With my hair unleashed,
strands fall to meet the crevices
of a sweaty neck.
See the black dye mirrored,
hands stained with disdain -
A rendez-vous so scented,
slick with gazes squandered
loose after I wandered.
I haven't been posting here for a while. It's been really long I understand but it's also been long since I last spoke to him and I don't intend to go back to investing my heart in him. Often we are completely engulfed in the moment and we overlook others' faults and convince ourselves that they are the right one for us. They might not be bad people, they might be amazing and perfect but if they are not perfect for you then it will never work out. It didn't work out between us and I don't think it will. I don't want it to. I've been speechless and unable to produce any form of proper writing due to stress from exams so I will try my best to write what I can. Anyway, pain and heartbreak are ingredients for art. As heartless as this may seem, it is a truth. I don't regret anything.
it was a goodbye without words
but my heart is full
let me in again
no matter how high or thick the pillars are
they crack and break
the years will tire them
even those who are always there for support
need all the help they can get
my eyes were never ready for a fleeting sunset
that shone into them with splendour and magic
then drifted away into a far horizon
leaving me with my sombre reflection
the water looked so dark, inky and bleak
and my hands after that were drenched in black ink
i had slammed the pen so ******* this cursed journal
i thought that maybe, everything in my head would collapse with it
you were pretty but it never stopped at that
my name may have tasted like honey but you got sick of it
you got sick of me
you had a way with words that left me weak
all the strength i had culminated through the years stood no chance
like porcelain with intricate designs, fragile, timeless
now who will accompany me in the night
to plant our memories in stars on the sky?
or did you find another one to remind you of the taste of honey
the taste of love
the taste of promise
leave me now with the reality of frowns and uncertainty
leave me with the dark inky waters of a night once spent accompanied
one day i will lay your indifference to rest
but for now
let me throw it out to the horizon, to the sky, to the earth
so it can swallow it to nothingness.
It had always been about you
and I should've known better.
When you make someone your world, then realise there was nothing to make a story out of in the first place.
I wish for others the best
in love and in life
but when I hope for them
I can't help but taste the bitterness
on my hypocritical tongue
because I would wish you the best
if only you were still here.
Your silence brought indifference
and after that, I was never the same.
I had plans and poems
that revolved around you
but I will not lie
you have scorched my skin beyond repair
I cannot even recognise who I was before
your heart and mine beat near each other.
Whether you leave forever
or come back to me
my soul will yearn for the one that made me feel like
the universe was in my hands and spinning at only our pace
me and you
your voice and the waves fighting in my ears
both forces of nature that keep me wondering.
I'll be here waiting
for a month, for a year, and for eternity.
I regret staining pretty words
with the idea of you.
I cannot wait for something that never intended to arrive.
white against white
decorated with jasmine flowers
that have witnessed everything.
They've seen the french
speaking the language of love
with weapons of destruction in their hands
carrying our nation's sons
six feet under their footsteps
stepping on honor's history forever.
"Ya worood al yasmeen"
with pearly white petals,
and bright green stems
I've watch you grow over our house
year after year
hanging high and low
gazing at the loss below.
I am now far, distant like a stranger
the homeland has put smiles on our faces
that glow in albums of badly taken pictures
that will haunt my path across oceans.
One day, the heart will ask for home
and I shall listen to it
as it yearns for the sweet scent of jasmines.
My grandmother's house once filled with love
her biggest fears coming to life
pictures hanging on the wall
ghosts of love so short-lived
but remind me to tell her
that she is not alone
there are flowers like angels watching from above.
Whenever I go to Algeria I notice the jasmines that wait for me there every year.
Sometime in the middle of the night
I kneel before God
and try to find Him
but in my words of divine remembrance
I find you in these tangled thoughts
and I pray that you were written
in no other story
my soul is still getting used to sensing hesitation in his words
sometimes i wonder why we can't be together
at first i blamed myself
i always blame myself
but i've come to a conclusion -
it is in fact my fault
it definitely isn't his
that i am a dreamer living in a reality of nightmares
and that the meanings behind my words are often too dense to comprehend
so his lips and mine can no longer speak common sense
our circles forming awkward edges to avoid overlap
like oil and water and we can never become one
He has left me like
a letter without a message
a roof that gazes upon a broken home
but miserably so, a heart which, to it, love is a foreign land.
