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Daa Rajab Aug 7
It might be said:

Lay in the darkness,
The beacon of light rising from the corners,
The pits immersed in solitude.
Mind running with the wave of
Memories; of laughter,
Of the voice pulling me back,
As though a stalemate stood high,
Reminding me of where I should be.
Daa Rajab May 27
It might be said:

I feel an ache
After passing the verge of a break
And it left a mark.
It left a scar
That paved its path
Deep into my memory,
But it's just the past.
It really does ache.
Daa Rajab Apr 14
It might be said:

It’s just me in here,
Standing alone, alone,
Far away from home.
But was I ever home?
Had I ever experienced the epitome,
The utter feeling of comfort?
You see, my feet often tapped the ground
Repeatedly, as light taps against a wooden door
So distantly audible, nobody opened.
My heart took it slow,
A steady pace
Enough to bring me to breaking point,
Despite the blueness which radiated
Around my present presence,
Enough to instil the essence,
Of simply my dejection.
Maybe that was so,
Because they never showed,
They never stood between the screeches and yells,
It was always just me.
I never found them,
But they were never looking for me,
And that, in truth, was all I could see.
Being alone means so much more than what meets the eye.
Daa Rajab Aug 2019
It might be said:

It seems like I haven’t written in some time,
And for the most part, I feel like the culprit of an unconscionable crime,
Since I have concealed the truth;
The resonating echoes of suffering endurance
As tears relentlessly rolled from my eyes.

I don’t mean to superficially endorse my emotional inconsistencies.
You see, I’m not one to drag my legs after the crowd of glaring faces,
Who tend to blindly follow the patches of dirt so deeply treaded upon,
Holes of inescapable traces become no more than hazes... shadows
Embedded within their hearts… for they will not, and cannot turn back.

Yes, I do see the monotonal wisps embedded within the pits of my world every once in a while.
Blacks and whites come in more than the empty, obscured skies,
Of brightly-scattered stars every twelve hours.
This place is not an epitome of intricated shades
Painted on an innocent, blank spread of canvas.

They can never turn back, though they decide so blindly,
Alongside their extravagant loops of wonder, interwoven within the flutters of unprecedented laughter,
Curling lips, rosy cheeks,
As they glance up to the blinding streams of light…
The one they thought was theirs.

But they weren’t theirs; they were nothing more than clandestine deceit,
Clearer than the fullest moon in the pitch blotches of a long, lonely night,
Stretching into the depths of their deep-rooted perceptions,
The strands of monotone they so greatly ignored.

I choose to see the blacks of night,
And the whites of light in my world;
It clears my vision,
Despite being psychologically-driven.
Sometimes, the one you love
Is the underlying monotone you blindly overlooked.
I think with my mind,
And not with my heart.
You see... I'm a bit complicated.
Daa Rajab Jun 21
It might be said:

Maybe I was alright,
Perhaps the confusion
The mental intrusions
Made it a normal night.
Perhaps I was not alright either.
Many people often underestimate the emotional wellbeing of others.
Daa Rajab Jun 23
It might be said:

It really does wrench your insides
As the incandescent waters
Rushing down the narrow riverbank
Quicker than your trail of sight.
But it's just me again
And the dramatised plight
Paved into my heart.
I can definitely say that my emotions are dramatised at times.
Daa Rajab Apr 2019
It might be said:

They asked me to write with a free mind,
But a free mind impairs my ability to write.
It is merely the maze of rushing, running thoughts
Which guide my internal ideas to take flight.

A matrix of images, fluidity
Entranced through the whirl of shades
Much too vibrant to comprehend, to process,
And truly remind me of my own, estranged timidity.

For I am relatively grown, despite my
Simple inability to recognise the world of colours
Foreshadowing the guarded thoughts I secure
With much difficulty.

For my incompetence in containing rushed thoughts
Is consistently expressed
Through my most voluntary incentives,
To simply hold a pen and write down my mess.
She once said: "I need to really grab a hold of my thoughts more often; to hold a pen, and remove the uncoordinated trail of events embedded within my memory."
Daa Rajab Jul 14
It might be said:

Lay, right there,
Everything is quite alright.
Do not think or speak;
Just lower your gaze and stare.
Eye contact is lost, after all,
And your insides are all ripped and torn.
They said: "Why don't you look me in the eyes?"

