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Mona Sep 2015
On the edge of the balcony,
The world teaches my head to rotate,
My spine surrenders its balance,
My hopeless body waits.

Fed up with human-crafted idealism,
Along with all human functions,
I bottle up all emotions,
And set this dim night to action.

The volt is raised,
The time, a haze,
The night, a home,
The cold, so warm.

The picture is now ruined,
Each shred its own standalone story,
All I feel is coursing adrenaline,
As I dig a deep hole to bury all my glory.

Standing in line with hollow light bulbs,
I wait like an addict for the dose,
Every last memory not convincing enough,
As the switch is finally being closed.

The volt is raised,
The time, a haze,
The night, a home,
The cold, so warm

And the metaphor become reality,
As I become addicted to the echoes,
The world shut out like an outage,
So the only thing alive is my voice.

Speed limits, all but a dream,
No remorse nor guilt to hit the breaks,
I'm alone with no ties,
Don't believe in friends or family's sakes.

I find more and more like me,
Vanity and selfishness put in a mixer,
Dim mutant stars living an eternity,
With only thirsty desires to be watered.

Birth date and place, the advocate night,
It spreads its arms till we prevail,
Humanity switch is now a temptation,
To more animals with 4 limbs and tails.

Now that scene on the balcony,
Such a long walk from there,
Comparing that volcano,
To this new software.

I am now a blank canvas,
With no pressure to spill colors,
I just exist to be,
Haven't got a nerve to suffer.

I see them pure people in my memories,
Now drinking the virulent night,
Two worlds being carbon-copied,
Death suits being worn alive.

The smoke colors the universe,
A place no longer suitable for life,
Who would abide to the rules?
When we've all lost humanity signs.

Hearts, now glazed,
Time, no longer a grace,
The cold, a curse,
A search for another earth.
Mona Jul 2015
A band of thoughts are attempting suicide at the periphery of my mind,
I'm just a wastebasket hiding behind pile after pile,
A fertile land for damaged possibilities and short-lived dreams,
A rainfall of time but at my alter the minutes just freeze.

A choice to end my head out of its inevitable misery,
Sell my dreams to pay my passive soul's endless fees,
Or maybe buy some time never mind how high the bill,
But all my solutions stand under the impossible.

And while I wait with static arms and sleeping feet,
The walls that are turning grey stare at me with pity,
A million moons have risen and a million stars have departed,
My head just needs to say the words to my heavy heart.

Visualizing the future when every possibility suddenly happens,
Is a castle of ice that just melted on my head all of a sudden,
It's the moment when my eyes look up and I take everything in,
It's now because otherwise it's gonna be ... when?
Mona Apr 2016
Thousands of years ago, when I was never on existence's mind,
Ancient Egyptians looked down upon the world,
Up upon the pyramids with only their glory in sight,
History racing to match their eminence word by word.

When angels of death knocked with finality on their doors,
They held their crowns intact, postures of gold never wavering,
To them, they were ascended to the divine floor,
With every last glass of wine they ever graced with their catering.

Magnificent cloaks on beds of eternal slumber,
Decaying hands mingling with decades of royalty's worth,
Thrones caged in tombs adorned with ruby and amber,
They carried their glorious empires even to death.

And if I were to be a Cleopatra, a Nefertiti, or a Hatshepsut, 
I'd demand to carve every word I'd ever written, on the walls of my afterlife,
For finery and jewelry proved to be only fool's gold,
But what once lied in my - now lifeless -skull shall keep me alive.
Mona Apr 2017
Some saw the stars,
Their foreheads napping on the wall -
The great divide -
Where ignorance stands tall,
A sight unseen,
Is the world on every other side,
Where the dust molecules
Accumulated where life has dried.

In an artifical lake,
They thought they crossed oceans,
Blue skies reflected on puddles,
Static movement mistaken for locomotion,
While tides of sewage water,
Swallowed all the greener pastures,
Famines eating at bodies,
Growing up into a natural disaster.