I wish I could let the infinite sea know of my problems -
it would wash you away from me
one wave at a time
and the shores would start pulling harder and harder
your essence sprinkled on every corner
and the storms that would arise out of you
would let me know that finally
the world understands what it means to be in love.
i have seen rivers branching out
in the same way trees flaunt their art by simply being
or veins curving visibly on our wrists
it's not every day that life reminds us of its efforts
to exist in poetry
it's not every day that i realize that falling in love isn't always about him
because nature was there before our encounter
because the way i found my reflection sparkling on the surface of water
is nothing like i could have imagined before
because some days the ocean's waves call me to return to my senses when no one else would
people can be poetry
people can be words
nature, however, has always been medicine
by looking at the sky you know limits can become myths
i've looked into people's beautiful eyes
but their souls were made of selfishness
while water, fire, air, and earth are divine
it's what we were before we knew that we are
we will return to them
nourishing our home, giving it skin
and breathing the life we own in its core.
just random observations
there may be unsolvable mysteries
but all i want to know
is why is it you that keeps me awake at night
and not anybody else
at first i thought that sunrises were all i wanted
but what's the point of a beginning
if it isn't with you?
lips that split like the sea
uttering words that could save a nation
"what a beautiful voice she's got," you think
and you couldn't help but drown
I look at these blue veins of mine
existing against a thin layer of fair skin that does little to protect
but if it’s all I have to keep my blood moving, pumping me back to life
every second I refuse to open my eyes
then I will have to deal with it
because we’re all like paintings held up high on walls to be admired
whether we decide to be like Monet or just ourselves.
I come in seasons with
a heart of summer
a soul like spring
but find me falling every night
succumbing to the curse that is winter.
I dedicated each shade of sky blue to him
with every darkness I remember my heart's aches
but the luminescence of light blue
with the sun shining life into my eyes
reminded me of his beautiful soul.
Nature's beauty unfolds when he smiles.
If the waves grew tired of fluctuating in height
or the clouds of crying on the lands
I would still be here falling in love over and over again
with the soul whose beauty leaks into the deepest gaps in mine.
With light strokes of my pen,
I will draw us racing towards an unknown
side by side
not knowing when or how to intersect.
Stripes across the page exist over a name
I've held so close to my heart
but abstained from using on my lips
where silence reigns.
Between lines, poetry lay burning
ashes of stories I stayed awake at night recounting
a rejected part of my humanity
that I cannot forget
that I will never forget.
October has left me with blood on my hands,
and wilted flowers in my hair
but I am a wound trying to heal
the stripes on my skin mark growth
life will emerge in the face of cold winter air
life will radiate like northern lights
gleaming like the energy of all souls combined
against a wall of star encrusted darkness.
Haunted souls travel inked skies at night
drawing their trajectories among constellations.
With soles dipped in stardust
they tread through the heavens
searching for God; searching for rest.
Some thoughts have clung to their skin
words stained with regret beat them down
walls of hope, crushed to rubble
a city of dreams had once existed within.
When you see a shooting star tonight,
remember that it is a star that is dead
carrying the lost to somewhere far away
an afterlife with meaning.
At the end of October,
the month of warmth before the ice,
the angels will donate a star to every soul
who cannot escape their haunted insides
a twinkle of light
in an otherwise eternity of darkness.
There are too many days between us,
all filled with absence;
time incessantly steals moments
my heart may beat today but not tomorrow
and now you are not here
to hear how beautiful your name sounds like
uttered out of the purest love my heart can bleed.
Similar to thread and needle through smooth silk
I embroider your name into my poetry.
I sold all the innocence I believed in,
to describe the fire I see in the subject of my words.
With all the blood that races in me
I make it stop;
silencing my heartbeat and tongue
to witness the art that you carry in your figure.
Suddenly the poet in me has forgotten how to write.
i will not beat my heart for what it feels
find it emptying itself day by day
until what it held
leaves no traces inside
and watch my eyes darken
circles weighing heavily under wet eyelashes
in the face of the remnants of the storm that passed
naivety and regret coexist
debris out of a natural disaster
we are made up of earth
our skin blends in with nature
disaster and beauty in our soulful eyes
finding love in between shifting plates
a newly found humanity
shaking our bones
but in the end
we drift away
existing oceans apart
Autumn kills the leaves,
slowly and beautifully
but when I fall
it is always in pain.
When the tears,
and my body
collapse to the ground
both in the most melancholic shade of red
my lips promise to never say your name
and my heart attempts to flee its cage
away, very far away
You exist to be written and
spoken about in poetry.
poem after poem
and my words don't make sense
not in your mouth
broken english, is that what it's called?
whatever it is
it's making me bleed from the inside
poem after poem,
If our souls were oceans,
how many divers would take the risk
to brush against the seabed,
an urge to discover the unknown,
or just someone to call home?
Eighteen years have passed me
I still marvel at picturesque clouds
They pass us overhead, with grace, like the ground they face isn’t rotten.
Find me that girl who smiles every day
Exchanging her three am thoughts
Into golden plated words that are beautiful
They belong in her poems.
Sadness stained cheeks covered in blush
She’s so lovely, people think
but she’s just glad her mascara is waterproof.
My grandmother has dainty hands, unlike mine
and I was jealous.
until I realized that they were covered in blood
years before I was born and knew what pain was,
making a living and treating her blisters at the same time.
