And the flowers  they bloom
So soon, and I'm here
I tune in, zoom
With my lens
My iris, light bends
Camera flares
I breathe in
And notice air
Trees branch out
Eliminating doubts
Like carbon dioxide
I breathe in synchronised
With the oxygen in my mind
Expanding in my life
With my wife
And the worlds
Revolving,
Holding me with the gravity,
With visions of green,
In a beautiful dream
Of birds and bees
And the world passing by
A precious land
Demands
To be be appreciated
Before the grass is faded
The luscious leaves fall down, emancipated

Dear God
Please save my soul
As I bow down
In the Mosque
And my body is cold
and I daven in the Synagogue
I secretly hope you're keeping a log

I need a guardian angel
To tell me that it'll be okay
I need to feel more stable
I hope I'll live another day

And I refrain from pork
Or Ursury
None on my fork
You're abusing me
With no response
I listen but I don't hear your song
I've stopped listening to music
The radio's not on

Pray 5 times
And then I pray three times
Bismillah before I eat
I thank you before my seat

I'll find you when I hear the chant
I'll be emancipated from the devil's hands
I'll hear your call as I feel the Adhan
Forgive me I am only a man

I ask the Imam for spiritual guidance
I meet the Rabbi but only silence
I seek but I don't think I'll find it
I only ask for your sacred kindness

In the water I wash my feet
I wash my face to purify
I fall down onto my knees
I think that I have truly died

Show me your presence
Show me your face
Show me your heaven
Show me the way
I wish you could hear me
And the words that I say

Amen

I will never be good enough for you
And I don't need to
I'm like Picasso abused
Like a genius misunderstood
And thrown away in a garbage can
Your trash is my treasure

But I'm better that
I'm more than you think
You raised your concerns
About me, your insecurities,
Projected onto me
I will never be what you desire
I will never become what you are
I am my own, I am my self
A very product of my own creation
Brought into existence by the big bang of my first breath
And sustained by the air of my world
Continuing because of me

I hear the words I need to and the rest is *******
I walk the road I paved it all on my own
Its me, why would I ever adhere to be what you think I am
I am nothing of what you percieve
You do not know me
You have an alien in your mind that You think is me
I'm am not what you think because it
Makes it easy for you to control
By believing this image
You projected
Its not me
It is never me

No you cannot take that away from me
My identity belongs in my hands and my mind
My history that I write
On these scribbled pages
These papers, in my book
I made me
It is a beautiful masterpiece that many have applauded

You are not an artisan
You are not the greatest
You know nothing of what it means to suffer as an artist

I am the perfect living thing,
The being of poetic prowess,
The writer of spectular stories,
I am the musician of intrigue,
I am the philosopher of ages,
I am underrated
You are so overrated
You are nothing
You have painted the illusion of your own ego
Forcefed me these lies until I believed them
No!
Not now, not anymore
I am my maker.
I am God.
I know myself

And you do not see me for who I really am
You see what your eyes want you to see
And its a farce, its a joke,
I have done things you could never dream of doing
My whole life is an achievement
That needs to be analysed by world class historian
And journalists and film makers will make documentaries about me
Trust me, you think I am weak
But I am so strong
Stronger than you could ever imsgine

I can move mountains, and break boulders, and pour rain from clouds, I can spread the sun out in the sky

You will never destroy me
With your paranoia
Your crucifix
I'll take it down
Throw it away
In the rubble of dirt
Buried beneath the ground
You are the idol I worshipped that punished me

No longer
I will stand on my two feet
As I always have
As I always will
You can laugh at Gloria Gaynor
Like yiu laugh at everything with your cynical drawl
But she was right
I will survive
I will make it the top

I will not let these projections become me,
They are yours.
Push them through the window
And bounce them off the walls
They are not mine, your thoughts do not belong to me
Get away from me
I've surpassed your monstruous ideology.
You are the foreigner stealing my thoughts
I run, I stand, I climb.
I exist.
I move forward.
I am better than this.

We placed you on a pedestal
So high up
And you fell,
We bowed at your feet
And crucified your soul.

You were running wild
In dreams of our youth,
You stood in the mirror
Where we threw our pain

Of paranoid projections
And hatred directed towards you.
The world's own scapegoat to its ****** up problems.
We destroyed your face
On the silver screen.

In a consumption society,
In our capitalist marketplace,
Where we bled your extracted tears
And murdered you on the stage.

This is who we are,
Just a pack of violent wolves

Cannibals.

