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habiba May 2018
The window is open and the wind is cold,
As I lay in my bed feigning sleep, I feel old
The hollowness in my bones speak of stories untold
There will be few memories that my ***** today will hold
I perceive this from the lack of enthusiasm with which I greet the day.
All the actions and reactions that will, with it, fall into decay.

I harbour no remorse for the want of warmth in my stare
And I feel that those who ask it of me shouldn't really dare.
It is not for me to judge the tides of such stirrings
I fear I am not experienced in these whirrings.
I fall short when it comes to simple joys, but to the brim in human ploys.
I am like the moon when she is round and full,
Making you rise up like the waves, gasping at the pull.

I don my hat of deadened emotions,
Human suffering I wear like a fur coat, thick and long
The plight of mankind I observe like ten thousand devotions,
Until the distorted essence of us stops seeming so...wrong.
Because I am more attuned to the dark,
To the quiet whimpers of children taken from the park.

The individual's darkness tears at my conscience
His malignant blackness a disease in his heart
Tell me where do the soft go?
Whose untainted innocence is not abused roughly so?
Whose kindness is not swallowed up by an unwholesome whole?
And the taste of life is not more bitter than sweet?
For I would wish for an otherness escape if it were not so.

The eternity of time when it was still young, and the solitude of the dark when it was empty.
The hardness of diamonds before the fire, and the fluidity of water before the frost.
The immeasurable pillars holding up the sky, and the animation of the body before its death,
And the soul that is tasked to carry all these along and hold up its head.
Beginnings, reflections, darkness, struggles
habiba Sep 2018
Between the edges of my frame, all is bare for you to see,

The inside of me is forced to abide your scrutiny,

I cannot close my legs, I've lost control of this part of me,

There is judgement in your stare, but I am not outside looking in

It is a shame that you carry opinions when all I feel is one word,

And you all would know it but for the glass wall in front of me.

And the stone wall behind.

Listen to her voice, from the depths of her darkness,

Where all things will lie, in the everlasting fastness,

The intangible whirling that crosses her back,

The soft coolness that penetrates it and soon goes back,

On top of which all things come to her for their nap,

For when awake all they do is take from her womb,

It is their tomb, it will also be their doom.

Your blood flows warm inside you but you feel the ice under your skin,

You know the feel of her skin, thus recognition shouldn't perhaps wear thin,

Why do you assume intelligence, takes the form of the loud spoken?

We are not even remotely beholden.

You sound like a braying ***,

I really should not give you a pass

The human condition;

Let me give you my fear, this is how I care for you.

habiba May 2018
It began with absence,
It began with desire,
And all the things in between you could not acquire,

The eves of the trees were slick with dew,
Drops of water all over the leaves, spewed
My heart was young, light, propitious,
Everything around me kind, bright, almost ridiculous,
Perhaps then was when you surmised,
That I would prove an absolute delight

Did you wonder if it would be easy?
I feel like I was supposed to act ******
The veins you clogged and the bones you broke,
The fingers you bent and the heels that just won't
The hair that was shaven as it grew unheeded,
My nails were pulled, they were not needed.

Cast down all the hangings that I put on the wall,
Take a scythe to them as I watch, in thrall
I fell to my knees and you helped me to the ditch,
Disposed to push me in as they swang the pots out and hitched

Scrubbing as I reeled, I could not get clean
The filth was everywhere, I found it hard to deal.
In a state of numbness, I found some balance
So now I'm clinging to this graceful frame of nonchalance,

Pray not leave with distaste,
In your abiding, unreasonable hate,
You crash about furniture as you do,
And I no longer care to clean up after you.
habiba May 2018
In such hopes as dreams long,
In such waters as swim the fish

In woods that animals roam
In caves where bears list

Do you flock the rivers in time?
And all the harvests that would thrive?

Desires locked in the dim recesses of your mind?

Walk the roads, but leave the droves
Live the day, eat the hay!

Then feast your mind and think in the night.

Are they challenges, or do you see them as redress,
Why is it that new attitudes give thee stress?
Perception management is key.
As you might assess the air that comes into your nose, do not only breathe.
There are many matters in the air around us. Remember that, but we do not see.