Six children but it used to be eight before two passed away
“Sofian, he died before your grandfather by a few years”
Her heart broken in half and tears encrusted in her skin
But she still has delicate and pretty hands right?
People say they love one another,
But I can’t even count the knives on their backs anymore,
There are too many.
When I find myself in solitude,
I subsequently lose myself in thought.
I am ashamed.
These angels that watch us every day
I know they weep at our state
And I am done pretending it’s fine.
This is a world where the ground shakes in anger,
The sky cries out of despair
And the air thickens out of confusion
I am all of nature’s catastrophies
In the shape of a woman.
You will see me in the corner
Praying for lost souls
Including my own
Hoping that one day we’ll reunite in a place
Where words don’t drip blood
And authors find that writing is easier when happy
But for now, we can’t get enough of pretending.
The earth rejoices at the sound of laughter
as cries are heard too often.
Let these tears that fall
as a result of joy
be the water that helps flowers spring.
They will rise, towering over ants and rivers
from the dry, and dull ground
that has let sadness seep into its pores
a virus; taking life as its host.
We laugh to forget, and love
happiness emanating from our skin
our intentions alternating
like sun and moon.
Laughter is so beautiful,
seemingly abderian most of the time
it never fails to enrich the soul.
They say look for kindness in a man
but never forget to explore his humor.
Share laughs with your best friend,
they will make these memories last a lifetime.
Even those with melancholy waiting, hanging
from the corner of their lips
revel in the pleasures of the soul
and appreciate the sounds that the earth makes
to forget its troubles.
The heart is clumsy,
our thoughts provoking disaster
when pulling on the wrong strings
before the storm, and after.
encompass the sky
that hovers above us
holding clouds that serve purpose
to embellish or destroy
waiting for the wind
to mould us into strange shapes
tugging at others’ curiosity
not knowing what we are
or where we’re going.
blinding weather in his eyes,
today we are not raining together
drop by drop
He falls and changes,
beauty into anger,
I await on a lonely ground
to catch him.
We exist in all shades,
converging into one another
calming the anxious souls
that we transport to the heavens above.
I watch the sun and moon alternate,
natural occurrences, I notice
just like the thoughts
that feel like clouds in my head
when my heart reminds me
at an ungodly time of night
striking me like lightening,
thunder echoing between these ears
that long for the voice of an angel instead.
If the moon has any secrets to tell,
I would be sitting tonight
with silver linings around my irises
waiting for it to spill
its blood red musings.
I've turned you into poems,
and tears and scars
your legacy under my skin
and in my journal
will be erased
you are no longer worthy of my words.
the idea of being part
of a planet that is up in flames
i am afraid
i hate to be part of the ashes
after peace will burn out forever.
we express in verses and tears,
and love people that won't love us back.
I desire madness,
but until then, I cannot forget you.
There are burn marks under my skin.
Underneath this protective layer,
your words have touched me
and have not left scars until now.
Upon realizing the bitterness of your departure,
the echo of your voice
bumps and bruises my insides every day,
There are burn marks under my skin,
from the words trapped inside
that cannot find a way to leave.
I am internally combusting tonight,
consumed by you.
The thing about poetry,
is that it's important to be observant
not only of the words written
but of the strength of the emotions
that cascade behind the curtain of letters that you read.
Some nights I can't find the right words
to make my feelings sound pretty
or string them all into poetry
tonight is like that
because I miss you way too much to even think straight.
Silence is a language in which I am fluent.
It does not require a sound,
but it is the invitation
for him to look me in the eye
while I spill out the stories
that lie within my gaze.
When time passes, and you don't write
Is it the words that call you in desperation
or you that seeks the words as a consolation?
The sun has let me know
that it envies the light in your eyes.
The moon is about to fall
and undo itself
so that I could stop whispering to it about you.
The air no longer dares to spin,
and rattle the trees
for it could not match the melody of your movements.
I am all of them combined.
I wish to let you know
that sometimes the east and the west
seem so far away from each other
and it makes me sad that you are not here
but oh how distance makes us love each other more
let us be in our own divine circles
basking in the mesmerizing sound of our heartbeats
longing to match each other in rhythm.
I was a different poet a month ago.
I was a different poet last week, as well as yesterday.
I am a new one today
with stories and emotions
that clash and fight with each other
that is why some days my poems are sad
others are happy
because it all depends on what side of me wins today.
Fling your scarf behind you,
cover your bruised shoulders my dear.
The world is a troublesome place,
not one for delicate skin like yours
which cracks at every splinter
that flies through the rough air
carrying words into your lungs
and choking you till the lines
between good and bad are blurred
and the taste of his lips remind you of poison.
I've seen people smile and cry in the same minute
" can love and hate could coexist as well?"
That's what I have been feeling for you ever since.
You are a memory
that leaked from my mind
onto my shoulders.
You are now a burden.