I am a human,
born of time and wind,
a pain that braids thorns
between the first steps of the soul.
I am the one bleeding,
fields of truth on my forehead
leading me
to blood-poems that ache,
and they don’t return.
Letters of embers brand me.
The seeds of the dream in my veins,
a choked hope.
I am the hanged one,
and the ropes of death blindfold me.
I surrender all my flags.
I am the Coming One.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 4:37 PM UTC
The wheat stalks breathe you in,
Braid your letters for the evenings.
And stir your songs the day they met
Upon his face, the silence... the flock of stillness.
Depart to where we began our journey,
Indeed, the streams hold but fragments.
To a time squandered,
Forgive my death when I choose you,
To the mercy of the devout, in protest,
To the dwelling of the wound,
The distance of desolation.
And your endurance was to borrow
From the star, the day of collapse's rituals.
Within you, the debasement of poems eludes,
Towards the sunrise.
And you quiet above some plains
The languages of apprehension,
In your sailing times.
You soothe the blaze of solitude... cities,
And pour into the eye the tears of reunion,
Branches from the beginning we were,
For the land of severance.
We carry to it the beseeching letters,
To write in love,
The beloved's spinning song.
And you still swear by the earthquake,
So as to prepare a new homeland,
Which the questions lost in their lament,
And the impossible bolted its gates
With bursts of time that began to depart.
You never left the harvests of remembrance,
That we were quenching.
With your silence, visions will not overflow
The boundaries of emptiness.
And we...
Are in vain.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 4:34 PM UTC
The child residing deep inside me,
When fear ignites, blazes with delight,
Shattering every frame,
Out into the street, he openly proclaims
His right to taste a morsel of truth.
With utter innocence, he’d plead with the sun’s rays,
As they arrived to confiscate tomorrow’s darkness.
He never knew that the morrow,
Lying slain on the heart’s threshold,
Was already sacrificed.
The child residing deep inside me,
Quietly gathers fragments from the shadow
Of the girl fallen from the window of desire.
He passes from beneath the navel,
To the furthest lip at the edge of the house,
Retreating to the corner, at the furthest bank,
And in the dark rooms, he rattles
Matchboxes.
The child residing deep inside me,
Has but one hand,
With it, he gathers the world before him,
Drawing it in clusters.
And within his notebook of dreams,
He scribbles, then redraws.
The child residing deep inside me,
Is inherently stubborn.
He demolishes every dream in an instant,
The moment he awakens
To a new dawn
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 12:06 PM UTC
Sorrows planted deep inside hearts,
Awakening seeds of fear,
With horror facts concealed and capped.
Dressed in the wear of silence,
The sorrows of the day were sown—
A sign upon a grave, a dub
To the slow death of man, unknown.
Silence is no picture of them,
Without a paint, it's stark and grim.
Accepted: you die anonymous,
Though in your truth, you live a dream.
Though your heart in desert carries home,
Though your age was right for your own land,
Accepted: you die anonymous,
Like Zia's glory, a vanishing strand.
When such a spirit's light extinguishes,
And disappears, a beautiful dream ends,
Accepted: you die anonymous.
Too, houses died, their doors against walls bend.
Her streets, they mourned; the night came, withered,
Leaving a body, chronically loved,
A shiny star, whose songs no longer tethered
To the moon, now silently removed.
Rumored, the last beats from your heart,
You felt and then announced absence.
Faces passed like dreams, printed apart
On the plate-blooded board of lost essence.
Regrets the eye which saw of leaving
At mystery. It was not inspiring—
A frame to image aching, ever grieving
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 12:05 PM UTC
Sign me up, right here,
To a womb that defies history's commute.
Inscribe my name.
Never did I nurse from the ******* of women in a slave market.
I could not trust mystics,
Nor did their bells ring recognition in my heart.
A million fears
My fears, multiplied a millionfold,
When I find death staring into my life,
When I see coffins stacked,
Black as the tears of rain.
May God grant you a long life,
To console homes filled with sorrow—
The bodies of the martyrs,
Whose lives gifted you freedom.
Beside the widows and orphans,
Gallows craft your dreams,
Selling your heart on the very first road.
Be a martyr.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 11:48 AM UTC