Some flipped the same page,
Their universe knew of nothing past the sun,
Orbiting around themselves,
Isn't that how the big bang begun?
The less they fed their minds,
The rarer it ever asked for more,
When you've been living in a white dream,
It's hard to believe the existence of black doors.

We're in the same solar system,
But their bodies are alienated,
With muffs on their ears,
To keep out the winter their hands created,
But as our fears turn into expectations,
They'll be able to hold them then,
Reality crashing on our roofs,
The wall won't be heard of again.
Mona Apr 2016
Faces are recreated on a piece of paper,
Words copied from my mind and saved for later.

Cause the windows of my mind are my eyes,
And the view is not something I've improvised.

I'm just enjoying being a passenger with such potential,
Getting inspired by the events even if not sequential.

And in turn art is a part of me, woven so beautifully,
That I use the colors of Twilight, waves and trees.

I'm trying to savor the universe so that it never runs out,
I've turned its essence into more shades of pastels than I can count.

I've written its stories in the memories of timeless books,
So diverse and enchanting, some I never understood.

I'm in love everyday, but I'm also forlorn too,
I cry my sorrows to the sun as it dives into the blue.

I'm so small, I'm so inferior to the creator,
But as long as I'm alive, everyday I'm an innovator.
Mona Mar 2018
An addict in remission,
A side effect of realism
Is losing the ability to listen,
So all the sounds and the voices
Run around in your mind,
With no one to catch them,
No one to give them rhythm,
So they falter and wilt,
And later you wallow around in guilt,
'Cause of the guest you've become
in your own body imprisoned,
Watching your life like a television,
Your sense of expression
Lost in the repetition,
And what was once a habit,
A way to say goodnight to your mind,
Is now a foot unable to walk
After forgetting the mechanism,
And omitting the familiarity,
A progress in regression,
So you stand,
hands and eyes full to the brim
Unable to empty even a little bit
Of the chaos you've been given,
In those letters and words,
You feel no recognition,
Your gut carrying all the crumbled pages,
The barrel of your unwrittens,
But it's like your hands've been cursed,
To sort this mess they've been forbidden,
So you're only invited to a blank page
To listen to your own criticism.
Mona May 2016
Paramedic 1:

"He's losing so much blood."

Paramedic 2:

"It's a miracle if he can make it past this."



Saturday night, and I'm in the back of an ambulance,
But not in soul, just in body, oh and in the company of so many wires,
I can't tell where they end and where I begin,
But the paramedics say there was a tragic accident and some flying tires.

We reach the ER, my stretcher is flying on the white tiles,
And soon enough I'm greeted by more wires than I can count,
They're saying that they want to hear my heart,
So I'm opened up past layers of tissues and my heartbeat is playing aloud.

I'm somewhere in a circus, learning how to walk on a tightrope,
One arm on the verge of life, the other on the verge on death,
And my feet are stronger than they've ever been,
I'm not afraid of the fall, I'm afraid they'll see the mark I've had since birth.

And they do, I see it in the face of those people wearing white scrubs,
Their faces become the color of their operating room attire,
They don't know what to do with me,
As they come to realize what's got me here is not the flying tires.

They see my heart, a land that is home to no one,
Yet a massacre is taking place between the northerns and the southerns,
A border holding together the mismatched territories,
But there is no compromising between two armies this stubborn.

Each side wanting to flood the other, wanting to conquer,
And the small canal that was once an uncharted place of peace,
Is now holding a rowing contest to the mind of the victim - me -
Who will reach it first and incorporate their power with claws and teeth...?

It was the time to surrender, ending all attempts at making amends,
And watch cannibals sailing in rivers of blood,
They think each accelerated beat is a new victory,
Yet it was a far away cry from it, it was a new tear, a new cut.

And when each side invades the other, they claim it as their own,
But they are only emigrants thinking they can reconstruct a desert,
It was only a land of chaos, they themselves have caused,
Where was once life flowing in veins, is now where resources are tethered.

