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 Sep 2016 Jana Chehab
Allan Frei
I stumbled into you
Then we stumbled home
Now my living room is scented autumn
And there's beauty in the decay of a sweet memory
Just down the road of stairs was a flower on my couch

Let's hangout this weekend
We can garden in moonlight

Your vibes pull my heartstrings
And I'm flooded with the new song you play
I'm lost to replay it and have you hear
What a harmonious melody our notes produce

*Stay longer than my denials.
 Jul 2016 Jana Chehab
Erenn
Kingdom
 Jul 2016 Jana Chehab
Erenn
She's deluded to see what's within.
The lies she mirrored to what she believed.
Truth conceit in ways to bleed,
The fire that ignites the dark that breathes.
Moulded for greatness, to honour the heir to the throne.
But the kingdom has been long gone and doomed.
She hummed the lullaby that father said will never die,
"As long you keep humming in the darkest of nights,
Hope will light and brazen through"
Her eyes mimics emerald stones that bejewelled men that gazed.
They faze only to feast their heart's content
"Greed and power will only consume deranged men"
Her amity will shine through.
Refracting rays of hope to those in need
Rooted to her veins, her mettle heart
Will protect her through any storm.
The evil that lurks from within will perish.
**Once again,
She will triumph through
The kingdom will once again rise to greatness
And relinquish every darkness that resides
Its been a long a time:) HI guys:)
 Jul 2016 Jana Chehab
DSD
Incomplete
 Jul 2016 Jana Chehab
DSD
Is it all the way downhill from here?
Will there ever be a climb;
A challenge that would be fair?
A struggle worth my time.

Did I miss a path that diverged in the woods?
That could have made all the difference?
Or did they pull it over my eyes, the hood
That blinded my sight, steering clear of all the hindrance.

They herded me past those forks
The ride was convenient, all luxury it seemed.
.
.
.
(incomplete)
This is a poem that I began writing in 2010. Over the years I've tried to finish it. Now I've realized that finishing this will not only be difficult but also a self-deception. Because no-more am I the person that I used to be.
 Jul 2016 Jana Chehab
DSD
(I)
Her hour upon the stage,
She struts and frets.
Applause, admiration
Behind a mask to reflect.

In moments of true emotion,
Behind closed doors,
The mask would slip off
And shatter on the floor.

(II)
As years went by
And her heart withered,
She’d rather keep the mask on.
Revealing her true-self she feared

So secure behind the guise
So full of her-assumed-self.
She diffused into the mask
And the mask into herself.

(III)
Two eyes in the crowd
Shone apart from the rest.
They were there for the she,
She had always neglect.

While the crowds cheered on,
In those eyes at her affixed,
For a few flickering seconds
Her true self she glimpsed.

By the mirror she stood.
Hand clasped to her face,
In futile agony,
This mask to efface.

(IV)
“A mask may be adamant.
It may cover the face whole
But it can never drape
Those windows to the soul.”

“It will be difficult to search
The true-self long concealed.
Let these drape-less windows
The path reveal.”

“Look deep in mine eyes,” said he.
 Jul 2016 Jana Chehab
DSD
Heart
 Jul 2016 Jana Chehab
DSD
I sit here staring at this blank page,
Gathering my thoughts
Like drawing motionless water droplets together
On a glass pane until they flow as a single stream.
In the silence ensured by my noise cancelling headphones
I hear my heart manifest the thrill of a novel idea.
And I wonder why I avoid the word ‘heart’ in my poetry.
To me it is an ***** too base in its functions
To be declared the seat of emotions profound.
I may depose it from the seat of the feelings,
But not as an executor of their will.
For the effect is always more certain
Unless I want to lose myself in
The infinite regression to
The original
cause.
 Jul 2016 Jana Chehab
DSD
Like all other cities in the clouds
this one is often wet and always loud.

Its air heavy with the sweat of labour
and light with the soothing lunar caress.