We killed you.
Forcefed you, for foie gras
And milked you, for caviar
Our sacrifice,
An effigy
Made you a martyr
For your love.

Oh we loved once,
You were there,
I gave you myself
And you dissappeared
Off in the mountains of Spain.
I'm lying here,
Writing lyrics on my computer,
Singing about your apathy
And my heartbreak.
I reminisce nostalgically of the pressure of your lips,
That burning friction that aroused my desire,
Infatuated love.
Red turns blue,
Fire washed by rain,
Water mixed with tears,
River flowing endlessly
I'm a trout, going against the current.
Reaching for that dry place,
The fire flame.
It'll dry me out but I seek closure,
I seek to find the burning embers
In the cavern.
I know cavemen lurk within and will spear me,
But maybe, from death is rebirth.
From rebirth is debt,
From debt attatchment,
And I'll find that love,
That resurrected unsevered love that crosses
Multiple universes and lives.

The perfectionist loves to hear his voice,
He is the respected critic inside,
He is the learned one,
The educated and the educator.
A beautiful constructor,
The finishing touch
To the artist's hand.
The voice is always a partner,
He will always be there to help
The artist, comfort is taken in his ability.

The artist needn't forget,
There are many voices on the side,
Awaiting for their time to speak,
Each one has its time,
All varying in their patience and duration.
The artist sees what he hasn't before:
The voice of support; the voice of love; the voice of decision; and the voice of passion.
There is always time to contemplate his flaws
And he wants to reassure himself:
Perfection is not a demand, but a quest,
One of beauty and one of joy.
Perfection is the beauty in imperfection.
The pursuit of achievement is one to relish, it is not to be rushed or
Ceased, it is a running walk, a walking run, a sitting stand, a moving still.
It is every step he has made.
The artist looks behind and sees
His effort, he is proud to have experienced
His triumphs and his trauma
The voice of comfort will be there all the way,
She is a gentle quieter spirit that deserves as much an ear.
When all voices have calmed and subsided,
Her tenderness remains.

I remind the artist of his friends,
I remind him that the critical voice is the voice of nature,
The physical laws unchanged.
He is the driving force to stasis and movement in the age worry and indecision.

"Do not be overwhelmed" I say to the artist,
You are one of many.
You are with friends.
The voice of change encourages the artist to evolve and to smile,
The voice of happiness allows peaceful living and awareness.
The tiger belongs to nature,
not to be feared, but to be respected
and understood.

Do not despair, do not relinquish hope,
Hope is the shining beacon in a world of anguish.
Hope is the angel shining her torch ever so bright.
Hope is the window that allows pain and suffering to see the light of day ,
Hope allows oneness.

The artist moves his brush: an effortless stroke,
A flicker of joy,
A tear in his eye.
He once was old,
Now is young.
He learns to enjoy
The work he has done,
He can now enjoy the work he does,
He is enjoying the work he is doing.
He enjoys his life.

The state of mind, it is a fickle hatchling.
Able to be pursued and persuaded,
also able to be liberated.
The artist is free,
His thoughts can pass,
His fear will subside,
His body can move,
His heart will follow
And the mind will allow.
Spirit be set free,
Bird do fly,
Artist do paint,
You,
You are.

Peace within oneself is peace with others.

The artist is brave, he is a soul that stands tall in the face of adversity,
He is a sleepless enigma in his room at night,
He is the passionate one,
The artist and his love affair with the critic outshines his charisma,
The love for the sophisticated darkness,
His love for the melodrama,
His quest for knowledge,
Perhaps the only knowledge is
Ignorance.
Blissful unawareness.

You've held the trophy for so long,
Now is time to let it go.
Time stands still, no need to run.
You may walk, enjoy the sun.
Allow the rhythm to persuade you,
Allow the air to inhale you,
Let nature have her way with you.

The breeze of the trees beckons the bearer,
May he also bear these organic buildings?
He cannot without sacrifice, without compromise,
He has forgotten his torch was from the tree of life.

Life is as eternal as death,
Romanticising one to diminish the other,
Through a silly parade, a wondrous charade,
He remembers he is alive, mortality is  a beautiful thing,
Mortality,
Also a word.

One cannot run,
Nor rationalise.
Words: ailments;
Hindrances to the body.
Words are fuel,
Food for minds.
Craniums Process,
Converting Signals.

He gives silence to respect himself,
He gives his heart to the woods,
For his physique will reside here,
Once borrowed time is complete.

Silence in respect.