And with no winner, the end approached,
The curtains already sweeping the ground,
Doctors wiping sweat from their foreheads,
Letting the hospital gown cover the battleground.





Paramedic 2:

"Maybe there's a wife we can call, to you know ... deliver the news..."

Paramedic 1:

"It appears, he just went out for a drive in the middle of the night, with no phone or ID... not even his driver's license..."

Paramedic 2:

"Maybe it wasn't even his car..."



THE END
Mona Feb 2017
There are cobwebs on the ceiling,
The tabs are running out of water,
One word rings around the house,
But the response always falters.

Reaching out like flowers growing on walls
Till they meet the next wave of drought,
All the seasons named after sandstorms,
So we cry sand on separate clouds.

Who I am might get forgotten,
Somewhere in the many folds of this desert,
A search where the troupe gives up,
So now both parties are waiting for a visit.

And the distance between doorsteps stretches,
It seems like we're heading to different time zones,
A hello mumbled in a corridor,
Deteriorates to the immediate need to be alone.

I'm looking at the stars searching for the fault,
The poison that made the horses march this slow,
Till we found ourselves in the middle of nowhere,
Unsure if our prides will allow us to further go.
Mona Nov 2020
How do you feel things lightly?
How do you let them pass
To separate all the layers
To let a full breath last?

Cause there are no peripheries,
No borderline were we separate,
I'm smothered by this weather
And I'm so entangled in its fate.

I tried to tread lightly,
To pull up a glass screen,
But when I close my eyes
My mind can't unsee what it has seen.

The more I try to run to the shallows,
The more selfish that I feel,
A traitor fleeing from the huddle
Where all the wounded kneel.

Hands moving in accordance,
Words uttered with no meaning,
A mismatched figure trying
To make her condolences more appealing.

In this bed of water I lay wondering
where the leaks are coming from,
But does it matter, now that the currents
have made it past my wavering front?

So how do you feel things lightly,
How do you let them pass?
To allow for you to address
Your own crumbling castle of sand.

●●●
Mona May 2016
She waited and waited for the light to refract,
To see herself in the faces of nearby passengers,
Through the walk, everything was distorted,
Even familiar gestures was reeking of strangers.

Triangles inside of squares, clinks of spacious voids,
So when the negotiating rain offered further distortion
She gladly wore blurry eyes and loosened her senses,
At least she could find a companion of some proportion.

And as it hailed and poured she's gone half blind,
She might have settled for half a reason, half a person,
And tried to shower their miscommunications
With everything not contributing to their diversion.

And similar to an apple core, she discarded herself,
Hands still in search for that common ground,
And when her senses were once again alert to movement,
She found her mind a desert without a sound.

So she ran to the river, desperate to see the light,
Her irises burned as she stared holes at the sun,
She swore to always run away from the rain,
The mistakenly soothing pattern on her skin now made her want to churn.

And she drew a line of transparent shards of glass,
Gathered around her forte, the light's always welcomed,
Because she learned to start the search from inside,
Loneliness is only an illusion, inside her soul was a multitude of spectrums.
Mona Jun 2016
Modern age is the time of mediocrity,
It's the age of mildly felt passions,
A time to have lukewarm identities
The time to open the tab with caution.

Spill your dreams one by one,
Computers have limited your capabilities,
All the songs you wrote have already been sung,
Listen to the tracks of your mind so you don't feel guilty.

Draw triangles with your pencil,
Your sketches will never build you a house,
Listening to your heart isn't essential,
Listen to a stethoscope, it'll tell you money's whereabouts.

So you mix some water colors and feign a red,
And maybe rub two bricks to light a spark,
Photo-edit the features to keep the eyes fed,
And run away to sleep early before you ricochet in the dark.

Everyday you are taught about treachery,
Leaving the places that have stolen your heart,
You should sit uptight with your lawfully wedded misery,
And drive off to a pale yellow sunset where the future starts.