"Eye contact means more than giving one attention, and some people need to see that. Once they do, they should understand why I choose not to do so."
Daa Rajab Aug 6
It might be said:

She stood the most eager,
And desperate she was,
Towering the rest along her line.
Yet she seemed to hang in a gloomy haze;
Never quite feasible
Or under one name.
She stood taller than the rest
Eyes locked on the time
She was losing.
But she stood
Longer, and longer.
Daa Rajab Aug 6
It might be said:

Curled into the corner of
The room; you have become
Part of the scene,
An archaic complement to their grounds,
So much that your presence
Is valueless.
But alas, you are
As you were, whether new or old;
The corners will ensure that.
Daa Rajab Feb 2019
It might be said:

I stared into their eyes,
For the first, distinctive time,
And gaped at the discreet mystery
They held.

I stared into their dark eyes,
Opaque as the ever-gloomy pitches of night,
And gaped at the enriched, blooming flower of opportunity
Hidden from the rest of the broad, exposed world.

How could I have possibly known
To unmistakeably build, and mend
The shattered pieces of this young,
Discreet window, alone?

For the eyes of mine,
Brighter than the conspicuous flashes of light,
Of the beaming, incisive rays of the Sun,
Were lead through the eyes of the firm, charming window.

I peered into the placid, enigmatic frame…
Of their violent, sadistic life,
Of shattered, broken pieces of glass,
They were never inclined to reveal without rife.
They said they loved their eyes.
Daa Rajab Sep 10
It might be said:

Today, I discovered something quite new,
Foreign to my senses,
Morals previously filtered and censored.
I unravelled the cruciality of selflessness,
Of nurturing nature,
Human nature.
But cowardice differs;
Encourages the deflation
Of your mental vocation,
Where selflessness masks the
Deprecation of oneself,
As the other withers in satisfaction.
I really did.
It might be said:

Eighteen;
A new number I never quite felt,
Two digits which never seemed to fit me.
An integer which I assumed broke
The restrictions of childhood,
Allowed me to stretch the arms of
Perspective, and to reflect the
Faces of personality,
But this time, with confidence,
With an identity.
A new age,
A patched-up, bandaged approach to happiness
Is something I need.
To feel a smile tugging at my cheeks,
And wrinkles forming along the ducts
Of my tear-filled eyes.
True happiness I assume.
Daa Rajab Jun 18
It might be said:

Sometimes I stare into emptiness,
Acknowledging my state of mind
When only a loss occurs
Except it is one of a kind
Of losses.
Finally I may realise
That I really do feel.
You just feel empty.
Daa Rajab Aug 19
It might be said:

I think about what it was
And what it has become.
It is not what it used to be,
Seeing the colour in my surroundings.
I now overlook the shades and
Notice the dullness they hide with them.
Leave or do not leave,
Or perhaps stay.
I have grown and so has my filter,
And in all this happiness
I still notice the sadness it conceals.
Daa Rajab Aug 23
It might be said:

As though it was a game
They removed me-
The opponent who never quite played.
I was too shy to fight back;
I relished their happiness,
Even if it destroyed me.
Daa Rajab Jan 30
It might be said:

Curl into the corner,
Reflect on the parcel which
Fell from between your palms.
From the pouch of encapsulating warmth,
A sea without salt,
Because her breakdown has yet fallen short
Of tears.
Perhaps it was the tendency,
The consistency in staring ahead,
In wonder for what remains in future tense.
Or perhaps the tears have not worked their way to her eyes.
Arms wrapped tight around her backside,
A gift wrapped and left behind;
But she has hidden her eyes
From sight.
She is afraid of admiring something which never desired her.
After all, she was only a gift
Which wrapped itself in strings of comfort,
Ribbons torn apart.
Gifts have always meant something to me.
Daa Rajab May 5
It might be said:

I have now reached breaking point
In the yet unbroken glass.
But there remains a fringe,
A hair of cracks close to the edge
Waiting to cross the final fringe.
I am not to wait,
As those who stood in lines for as long as they had spare
As the leaves withered within the howling wind
And the branches swayed with enthusiasm by each passing minute
While I.. I stood there and stared.
Glass is quite fragile.
Daa Rajab Mar 21
It might be said:

Heart trembling,
Aching,
Breaking in the midst of it all.
He lost her
She forgot him,
I stand in the middle, from ear to ear
Listening to twisted voices,
Scratched throats,
And a sea for tears dripping down their eyes
As droplets of water filter down broken drains.
I didn't feel their hearts,
I didn't sense the trembling,
The aching,
The breaking.
I forgot to look in the mirror.
.
Daa Rajab Feb 2019
It might be said:

I momentarily, dutifully ponder
Upon the sensation of pure melancholy,
As the rain pours deep into the vast, wide Earth,
Shattering all it contains in crammed, picturesque wonder.

Rain drops,
As powerful; commanding as bullets.
Apathetically shooting the dreams
I have thought to their fullest.

For I, young, able, and ambitious,
Have been cracked, fractured,
Pounded, with much ammunition
Proudly supplied, and released within rain
Drops.

You see, it is to no surprise that I
Am merely unable to adapt amongst my surroundings.
It is much easier, and efficient to pick
The individual with least mistakes; the least edges to their rounding.

But I must learn to learn,
To love,
To live.
And I know I do not have much to give
To anybody apart, and other than myself…
To supply my personality with accumulating wealth;
Love, care, dignified-dignity;
To be most ambitious, despite my wounds.
You will get there. One day.
Daa Rajab Mar 2019
It might be said:

So I depart,
Without really departing,
For my adherence to the state of removal
Is not well developed.

As arrogant as the next upcoming minister,
I care not about my future,
As of now…
And only now.

My departure, conclusion, resolution,
To this journey many classify as the beginning of life,
Had never felt more diverse than my
Days during the Weekend.

And it is so,
That I have already departed…
And I have not anything to lose…
But where do I go?
She thought she knew her way.
Daa Rajab Jul 24
It might be said:

Stop it. Stop thinking about them.
Stop thinking of them,
Your mind, seamless in its extravagant thoughts,
The images you pictured in your mind
Of what seemed a more desirable situation.
Of them beside you
And you almost,
Almost felt the difference.
Daa Rajab Jul 30
It might be said:

Imagine,
If truly you felt your memories just as slowly as you read them,
Attempting to grasp every meaning, synonymous to the momentary
Happiness you wish lasted a little longer.
But you cannot; they're stuck in a "past", a "before"...
For truly, time is passing.
Daa Rajab Aug 6
It might be said:

They said I was fine
Look at the time,
Not much to refine.
The months had passed
And the winds blew stronger
But so did they.
Not as it seemed,
The hill grew steeper, deeper, darker;
Grasped my ankles and
Pulled me down.
But they said I was fine.
Daa Rajab Jul 2
It might be said:

You make it easy for me to cry,
The translucent drops of water rolling
Down as rain on a thunderous, lonesome night.
It cannot be the same as strolling
Down the path of memory lane.
The rain might flood my sight.
Memory lane is said to be more than a picturesque set of laughter and smiles.
Daa Rajab May 18
It might be said:

I stayed right there
I stood right up and stared,
I let my senses loose
And that became my excuse.
It's short, but defines quite a bit... at least when I read it.
Daa Rajab Jul 5
My heart longs for the memories hanging behind,
It longs for the sights only my insides truly feel.
Far, far away, but truly at my fingertips;
The unity of names attributed to people
Living under the same roof.
Strangers still, at most,
But family at least
And at heart.
It was said that memories allow you to grasp at things that are long gone.
Daa Rajab May 29
It might be said:

Don't let me let you go.
Don't you know that I
Want to hold you tightly?
To grasp the essence of home
And also a painful memory.
Memories can affect a lot of people.
Daa Rajab Jul 15
It might be said:

Call me, announce the syllables
Which consume my only name.
I was named once, but twice.
After one, and again,
But this time, remembered none.
Names mean something.
Daa Rajab Feb 2019
It might be said:

Far, far, far away,
I walked with ridiculous speed,
Leaving no dutiful explanation,
I walked on, astray.
Past what were once rich, azure skies,
And placid, withering tides
I disappeared.
And nobody knows why.

