I am the flightless pelican.
I’ve found myself with my mouth full,
my stomach full, and so much still on my plate.
Possessed by an inhuman hunger,
I will gorge upon pure potential.
I will yowl on and on, without sleep.
-
I have sand between my toes.
My shoes are glued to my feet.
Keep on running ‘til the calluses come.
There has to be a point where I stop to sweat,
and I’ll finally get my sigh of relief.
I have one ride left on my bus pass.
-
I have a tendency to ramble
and languish in my own stench.
People tend to forget this at first;
lured in by the false face of a genetic fluke.
They want to know the impression I left,
not the procrastinator; the cud-chewing goat.
-
I can’t sleep being held,
or if I feel someone’s breath in the still.
I start to feel the urge to burrow
into the quiet quilts; patchwork Promised Land.
I cater to the crowd that caters to themselves,
but I’m no Utilitarian. Fox and Lion.
-
I have cousins like brothers,
and I have brothers like strangers.
Stray cats with names
and a copy of The Mahabharata that I stash my money in.
I’m sitting on a sunny pier with my hook in the water;
avoiding conflict with no bait.  
-
Paper cuts from the gold leaf
on the edges of hymn book pages
with burgundy leather covers.
These guilty cuts, bleeding for what seems like hours,
while we steadily forget that anyone was singing.
Alone with our thoughts in the crowd.

There are some moments
which bring true clarity,
whether by song or by
substance or merely by
the warmth of a human
touch against fluttering
fingertips grasping.

Those moments after
the heat of good ***
lying quiet and perhaps
content or maybe not,
staring at the ceiling
and listening to the
perfect rise and fall
of your lover's breathing.

The few minutes of
the workday paused
to take in the grandeur
of a sunset over a lake
with the simple open
happiness of a smoke break.

That one point in a
song when the world
dissolves around you
and there is no past
nor a future but truly
the here and now filling
you up with all you
feel has been lacking.

There's that singular
point of intoxication too,
when all things that
seemingly make no
sense at all when sober
suddenly come together
into one complete whole
to be lost upon waking
next morning hungover.

There are some people
who say that love is a
mere illusion, the same
as an acid trip or the
endorphins women
experience during birth,
mere chemistry that makes
us all that we are.

And there are also
those who preach
that all we are is
simply an experiment
by some divine personage
to see if free will works.

I don't have it in
me to believe that all
we are is anything that
can be quantified by
any singular theory
or description encompassing
all of human experience.

I don't have it in me to hate
anymore either, though I
have been given many reasons
to do so, it just seems so
adverse to everything I
have ever been taught by
people who loved me.

Yes there has been pain
and yes there has been suffering,
personal as well as that of
our nations', as well as that
of our understanding of
what humanity is as a whole.

We have done terrible,
unspeakable things to
each other in the name of
some rancid idea or another
and yet, others of us have
given all that we have
in the name of something
called empathy, maybe passion?

All I know for sure is
that I should have been killed
two years ago by my own
idiocy and yet I was not.

Sometimes there are only the small things
left for us to cling to when all else
has receded into the folds of the past,
or the mists of an uncertain future.

Merely a moment remembered perhaps,
or a burning hope for what may come,
but it is in this, the power of the heart
to derive what strength it can,
in which I place my life.

It is always Autumn in that moment
for me, golden leaves falling
and making the raking of them
an almost daily chore.

But I wouldn't trade the trees
they fall from for anything,
their beauty being worth the work.

Nor would I trade the journey
that has brought me here by
so many crooked paths,
painful as it may have been.

It has all been worth it,
every wound and every tear,
all those nights spent empty
and searching, looking backward
and in love with memories.

This is worth all the pain I
could ever suffer, all the money
I could ever make, all the
great adventures I may have had.

This moment, looking up
from raking leaves in a yard
and thinking long thoughts,
to see her watching me.