So with only your shadow, your being is whole,
But at nine am you're only an uneven half,
You forget your lines every time the curtains fall,
Till the day that you resign, you're waiting for that draft.

Your walls are a sick shade of beige,
You always open the tab with caution,
Mediocrity is the modern age,
A time of mildly felt passions.
Mona Apr 2016
If I count all the reasons why I should be angry this evening
All the reasons why I should be sad
Every reason why I should be devastated
Disappointed, forlorn and infinitely mad

If I count all those reasons

My evening will stretch and border me in
It'll make tragic synapses with the night
My time will be smothered with numbers
Mathematics will hold me back from a beautiful twilight

I shouldn't count those reasons

... I should just leave them to be
Like every other bottled up emotion
Maybe I won't be able to close the lid
Maybe the pressure will cause an explosion

But maybe... 

Maybe I'll focus on the classical music
Emerging from the next door apartment
It'll take me somewhere, a nicesomewhere
And the pen will involuntarily find the parchment

The mathematical evening will turn into a poetic one
One thankful for music, beauty and art
For those treasured moments in my memory lane
With their fair emotions that colored my heart

Maybe the future will turn into a canvas
And the night a finally finished masterpiece
The white walls a space to think and develop
And tomorrow a new thought to believe

I've always hated mathematics

The way everything was narrowed down
To only two shades of life, black and white
I rather loved my rich box of pastels
Where every moment has its shade of right

And by the end of the evening

I came to a tie

Two piles of reasons
Piles that mathematics created
And I know today is a choice
So I'd rather choose the lighter weight 

●●●
Mona Mar 2017
Perched between two islands, I stand
Praying the world will trip over my hand

The soot emerging from one side gave a speech,
Earth is towed around the sun with a thin leash,
So we bite at it like aliens trying to preach,
As if we're better off alone, so we'll take a part each.

Ignorance hollered from the other side,
Man can dissect his body and breathe his pride,
New laws of the universe are getting employed,
One more step from cannibalism getting justified.

And we believe the man with the white teeth,
The water is muddied, their minds must have leaked,
They make plans to pull the ocean from beneath me,
So I hold my breath, and pray for one last tree.

But as they run along the map they don't coincide,
Mace and verain, one hand was black, the other was white,
The plans they made to cut in half change to just one bite,
And the loser is the one who uses the letters of Unite.

Now the water is full of dynamite and grenades,
A thought that started with a heart ended with a *****,
Knives hovering above the dying grass in wait,
Only one ***** mouth shall eat the whole cake.

And perched between two islands, I stand,
Watching clawing sharks marring the map.

A filthy legacy passed to the ones yet to come,
Though the sphere they're juggling is long long gone,
With stale rivers, grey skies and bribed suns,
What is it we're fighting for? A world fit for no one.
Mona Apr 2024
Do you mirror the person
you resent
by time?

The ****** in your head
getting both your
shoes intertwined.

That you become them,
the more you
rationalize.

...

I lost parts of me,
the more pieces
of you I gained.

I learnt to hate myself,
your thought process
had me well-trained.

I am the eager intern,
you are but my
narcissistic boss.

When the promotion hit me,
I socialized, with
the intent of loss.

I gathered people, the way
you gathered my
awe-eyed interest.

I left them mid conversation,
like they were
uninvited guests.

My certificate of achievement
said, I learnt
from the best.

...

Do you mirror the people
your resent
by time?

The ****** in your head
getting both your
shoes intertwined.

Is that why my hand
is bleeding,
shards ashine?
Mona Nov 2014
If you've read any of my texts,
You'd know that I'm obsessed
With those crayons of nature,
Also known as spectrum colors.


My life continues to unravel in each spec,
I've been in the Grey longer than you'd expect,
I was confused, uncertain and hesitant,
I was neither the black nor the white end.

I've also met the Blue and I sank to my knees,
With black circles and my forehead creased,
Eyes leaked, breaths suffocated and silence killed,
Dark nights trapped you against your will.