Across the world exist expanses of life,
As there exist expanses of death.
Peering far up to the sky,
I certainly knew this wasn’t a lie,
For I pounded my bony fist into the dense, impenetrable layers of Earth
Awaiting a prodigious parcel
To emerge from its transpiring birth.

So I walked on,
Worried no longer,
Because I was gone, vanished, removed…
Removed from this vastly-dismissive place
Of desolate, darkened skies,
High, tenacious tides
I once called home.

When do I arrive,
Or better so,
When do I stop?
I am a coin of two sides,
And I can never choose one to hide.
I will Appreciate,
Elucidate parts of myself
Like a book which belongs to a shelf
Of life, and growth.
I stop.
She said: "I was no longer able to adapt amongst what I considered my people. So I simply decided to walk away."
Daa Rajab May 30
It might be said:

When there is the genuine sensation
Of tingling insides, wavering breaths
Then know that I have been moved,
Pulled away from my imagination
Because now, I see you.
I do get nervous at times.
Daa Rajab Jul 18
It might be said:

I was told to run away,
To run quicker than my eyes could follow.
Swallow your humility
Since vanity wasn't there.
Follow my own responsibility
Set by their own care,
A share superior to their sympathy.
They did not care as a matter of fact, but thought only a fool could swallow such an attempted persuasion.
Daa Rajab Feb 2019
It might be said:

I pondered upon the beauty of the world,
Dazed by its undoubtable sense of security.
I pondered upon the beauty of people,
And thought it wasn’t all the same.

I felt with my hands,
I saw with my eyes,
I heard with my ears,
And marvelled at the indispensable differences between both dimensions.

Every event passing another with ease,
The chronological sense of time, intellect, efficiency.
But it was all too quick…
Like the history book I never opened
Upon the conclusion of this modern-past.
Of characters who became my enemies
Before I had time to simply wave.

You see, we do not have time
To merely consolidate our decisions,
Prior to the chime
Of all those who despise us.

For the world, its beauty, wisdom and all,
Veiled its commonality with its own people,
Never to conceal its wicked insecurity
Within the life you never expected to live.
A poem I simply wrote late at night; from the midst of my imagination.
Daa Rajab Jun 8
It might be said:

This time I listened
I opened my ears and offered my heart
I watched, stared
I let myself care
About every detail
Every stroke that brushed the page
And felt my eyes sizzle... burn in their sockets.
I was never really part of it. I always watched.
Daa Rajab Aug 3
It might be said:

Seventeen,
The stalemate between her maturity and
Self-convicted foolishness.
Her insides longed for some time
And her resistance was rather limited;
Exposed to the warmth she was transferred,
When it was seldom a
Tendency for her to let go
When they did not wait.
Daa Rajab Mar 27
It might be said:

Today, I watched the azure sky
As the crowd before me dispelled into their places,
Leaving no one in sight.
I pondered on the silence,
Realised how much I'd missed it,
How much I'd resist divulging in the seas of voices,
How much I appreciated the essence of sound.
I know it no more,
I've grown accustomed,
Conditioned
To watch.
The sky looks brighter,
As cotton for clouds hover within patches of clear cobalt.
But it's not the same.
This is a little different.
Daa Rajab Jun 3
It might be said:

The wind lightly taps against my neck
Brushing the hair against my icy skin
Legs planted deep within the blankets of snow
As I search now, and now again.
I stood for quite some time.
Daa Rajab Aug 15
It might be said:

I stared into the sky
Admiring the darkness which seemed to
Last only a moment.
The blazing pods of incandescence embedded deep
Within each star,
Each blazing bead of light.
One shone brighter, larger
And inched closer to me
Then my eyelids fluttered open.
Daa Rajab Jul 19
It might be said:

Today, I woke up with a mind clearer than the sky on a frozen, cold evening;
It did much more for me than the absence of pain and a few murmurs of discomfort.
It promised me the hope for reaching out further, discovering something I never knew.
It promised me the eccentricity of walking alone, although isolated,
But clear, comforting, self-comforting.
So I hoped to maintain it for as long as it stayed.
Daa Rajab Aug 3
It might be said:

The locks of her hair curled grey
As the clouds lurking along the overcast above.
Her legs stretched longer,
Tree trunks lengthening, but this time
With years to come.
She was aged, old, frail,
But yet young.
With the world to see,
To walk,
And live.
But it was one break, one fracture deep within,
Enough to render her disinterest
And detachment.
Daa Rajab May 30
It might be said:

Every time I walked past you
I saw a blur of emptiness near
The clear space I dared not glance to,
Since the emptiness filled my heart
With nerves, exhaust and a tear.
Walking past someone particular could change the way you feel for just a second.
Daa Rajab Feb 2019
It might be said:

Tumbling down my treacherous, traitorous tower,
Of hope I thought was the greatest petal of my flower.
Reflecting, refracting,
Revisioning my thoughts
For the hour of my death was a second from naught.

The flower of petals,
Of dazzling, daunting life,
Of elegant, empathetic love…
I never realised all of such would be tough
To truly clench,
Feel,
Hold in my eyes,
When every other petal was crowded with lies
Which confidently smiled and smirked in my face,
Convinced me,
To irrevocably love this life with haste,
To grin at the tower, smoothened with glace.

The flower of formidable life,
Of practical love,
Of transposing colour.
Vibrancy spread by its central, salient stigma.
Of secrets,
Confessions of my imperfection,
My disinterest in life,
In simulated lovers,
In sensual, plastic, flexible hardcovers.

And so I glanced at
The departing turret,
The surreal, realistic, reality of life,
Of people who live,
But do not really live,
For the petal which fell,
Decided never decide to give
Its distinctive love to anybody other
Than the traitorous hand which pulled,
Tore, and Crushed its heart,
And left it to stumble upon its death.

Naught.
He once asked me, "What is love?"
It might be said:

That is why they do not like me;
I do not speak much,
And when I do, my voice protrudes
Beyond their desire.
I do not speak of myself,
But if I were to do so, they
Would assume I relish the epiphany of egotism.
...
It might be said:

Please tell me why you are angry?
Your voice has tightened
And your cheeks are scarlet.
My head hangs lower than
My sinking heart can handle,
And the tears are not so easy to hold back;
You are angry, and you have no one else to blame,
But me.
...
Daa Rajab Jul 16
It might be said:

Think and think,
Allow the thoughts to run faster
Than the logic you found no time to link.
It wasn’t the logic itself,
But the ideas being clustered...
Closer, and closer than you really think.
Think outside the box...
Daa Rajab May 2019
It might be said:

Have you ever caressed the pure sensation
Of utter hate?
The broiling, boiling, baffling faze
Of anger, threaded within the gnashing, fierce teeth…
Face, red as roses in the midst of incoming spring
Season. Yes, I have felt the sensation of hate.

I have not hated enough to delve in it,
Despite my strong incentive to be frowned upon
Along the gnashing teeth for knives,
And inflamed cheeks for rose thorns,
For indeed, I am hated,
And I will never, contest these… genuine facts.

You see, I would much rather view such
Innocuous faces before my eyes and sentimental wellbeing,
Contrary to false love,
The curls accumulated by lips as raspy smiles are formed,
Whilst cheeks glow lilac as condescending complements reform-
Yes, I’d much rather be truly hated than falsely loved.

For true hate divulges truth,
And false love instigates falsehood;
Thus my general wellbeing removes all images of
Artificial gush, for all one could  
Unapologetically attempt in consolidation of personal self,
Is ultimately demolished by myth, and nothing else.
Hate is a short word of deep expression.
Daa Rajab Aug 6
It might be said:

Those who have wronged,
Stood wrong,
Did wrong.
Acknowledge your moment
Of confusion which
Interlopes your sense of pride;
For truly,
The sky is not always blue.

— The End —