To go through the paces, rediscover what you know
To walk barefoot in cold waters, risk the ***** that makes you bow.
habiba Feb 2019
A bright dot within the grey background of low slung houses

She kicks up no gravel as she walks

The silence of a graveyard but with homes

White cars in front like grave stones

Thoughts are the wind on desert land,

Empty and idle versus gaunt and bare

Rubbing against each other; friction, no heat.

Outside this desolation footsteps echo,

Their rhythm reminding her of the ghetto,

The fear turns you watchful as the gecko,

Breath rushes out, see the little heart beat

Dust from the gravel clogs her nose.

She feels the shadow rushing,

It clamps from the back (there was no shushing),

Her hand in a grip nearly crushing,

Stale breath in her ear, a chokehold on her neck as they were struggling

A sting in her eyes she wasn't disposed to crying,

But as she felt the shadow grab hold she stopped pushing,

Knew he had won as sure as the gravel on which she was standing,

False entitlement we shall not allow,

So he took the bill upon which she'd been avowed,

Mother preferred she'd vanished along with that legal tender,

Yes, you can never trust these nine-year-old suspect spenders.
childhood memories, urbantheft, suburblife
habiba May 2018
Whence come ye, so wild and so fleet,
For sandals of lightning are on your feet,
And your wings are soft and swift as thought,
And your eyes are as love which is veiled not.

We come from the mind,
Of humankind,
Which was late, so dusk and obscene and blind.
Now, 'tis an ocean,
Of clear emotion
A heaven of serene and mighty emotion

From the dim recesses,
Of woven caresses,
Where lovers catch ye by your loose tresses,
From azure isles,
Where sweet wisdom smiles,
Delaying your ships with their siren smiles.

We waded and flew
And the islets were few
Where the bud-blighted flowers of happiness grew,

Our spoil is won
Our task is done,
We are free to dive, or soar, or run,
Beyond and around,
Or within the bound,
Which clips the world with darkness around

The joy, the triumph, the delight, the madness,
The boundless, overflowing, bursting gladness,
The vaporous exultation not to be confined,
Ha! Ha! the animation of delight.
Which wraps me like an atmosphere of light
And bears me as a cloud is borne by its own wind

As the dissolving warmth of dawn may fold,
A half-unfrozen dew-globe, green and gold
And crystalline, till it becomes a winged mist,
And wanders up the vault of the blue day,
Outlives the noon, and on the sun's last ray,
Hangs over the sea, a fleece of fire and amethyst
habiba Feb 2019
I see it as from outside a window,
Myself walking fast, head bowed,
Life happening all around me without sound,
Distanced even then, not sure I know why
The paces of development grow hazy around that line.

My heart was soft,
My head curiously empty,
A balloon floating along,
Not certain where she might belong

It was the best of times,
I still go there in my head,

I don't remember the feel of the wind on my face,
But the feel of the wood I sat on in my classroom
The urgency every time the bell rang for lunch hour,
The acrid taste of isolation when I hadn't enough for the tack room

It was the best of times,
I still go there is my head,

My friend had a bag of coin in the desk nearby,
I saw her put it there and,
I took it, I don't know why,
They found me out, hung me dry,
From then on I tried not to pry,
Kids really know how to crucify.

It was the best of times,
I still go there in my head.

When my child's eye was pure,
Boys hard-wearing, still demure,
I used to think I would never be self-assured,
I'm still not,
Confrontation ties my insides in a knot,

But I live for those days,
When Saturday mornings meant cartoons,
Followed by hilariously misguided cooking attempts at noon,
That would get you later whooped past sense
All your friends watching from the fence.

It was the best of times,
I still go there in my head.
habiba Mar 31
Turn your head,
Fist your hand,
Forget the bed,
Make a stand,

Tis your play,
Stop, you'll slay,
Resist the urge,
To break away

You have naught to lose,
You know you'll bruise,
I urge you still
To make a move,

Deep breaths,
Steady steps,
Jaw, set,
How you want to be met,

Grind your gears,
Prepare to steer,
You are far more,
Than all your fears,

You were born for this,
A sum of all that Is,
A tiny little spark,
That tears the world apart
habiba May 2018
Do you live in a race, or must you race to live?
Do you enjoy your waters, or are you a pet fish?
If we sprang forth from the earth and grew unheeded,
Uncurbed, but never needed,
Would we have been better at living?