But I can't deny that I've seen the Yellow,
Curved lips, high on laughter that you can't swallow,
Bright days mingled with good friends and health,
I'd be ungrateful if I said I wanted anything else.

But I've always had my eyes set on that one color,
It's the last one and for me it is like no other,
It's the color of dreams, the pleasure of my head,
It's the very beautiful purple also known as violet.

And as you look closer, the journey is complete,
You meet all those specs with every step of your feet,
The grey, the Blue, the Yellow, those are the waves,
That carry your boat to the Purple dreams that you crave.
Sometimes a poem is all about an idea that comes to you in the middle of doing something and you just surrender to your excited pen. Tell me what you think.
Mona Apr 2016
All her friends are reflective surfaces,
She is every verb, adjective, and noun,
Complimentary conversations in greetings
The words bitten will come back to hound.

Inspiration is the greenest form of envy,
By means of law, canvases should be handcuffed,
So that her every tide is a tsunami,
And the world shall fill their glasses till they've had enough.

Mountain rocks depicted with precision,
Her neck meets the outer layer of the atmosphere,
Her fork digs into words of appreciation,
A yellow smile beneath every crushed veneer.

In the jungle of artists striving for life,
Her nails are red wax tearing at every masterpiece,
And on every name she climbs ahead,
Till every deer is scared of her remorseful teeth.
Mona Mar 2017
All of her friends are reflective surfaces,
She is every verb, adjective, and noun,
Complimentary conversations as greetings
The words bitten will come back to hound.

Inspiration is the greenest form of envy,
By means of law, canvases should be handcuffed,
So that her every tide is a tsunami,
And the world shall fill their glasses till they've had enough.

Mountain rocks depicted with precision,
Her neck meets the outer layer of the atmosphere,
Her fork digs into words of appreciation,
A yellow smile beneath every crushed veneer.

In the jungle of artists striving for life,
Her nails are red wax tearing at every masterpiece,
And on every name she climbs ahead,
Till every deer is scared of her remorseless teeth.
4/24/16
Mona Mar 2017
Through the sutures of my cerebral bones,
A non-human language of thought transcends,
Below the surface, in the depth of rationality,
All I feel is that rattle of waves, out there making amends.

Coral reefs grow along my arms,
I'm just as alive as you are,
Even a bit more,
as worlds collide and mornings glisten on my skin,
Every night the ocean sits on my shoulders
like a veil,
I dream of ways to chant my gratitude
on a mandolin.

A meaningless breath that blurs my porcelain eyes,
I see exhaled by the time travelers
that pollute the land,
A network of interconnected labyrinths extends,
I watch from afar, never to contribute
one grain of sand.

Sheltered from the extremities that lay beyond every rainbow,
I think in lively blues and shades of green,
Serenaded everyday by my ever-present peace of mind,
The taint of them land-walkers on my heart is forever unseen.
9/6/2016
“Ocean Atlas,” is the lastest underwater sculpture by artist Jason deCaires Taylor. Towering 18 feet tall and weighing in at more than 60 tons, Ocean Atlas is reportedly the largest sculpture ever deployed underwater. The artwork depicts a local Bahamian girl carrying the weight of the ocean above her in reference to the Ancient Greek myth of Atlas, the primordial Titan who held up the celestial spheres.
Mona May 2016
Between two shoulders,
Between two ears,
A civil war ignited,
Bones shrieking in fear.

Conflicted pilots,
Sliding down locks of hair,
Liquid bombs,
Dripping from eyes, be aware!

Life was never meant to be easy,
Pebbles were meant to collide with feet,
Every now and then, we're bound to be lost,
We go a million ways to find the right street.

And as more events shatter our hearts,
More glass gets broken, more souls adrift,
We discover ourselves among the ruins,
And get to uncover our healing gift.

We test our abilities, we get first degree burns,
We try a million shades of complexion,
The very first scream of a beating heart,
The very last sound before we tread to the other dimension.

