Al Ghurair ad,
January 13, 2017,
13 Dirhams,
a pack of Pall Malls
and a bottle of water,
with no dreams at all;
Jesus, Allah, Satan,
have you seen the line?
it was a rainbow illuminating
from an old projector.

how is it that people
never minded the facts?
no questions,
no disorder just
random breakdowns,
suicides of the frustrated,
lonely and depressed.

this you granted us
isn't a massive meat market
is it?
the line,
it's seamless in its
manageable horrors
and though the line
itself looked orderly,
the conversations
of the souls inside of it
were either
about something else
other than what lies at the
end of the line or
the hopes for
other better possibilities
after the line.

the temporary tracked souls,
as they pass us by
never saw the whole picture
of our depiction
but they know
your origin, Jesus, Allah,
Satan.

is the true human condition
in all its aspects
too bleak to bear
an alarming attention?

i don't understand
the line,
the tail of the beast,
the Hallelujah
and the Allahu Akbars
but I know you failed
us all, ending the line. .

tonight.

i can't be sure yet
but i don't want to be
disappointed
and disappointments
as they come raining,
i am more than
enough to have
room for one more. . .

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

December’s days are numbered,
the New Year’s on its way
and will soon take me with it.
My bones are of the same set,
its whole test of endurance
will be displayed again
as I dodge bullet after bullet,
January light,
my birth month,
its fire will once again
grant me another age.
The scoreboard of this year,
I never saw my name on it.
This battle of stillness is nobody else’s
but mine and I’m its sole competitor
and yet, it still haven’t
consider me as its own.

I'll leave this for now. .
(as I am so tired of being
aware of all my weaknesses
and
the disability to improve them)

tight grip ties,
the inevitable desperation
in our palms,
i see it in you
i see it in me
and the world is a
skyscraper piercing
the fruits of our labors.
honey you didn't
need to count our
blessings,
the wolves are already
here
and their mouths
are open, watering
before the scent of our ignorance
and our
mothers and fathers,
they knew it
and they wanted all of it
out of our sights
for the glow
that we keep
keeps the worth of
their burden paid
and we'll carry it
and we'll wait
and wait doing
this living that has been
translated so many times
in our past lives
to the outcome of
our lives.
and this,
honey isn't something
you haven't heard before.

we had the most saddest and hidden swaying drunken nights,
all of us, friends
from the bitter ends,
in a yearly interchangeable
roster,
the purely
'stick arounds-or-be awfully missed'
gathered around alcohol
talking silly, laughing
at each other's stories
and sensible nonsense
with smoke in our lungs
and spits on the
balcony's neutral corner
for ****, spit and puke,
singing halfway songs,
remembering
remember's contents,
it's like a boat without a captain,
just reckless abandons,
relentlessly hardworking morons
who are in debt in
finding out the worth
of it all outside
the confines of sobriety.
whenever we make it to
the nearing dawn
as drunk *****
carrying the weight
of the fun abuse from
the night before;
sore throat, oily hair, ***** fingernails, weak joints, bloodshot eyes, bleeding sentiments, sweaty forehead, sweaty palms,
moments i most feel like ****
though **** i am really are
but i feel great,
i feel more human despite the few
friends i have
who tolerate
the wrong in me as
i tolerate theirs,
there is nothing more to
life than moments
you could never relive
once you let the bad in you
take control in
grace.