She was pouring love into her
garden, lavishing it with care
as if it were the height of May
and the plants were exploding
into bloom all around her.

It's overcast today, and quiet,
that quiet right before a light snow,
the first snow of the year a few
days before Thanksgiving.

She told me last night about
a Buddhist concept that I had
some trouble wrapping my head
around, something called
loving-kindness, which I have
been thinking on as we go.

I think I understand what it means
now, when our eyes meet in that
moment during a pause from routine.

I'll have to try and ask about it later
when we go inside and eat supper,
but for now, with us as we are, in this
moment I understand.

I am from Pakistan...
Yesterday on 16 December, 2014 our city Peshawar got attacked.  Terrorism at it's peak!
Innocent kids and teachers were brutally killed by the terrorists. These martyrs didn't know that there    life was going to end like this!
My whole nation is bleeding.teachers were burnt in front of their students. Bullets were sprayed on innocent lives. THIS ISN'T HUMANITY!  THIS ISN'T WHAT ISLAM TEACHES! THOSE TERRORISTS **** OTHERS IN THE NAME OF GOD BUT THIS ISN'T WHAT GOD WANTS FROM US.
I REQUEST you all to pray for the young martyrs because humanity has no Boundaries!  
Thankyou.

She takes a seat
not saying much, she tries not to speak
because you'll smell the whiskey
Blacked out eyes of abused innocence
hides a tale of misery
There she sits, way to the right in the third row
as she tries to believe in a power that can save her from below
Her torn and worn jeans have seen many days,
So go on and judge them, the third row sinners
While she sits in a daze
She pulls at her sleeves, so no one will see
Her story carved into her skin of satin ivory
So she watches the preacher with curiosity
wondering if anyone can smell the whiskey
or see her story in ivory
She's a believer, that third row sinner.

He takes a seat
Masked in strength
wondering if you can see that he is weak
His hands shake, maybe from drugs
or maybe from pure anxiety, not just a tweak
There he sits, way to the left on the third row
praying that this isn't all just a show
His face is worn and hardened with sorrow
So go on and judge the third row sinners
While he fights for tomorrow
The visions won't leave him, the whispers
Yet he won't let anyone see his story, as it withers
So he watches the preacher, wondering
Can you guess his weakness
Can anyone see his illness
His story, in the silent stillness
He's a fighter, that third row sinner

I take a seat
My story not one of interest
But yet you judged me from when I walked in the entrance
I have wounds, many scars, and have sinned plenty
Yet it's none of your business, my story
Until I have laid it at your feet gently
In the middle of the third row, with her at my right, and him at my left
I ask you to not judge us, we third row sinners
For our stories will have an ending, just like yours
But many paths leave many doors
So open wisely, and maybe we will all choose the right one
to lead us home.

Lies lies everywhere, when you open your mouth, I can taste in them in the air. These words you spit are not loving, you think they're harmless, but you know nothing. With every word that escapes your lips, I watch the world to get a grip, on reality, for what you perceive as normality is nothing but a world set up on infrastructure that just doesn't add up... Instability, unpredictability.. Your lies are just infecting the lives of the respecting innocent. So watch what you say, for it will all come back one day.

My hope is leaning
My blood runs cold
Darkness from secrets yet untold
The words stop flowing
As my pen stills
Waiting for silence as it fills
The dripping rubies
Stain many walls
As screams of terror fill the halls
Silence is filling
They want no more
Bind my hands, i shall write no more

But isn't it quite peculiar that we all need some insanity for clarity?
So just your healthy dose of insanity here
Just your healthy dose, do not fear
I am only here for the time being, just a visit then I'll be in my way
To ruin or build, you decide. But in me you can confide
all your secrets and desires
and together we can conspire
So remember your healthy dose of insanity folks
For it might just save humanity.

but
     I
      want
               to
                 sin
                     on
                         every
                                  inch
                                        of
                                           your
                                                 body.