It's played and replayed, it's spring then it's a massacre,
And all the trophies lining our top shelf,
We sweat under the fever before the finish line,
We walk the fine line between loving and hating oneself.

Align your balance,
Before the drawbridge closes,
Between two shoulders,
The two blades are foes.

Separated by a spinal cord,
Arms and thoughts collide,
Stare straight ahead,
Know that this is life.*

● ● ●
One
Mona Jan 2017
One
The night has eyes,
The curtains agape,
The stars have thoughts,
Loops you can never escape.

And by some power my hands
They were painting a morning,
The whites and blacks were missing,
The warm orange, a warning.

Showered by recreated currents,
Meeting my ever dry tongue,
In shallow gasps I begin to wonder,
Where I ended and the sky begun.

**Does it matter if we were one?
Mona Feb 2017
A tap dance, on the borderline of the inevitable,
Hoping for a new kind of mutation to break the spell,
Speaking in a foreign tongue with controversial thoughts,
Maybe if I give in to the free fall, the pattern will fall as well.

The world is cursed with a slumber that drinks their souls,
And eats at their instincts of right and wrong,
Apparitions clutching customs they've made in the dead of night,
Oh but it's bright morning in their native tongues.

Clinking glasses with liquids more volatile than their brains,
I'm at the same table trying to dodge their dripping DNA,
Nodding my head when they say sanity is south of dreaming,
And agreeing to make an appointment with the future on Monday.

Somehow I'm in pause, tripping into a glitch in time,
Where am I? Staring at a tailored form of acceptance,
It's ice cold, stale colors, mildly pleasant curt nods,
I gasp for blackness, just anything with which I can make sense.

Maybe if I stare so hard at the ceiling I could see the sky,
And if I daydream too much I could hold the upper hand,
I close my eyes, I leave the railing, and I do give in,
But too early they're open again,
and things are no longer under my command.
"I find it kinda funny, and I find it kinda sad.
The dreams in which I'm dying, are the best I've ever had." - Tears For Fears
Mona Dec 2015
I read it on a t-shirt, 'One shot, Two kills',
What do I know?
Maybe there's a beauty in the way blood spills.

Instead of holding a pencil, you hold so much grudge,
Everyone around turns into cardboard targets,
Maybe this is life, who am I to judge?

You paint with too much red, and the occasional black,
The only two colors I know,
Just like I know your menacing eyes, two hawks.

But what I only ever knew were her love and kindness,
She carried me dutifully,
Till the black hole in your chest told you 'Shoot! Don't miss!'

My mother, she's the only world I'd ever visit,
What a grace from God,
He gave me a one-way ticket.

As she cradled me inside her one last time,
She whispered 'they are monsters,
Angels like you have better fate than mine'

A bleeding ******, and a broken umbilical cord,
What a peaceful way
To say goodbye before hello was told.

You're such a heroic murderer, everyone should be proud,
'Human rights' saved your kids,
But I was on the wrong side of the fight, so I died without a sound.
For all the innocent lives, who don't get to meet the world.
A tribute to all the mothers and babies of Palestine.
Mona Aug 2016
I'm always envious of the way the sun finds its way to the big screen,
The way the characters' eyes would sparkle and their smiles would shine.

Yet this same sun, that has eternally fed our small planet with its kindness
Always fails to find its way to my smile, as if I don't deserve its generosity.

I'm always envious of the way the wind knows the shooting locations,
How it arrives on time, when the heroine needs a little volume to her hair.

Yet this same wind has always taken my breath away, in the literal sense,
It doesn't know that it should do exactly that to the person in front of me.

I'm always envious of the way the waves meet the shore in perfect transcendence,
In time for the opening scene, from the very first take by the cameraman.

Yet those are the same waves that engulf me with their salty scent,
And drown every sandcastle that I've ever fancied visiting.

And I'm always envious of how selectivity sends the moon
To where a fictional plot is taking place, to grace a fictional character from her fictional window.