Its bricks, the stuff of dreams,
raised by giants, manifested in concrete.

Its people the dreamers.
There shoulders drenched in hope

Walk with weeping umbrellas to the sky
in painful black soles...

...Past snow globe dreamlands
of nebular realms and rainbow twilights

Shielded in walls of nothingness thick
to keep the fantasies in and the phantoms out.

And she prances on the grey greasy pavement
blowing bubbles of soap that brave the rain.

Her chin - the sun.
Her breath - the monsoon winds.
Her curls - the streams in the woods.
Her forehead - the promised land to each raindrop.
And her soul - the bliss that lies in the space between worlds.
 Jan 2016 Jana Chehab
r
Pauses
 Jan 2016 Jana Chehab
r
Last night I read your poem
in bed instead of writing
like I'd said I would.  I
had to start over twice
because my eyes aren't
as good as my heart
when it comes to stopping
and starting at pauses
heavy with losses.  Lost
causes and me seem to be
your specialties. Especially me.
~~~

sometimes right and wrong,
good and bad,
are accurate single summaries of
the momentary episodes,
the essays,
that constitute the whole human voyage
to parts unknowable

there are but a handful of persons
who might fit the lightness
of your loveliest of theories

but how could you know
that long ago,
one declared independence from the
oppression of personal dependencies,
from either
admissible fear,
more than,
admirable courage

and yet,
those few,
those so very precious few,
a band, a squad, a fireteam
of successful piercers of
the bark of an ever scaling armor,
are warmth welcomed and comforted
within my hearts hearth,
under the protection
of my soul's furnace,
for welcoming flawed me,
fully,
without reservation

Nowadays,
I write mostly for
the lost children,
the lost loves,
the long agos of long ago,
those whose caring and loss,
scars and medals
somehow
were adjudged,
deemed too costly,
for everyday wearing

and for
those mates,
whose caring and the sharing
of their losses,
demands memorization, savoring,
writing down,
proofs of open boundaries

for me,
in the losing, is the saving,
in the poems that honor recall,

therein, thereof, and
thereby,
gaining
for our lives,
a modest, husbanded,
allowance,
a fund mutual,
of caring,
hard earned
and keeping us alive


~~~


October 26, 2015
8:48 AM
NYC
Fooling clouds cross my view
passing hurts and pleasures,
blue on white on white on blue.
'till black has broken through.

I dreamt that it
finally died last night,
that it was truly over.

Waves of guilt and fear
to carry me away.
Until I could no longer see
that place I started from
and I no longer knew
the place I was headed to.

Now, I gather stones
for the tomb,
while with wilful eyes
study my peers.
Lips pursed tight...
they have closed their hearts,
closed up tight to my falling tears.

Yes, it is I,
it is me I cry,
feeling condemned
by the unspoken lie.
A lie to weigh heavy
on my bent back body.

Heavy as the Christ's cross,
responsible for all souls lost.

Then I stumble and I fall,
as I carry my burden upward
to Golgotha of the Skull.

If to think is to act
then burning after the crash,
the fire's orange glow
brings forth the desire to let go.

Letting go,
why does it have to be so
hard     to come by.
Leaving me to feel
so    hard    done   by.

A selfish act,
done not from class,
no more from strength
than from some weakness.

An action out of chaos
in the absence of bliss.

The Shadowland,
where grief clings
to my name
and to their person.
Asking of today
to stride with a limp,
and of yesterday
to crawl and beg.

Forgiveness
would be the task at hand.

A ticket for
some far and
distant shore,
safe passage away
from Shadowland.

Bent, but unbroken,
while the pain of its death runs deep.

Not until
hatred is spent
and words of kindness
are spoken,
will forgiveness  be complete.

Only one way to forgive,
that would be completely.
Only one way to live,
that would be completely.

Anything else
misses the mark,
comes from the head
and not from the heart.

And so, it remains
that for me to be free,
I cross the threshold of forgiveness
standing ready to turn the key.
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