The waiting is what slows me down,
The waiting makes me weak.
The waiting that draws out my days
And keeps me from my sleep.

The waiting keeps me dwelling long;
Gives hopes of nothing more.
When I decide to recognize,
I'll be waiting here no more.

Waiting weeks for something good
Or expecting something bad,
Keeps my mind on what just might;
Not all the great I have.

What if God was there
as you lay inside your cardboard box
What if God was there
as you drowned in your Whiskey on rocks
What if God was there
when you laid your child down
six feet under the ground
What if God was there
but never made a sound
What if God was there
when you shot a foreign stranger in the chest
What if God was there
playing the weakest against the next best
What if God was there
when your car left the road
What if God was there
and did nothing, although
he. would. have. known
What if God cured World Hunger
Stopped Wars and abolished Cancer
What If God stopped Greed and Avarice
and just gave the world a coherent answer?
What if God is just someone
to hold on to throughout the bad times
What if God just doesn't really care
and you are simply responsible
for your own crimes?

We learn to say that we don't care,
As we begin to believe it.
We tell ourselves when we are hurt,
Not to share.
IDC...

Soon, we turn this ugly phrase, in upon ourselves,
A bad day, or treated badly?
Just remember those three,
Those deadly letters.
IDC...

What comes next is no surprise,
We use it for the smallest things,
A forgotten birthday,
Hopeful plea.
IDC...

How soon it becomes,
The easiest answer,
To each and every worry,
You need me?
IDC...

And then the fateful day does come,
When we have switched places,
We need assistance of some sort,
It falls upon deaf ears.
IDC...

We need to change,
This process we use,
And change the meaning,
Of three small letters.
IDC...

I don't care...
That's not true...
I give it thought...
Thus, I DO CARE!!!
IDC...

I DC...
I DO CARE!!!

In that position again...
You know,
the one where I need you
way more than
You Need Me.

/
When you are growing as a poet
your pain is pining to born a poetry
where there are too many clouds of emotions gathering,
also a pensive mood longing
then the thunder of thoughts growing,
your paper is awaiting for the first word
as I was waiting for you, my love
when you were coming slowly
then words of rain raining,
automatically,
randomly

When the first raindrop pings on the pond
even you don't know when it will be stopped
how far it will be covered
which path it will be taken
even its density,
dignity,
or the diversity

Your first word inks on the paper
you don’t know when it will be finished
which way the words will be taken
even you don't know
its size or style,
its fashion or the scheme

Either it's a long or a short
or even a sonnet or a verse
even its rhyming
or the rhythm

You should not think about its length
of course words grow as long as
the metaphors can travel
through its thoughts of cohesion
and its feelings moving
naturally,
poetically

You should not count the words
or even you can't stop within a limit
it makes your thoughts imperfect
rather you can tell totally
about the life,
or can tell about
the love easily
or beyond the life spontaneously

The words can grow 3,5,7
lines for a haiku
or even it goes for a mile for an epitaph
or more for an epic  

Poetry executes through words
words come from thoughts
thoughts come from the emotions
and ends with the wisdom
/
@ Musfiq us shaleheen