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Leave your sweater here
So I can breathe you in
A scent that whispers you're near
Even when you're gone.
If I raised, you well?
I done my job.
It's not about being perfect.
Life with kids doesn't work that way.

If major trouble you avoided?
Then I have done my job.
Respect and manners being installed with love.
For others to see.

Then again, I have done my job.
Yes, even parents get things wrong.

If one ouch of faith?
I have placed in your life.
Then I have served my purpose.

If I can honestly say, I'm proud of you.
Then I have done my job.

Someone you can come to say I am proud of you dad and mom.
Today
is in context
Tomorrow
is not

The moment
held captive
The future
uncaught

To be
unbegotten
No birth
and no death

The present
resplendent
No last
— dying breath

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)
on dotty days lost in
a billowing haze of crimson
lingerie and perfume merry-go-
rounds that lifted us up

in sweet anisette but were
dropped to the ground like
a smoking cigarette. The fickle sky
painted orange didn't

blossom. It turned into
marmalade hurling its seeds
on our show parade. Burning
a hole in the horizon

that plundered our dreams
and covered our eyes in
shards of irascible men that died
at sunrise from the ink of a pen.
Stallion proposals
do like Don Quixote would
send her twelve roses
The age of Chivalry religious moral
and social integrity.
Is it possible to reinvent the wheel
?????????????????????????????????
Hide but not seek
look
and don't peek,
some things we put away
and when that rainy day comes
we bring out the umbrella.
I woke, and in the quiet morn,  
Thy beauty was my only form.  
It filled the air, it touched the light,  
A vision soft, yet pure and bright.  

The world did hush, the hours slow,  
As I beheld thee, soft aglow.  
A moment seized, too swift to keep
In thee, I woke, in thee, I sleep.
In Thee, I Wake  19/01/2025 © All Rights Reserved by Jamil Hussain
poetry in the blood
pumping
through
a paper thin

heart

crimson ink
feeding

flesh

as needful
of inspiration
as it is of

oxygen

Pain as the
needle sharp pen
scrapes the inside
of the cockles

next the tattoo
parlor


all my being
cries out to

WRITE!!

my
atoms
neutrons
quarks

The God Particle

screams

write

Write

you jolly-well


WRITE!



Invisible inc aka
Write of Passage aka
SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/21/2016
write of parlay

we chatted over manners and harboured edges. these things … moved the line into a place of rural contemplation.
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