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Aazaad Jan 2021
It breaks like waves against the cranium
Again and again the syncopated beat of my heart
Is it magic? Is it a miracle?
Is there madness behind such a glowing word?
Ramblings of a madman, I'd rather me insane than comprehending extreme sanity.
What sanity is there in a world that holds no bounds?
What gods can there be when man in turn becomes his own god?
I have no answers, I am all but questions.

Urgent and bursting, it is a sweet fruit that ripens until juice trickles out,
Turgid and thick, quivering and throbbing like breath itself,
Not solid or liquid but a state inbetwixt.

Maybe this is mania, maybe this is something above what I am?
Who am I if not for my breath and my breaking?
It is the gaps that make the solid thing whole.
Aazaad Jul 2019
The sun burns and so do I
What use in complaining is there?
Leaves turn to dust
Stone will become mud
And all
things must
  Mar 2019 Aazaad
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Good-by, proud world, I'm going home,
Thou'rt not my friend, and I'm not thine;
Long through thy weary crowds I roam;
A river-ark on the ocean brine,
Long I've been tossed like the driven foam,
But now, proud world, I'm going home.

Good-by to Flattery's fawning face,
To Grandeur, with his wise grimace,
To upstart Wealth's averted eye,
To supple Office low and high,
To crowded halls, to court, and street,
To frozen hearts, and hasting feet,
To those who go, and those who come,
Good-by, proud world, I'm going home.

I'm going to my own hearth-stone
Bosomed in yon green hills, alone,
A secret nook in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;
Where arches green the livelong day
Echo the blackbird's roundelay,
And ****** feet have never trod
A spot that is sacred to thought and God.

Oh, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;
And when I am stretched beneath the pines
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan;
For what are they all in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet.
Aazaad Mar 2019
That age-old adage is trotted out so sweetly,
but what do I

Maybe the basics will help:
-I'm 23 years of age.
-I'm finally in a place where I can succeed.
-I've been broken for some time.

That last point seems poignant, let's look at that.

Despite my age, I've acted like a real child recently. I hope my future self will read this with a mirthful grin at my toddler-tantrums.

Still, it is really not funny.

I've talked and rambled and gushed forth about it at length, so there seems to be no benefit to dragging the painful shards of memory over my skin once more- until I'm sli ced to ri bb on s.

I heard a great line recently, 'Whether you do something about it or not- next year is going to come.' It's been nearly two whole months of this.

Yet I know the answer and I refuse it.
Aazaad Mar 2019
I never knew what freedom really was.
I knew comfort and I found that to be sweet.
But for every time I sought out a soft embrace or a consoling word.
I could never find the opportunity for myself to grow.

It's been tough, but I know I made the right choice,
A small shoot of grass out of the cracked dry pavement.
It will widen and grow, cracking until nature bursts forth and I begin to live again.

I'm free now, and I intended to keep it that way.

— The End —