Yet my midnight has seen no moon, just a blanket of nothingness,
And it spreads to my room where my mind dreams of living eternally on set.
Mona Jan 2017
The water has a sound,
I've only heard
when I was by myself.
It tells a secret
The way the circles
Form and swirl.

Just for a moment,
I never knew you.

And never tasted
Disappointment all too soon.

These vast acres,
Remind me of days,
When it was just me.
The sprinklers
Would cry 
And I would run free.

Just for a moment,
The weight elevated.

And matters of life 
and death were left to fate.

But the sun lied to me,
When I looked at the surface,
I only saw the break of day.
I kept searching and searching
But I never did
Find my face.

Just for a moment,
I was never here.

The earth revolved easier,
The sky had less tears.

Only that tree
Shall mourn my loss
When I echo off of the rope.
The moon can take 
Where I left off,
As my heart shall soak.

Just for a moment,
You won't think of me.

From this soundless world,
I wish you can find peace,
Under the same tree.*

● ● ●
2/17/2016
Mona May 2016
We often only relate to negativity,
The blackest of lines
matching our irises where light is an illusion.

Spilling the foreign parts of our souls,
Mixing them with the colors of every stranger's intrusion.

We're way too familiar with every wrinkle that our words posses,
We have a photographic memory for our flaws.

We only see the crumbled itinerary,
Where the moments of doubt come alive to sink their claws.

We can't wear amusement well,
Not when our minds have no reflexive reaction to ourselves.

So that one sentence, that one gesture,
That voices the darkest of thoughts in our tiniest of cells,

Is the one we relate to the most,
In a sea of living sunrises and sunsets,
We can't help but look back,
And stare at that resurfacing ghost.
Mona Feb 2017
Gradually I'm losing interest,
Negotiating and bargaining
has ****** the energy out of me,
Every one of my reasons
has been worn out,
And the wind's wrath
has taken everything in its path,
What is left is lost
under masses of dust,
Excuses why the world
is on autopilot,
And we should sit back
And watch it burn,
Because it will burn
Whether we want it to or not,
My mind asks questions,
And what I'm met with
are not answers,
are not reasons,
I'm only met with white noise,
The sound of walking feet,
The sound of closing doors,
The sound of an empty well,
The wheels rolling,
And people sleeping and waking,
As if we're meant to learn
how to walk on this thin rope,
And never do more than breathe,
How am I supposed to sit down,
and persuade myself
that tomorrow I will try again,
I tried yesterday,
And I tried today,
But I'll always be painted
pink
and submission
in their eyes,
And I'll always be painted
"third world"
And "underdeveloped"
To the passerbys,
And sadly every color of those
is permanent.
I may not be the only one
with a breath left,
But the others who gave up
on their lungs years ago,
They're trying to mute
our sound of breathing,
To fill our lungs with soot,
To  mummify our sense of being,
To push us under the wings
of what is morally accepted,
The morals that are trending this year.
And I know it,
That eventually we will recede,
Just like history tells,
And just like I am about to
bow down and look at my feet,
And brush another crude comment
under the carpet.
Sorry for this excessive dose of pessimism. It's still 12:16 pm here. But you know when you try to sleep on something and you wake up feeling the exact same thing. So write it down is what I did.
Mona May 2016
To the waste land, we tread,
Following the presumptions of unanswered questions.

Rattling the pillars of a gazebo,
Where denial peacefully lies.

Through the glass,
We can no longer communicate, lacking all forms of expression.

Auditions for a silent play,
A fog settles over the redeemed skies.

Gasoline drenches the path,
Where we follow that one cancerous emotion.

And soon the infection is declared,
Images stripped back to their negative film.

The growls of hungry wolves,
Were only the surfacing clones of confusion.

But in the colors of dawn,
Everything was heightened, after a night so grim.


● ● ●
Mona Jun 2017
Divide the moon into two halves,
You'll find inside a million lamps,
Also cut the heart into two halves,
You'll find inside blood and valves.

