you chose!
it was your choice all along,
and I accept it!
as an arrow through this thick
skull of mine,
I accept it!
as the soul I never asked for
but I got,
I accept it!
as the talks I do not like–
as the words I speak, but do not write,
I accept it!
as the poem, as poetry I detest
but I do it nevertheless,
I accept it!
as this pain that comes and goes
and feeds on me, feeds me,
I accept it!
as the silence I enjoy–
as the words I do not speak, but write,
I accept it!
as the people I love,
but I do not like,
I accept it!
as the form that my form takes
when I am lost,
I accept it!
as the joy I feel when
when I am immersed in beauty,
I accept it!

…and, I accept!
everything you chose
or might choose to do,
since the moment I decided
that you were worthy!
since my inner self said,
“I accept you!”

but we’re boring.
there’s nothing interesting happening outside of what this flesh hides.
nothing!
words that come outside are plain
truths closer to lies
movements static
and our beliefs,
nothing more that dreams that change as soon as we fall asleep.

world flat
decisions corrupt
feelings fleeting
and nights– nights.

what comes comes and what leaves leaves
as we witness the world get molded by people who wear suits.
eyes open wide, we stare from old wide-open windows
and give reason to everything– even where it lacks.

we’re boring.

humans are beings of love, but love we cannot.
we just pretend,
striving for what others have but we can’t have that.
we can just get drunk, drugged,
on ideas of beauty, love, on ideas of what ideas lack
and then fall asleep.
happy at times and sad at times and broken at times and confused at times and craving too much and wanting to much and feeling too much– only to find out that we are just as others are.

we were born for this, just like everyone, but changed along the way;
outside of things where things happen, outside of places where people meet, outside of the stares that look at you as though you can give them something,
we found our truth; lame as it may be.
everything will happen as it should, everything must happen as it should, everything should happen as it should…

we see others cry for things, and we cry too. different reasons, same tears.
tearing through what we know, searching something we don’t seek….
we were made into here, we became what we feel.

boring, the definition itself,
boring, as boring as someone might get.
why would anyone stay?
when we, ourselves, would have definitely left.

I was buried in nostalgia today.
shrouded by the glimmering lights
walking along side you,
you said,
"Heyyy, this is not in your memory,
it is happening now,
all this is true!"

and I wished you would have picked different words;
cause you said the same ones
in my memory of you.

Oh, but without fear how can the man know?
This frail little creature made of skin and bones
Who sees what he sees and believes– only what they show!
How can, without being stepped upon, rise!
How can he learn to move without wanting to know?
How? -How can he cease to sit on his buttocks
If he is not afraid of what future to him will show?
How? -How can he forget what he was supposed to know
If he is not afraid!(and in fear wake up, and move on.)
Without fear, how can he– change the course of this rock?
If he is not afraid, how can he fulfill the duty
That as a man, he took on his back, to carry it on!
How? – How can a man who has never been scared of anything,
Who knows no fear– ever change; How can he ever get strong?
How can he fight against the tides of fate
That clash against his body, daily, against his soul!
How can such a man, such a weak man, move one!
If his soul is unafraid; If his heart wont tremble;
If his blood hasn’t touched his soul, from fear,
How can he say that he lived?
This poor little creature, from life, what can he show?

If I could only
move-
among the crowds
unnoticed;
Among the sounds
unheard;
Among the hate
unturned
and among the fire,
unburnt!

If I could only-
breath,
with no lungs in my chest;
If I could-
see the light
with no sight left;
If I could-
speak with my chords cut,
and when there’s no more
smiles around
if I could smile,
to show who am I!

When asked to kneel
if I could stand straight;
When asked to march
If I could break my legs;
When asked to speak
if I could forget the thoughts
they put in my head,
then I guess,
I would become a man!

A man,
that lives by itself,
that speaks for himself,
that cries and dies
only for himself!
Only for him, and no one else!
And that, my friends,
would be an easy life–
I think; I guess!

My friend,
when I get old…
If, I have the privilege
to get old
I would like to meet you.
On a Sunday morning
in the cobbled streets
of Prizren,
or, at the cafeteria
in front of the mosque,
I would like to meet you!
And I would love
for you to say to me,
“Hi there, old friend,
how have you been?”
Even if my memory betrays me
and I forget
who you have been;
Even if I’m lost
in that vague space
of my empty mind;
I would love,
for you to stop me
and ask,
“Hi there, old friend…
How have you been?”

The prideful man cries
when his pride is unmet,
and when his mirror breaks
his existence is in threat!

The prideful man weeps
when his deeds are in vain
and he never kneels;
Unless his price is paid!

The prideful man stares
deep into the crowd,
only to be stared back
he wastes his whole life.

The prideful man kills
so his place is safe,
just to be in the center
he kills what he craves!

The prideful man begs
for a chance to be seen,
and when he his alone
he weeps, and he weeps!

And he dies!
When his words–
when his carefully sewed words,
fail to capture minds.