Is it better to have it done, or should you do it yourself,
At what point do you enjoy your fantasies, better than not being able to see?
Should the life of mankind be inevitable?
Maybe it already is. Maybe all this is a distraction

But again, the struggle, as they say, is real
Living is fighting, the wars, the battles, are not surreal.
For in every human being, there is something you conceal.
If we are atoms that science seeks to break down,
As like the seconds, minutes, hours are meant just for us.
And bigger things observe it as such.

Not to be mistaken for the snow globe scenario,
But instead likened to the trillion or so cells, that are observed,
in the human being.
habiba Jul 2018
In a coming storm, there is little in the way of shelter,

In an angry sea, there is little to hold on to,

In the middle of an accident, nearly all will pelter

On a raging horse, do you know what to do?

The daunting expanse of unconquered land wants to make a fool out of you.

Do we then come together to see one another through?

Wrap me inside the carpet and roll me near the fire for I am cold,

The task requires that I shun warm comfort in favour of the cold unknown,

My bones rattle incessantly at the thought,

Whence hideth ye, my religious swathe?

It is a new cup that shakes in my hand in a froth

I am beset in my own skin, utterly fraught.

Laugh at the vicissitudes of life!

Muse at how the ingeniouses are rife

I know that you inveigh against it every once in a while,

With great gusto and all of it in a pile.

Woe betide she who looks at it with stars in her eyes

The floor is not solid and the walls are not thick, walk as if everyone lies.
optimism, life, stars, eyes
habiba May 2018
Divine for me, if you please, how I have ye, and you do not speak?
Have I crossed a line, that thine correspondence is bleak?
Have you put upon me a girdle, that our interaction be limited to only what you would need from me?

You sit there in your cocoon,
I do not know that you brood,
I imagine you must have some preoccupation that is veiled from me.
Whence come they?
That you would not let me see?
I long for you to become with me
For I sit alone unhinged from thee.

Can we talk, you and I?
Be unleashed, you and I?
Melded, unrestricted you and I?

Open for me, this seclusion chafes.
habiba Mar 2019
The Wisdom of the slave Philosopher;
It's not that you don't want it,
It's that you don't need it.
You shall carry no burden.
Watch them fall.
habiba Feb 2019
I am that which must always overcome itself.
Every morning I will wake up and tear down what I've built.
habiba May 2018
Whistling, wandering in the twilight
Closed, forbidden, straining for pure light,
Longing for flight

Dreams that haunt,
Making the present oblong,

Give me flight, give me reign, give me freedom,
but oh so grave,
Equal parts fear, equal parts need,
Strange this devouring new greed.
habiba Jun 2018
I know of a fire,
I know of a life
I know of a stirring, flooded through with light
I know of a weapon forged beyond question of might
I know of a will irrevocable with the stillness of MidNight

I know of the roots in the forests without trees
Webs that span the wide wetness of empty seas
I know of desires that are built on expected fears
And the cruel joys that then bring a person to tears
Those wretched happenstances that cannot be seen by seers

It is a simple life with a complicated weaving
A small cup with bitterness teeming
It is an odd duck of beautiful feathers shimmering
The laughter shows sharp teeth and you can just imagine that bite
A glaring light the truth of which we can only just perceive, but from which, alas, we may not hide.

But let me choose to set aside the eerie,
For my purpose was not to sound so dreary,
So said I that life is a Gemini feed,
It finds me unable to quite resist the switch

I spoke of fire undying, fire eternal was given to me.
I spoke of light undimmed, the sun was bequeathed to me.
I wanted to tread the halls of Olympus, the earth was created for me.
That I should never want for aught, take the very beat of mine heart for the flow of your blood.
For the thoughts that are my planets revolve around the mind of your sun.

But now all my thoughts are centred on you,
Ask me for the moon
Don't leave so soon

I know that fire, that life, that weapon,
I got them all from you.

There are no paths I wouldn't walk for you
S.R and  B.M

— The End —