Romance is trapped in a Shakespearean novel,
He buried it under the centuries with his shovel,
And the modern fast pace modified the human brain,
It's only a repetitive pattern of falling in vain.

Juliet has a husband, he's older by twenty years,
He's never home, she's always out shopping new fears,
Romeo is jobless, searching ups and downs for a key,
He heard life starts in the aftermath of a dream.

The old witch sitting in front of a glass bowl,
Now broke and retired, all her cookbooks are sold,
And the wolves are out, ruling the woods,
Magic's density in the air, isn't as high as it should.

So plug the stars out, pluck all the electric flowers,
The universe is now running low on power.*


● ● ●
November 2014
Mona May 2017
You wear your suit of compassion,
Synthetic silk and ironed scarf,
Maintaining your levels of sentiment,
But your mind is having the last laugh.

Your eyes are warm, so are your hands,
It all comes from your burning heart,
Catabolizing your toxic notions,
But you hide your ***** sheets in the dark.

I shall always be two levels down,
You compare and tell me to compromise,
Your life is a chaos of catastrophes,
So compared to that mine is a bonfire.

Till when..
do we have to exchange modified secrets,
Where I downplay and you intensify,
So we always remain two poles apart,
What's holding us together is our lies.
● ● ●
Mona Apr 2016
Inspiration doesn't like to be chased,
It likes to come at its own pace.

You'd run and run hoping the tunnel would end,
Too bad the light and dark can not be friends.

Oh but they can!

When you close your eyes,
That strike of thought that lights up your mind.

The ghosted words tripping in your darkness,
Till they fall and incorporate some light in the abyss,
... they can be friends.

Just like the positive and the negative attract,
They agree to disagree, they've made a pact,
They run parallel just in different tracks.

And sometimes both become allies,
In concentric circles meant to hypnotize.

But one will never be the other till the end of days,
Try to mix black and white you'll only get grey.

The world would wilt and all the rivers would dry,
One can't live if they other has died.

Though their intentions are oceans apart,
They tend to follow each other in that regard.
Mona Nov 2014
Right
Is it a hand?
Is it a direction?
Is it a command?
Is it an intention?

What is right?
How do you know it?
Is it counted by numbers?
Or studied in schools?
Can it be outnumbered?
What are the rules?

Right
Is it a feeling?
Is it a *******?
Is it appealing?
Or a lame hallucination?

How can I be "right"?
When the world is divided into two?
Every pole is claiming it's validity
Some are too intrigued but don't have a clue
And some are sitting on sofas arrogating others' stupidity

So what is right?

And how come no one ever questioned this 5 letter word?

Everyone is focused but their sense of mind is blurred

You can read a book or recall something you've heard

But there's no magnet that pulls you to it 'cause that'd be absurd

Why then would you need a mind that interprets  
Everyone has a since of duty to something they want to protect

But don't they know that no color is like the other even if stirred

We come into this world and think that some things should be preferred

But that doesn't make them placed first, second or third

And now we're crowds walking like a group of herd

Right
Well...write
Til you can find a meaning to this concept and you might.
But stick to your pole, no need to fight,
'Cause we're humans we don't bite.
And nothing's black and nothing's totally white.
Mona May 2017
I feel like there's a second layer
forming under my skin,
From all the words unsaid,
I bet you'd drown if I let you in.

You're tired, you say,
You don't want to learn how to swim,
So you're skimming over dead cells,
Meanings that have turned into antonyms.

Day after day the superficial layer
It's getting thinner,
What you were once acquainted with
are now the cells of a stranger.

'Cause suddenly they're all seeping
into my blood stream,
Words like bricks that form a barrier,
Talking from behind a filter screen.

I'm only sorry for one thing,
That is my pale secrets greeting the sunlight,
Till I found them in your shadows,
And you got used to silence overnight.

I wish I could lend you my skin for a day,
Like an open letter for you to read,
But I fear one word said too much,
Would make a frail vein bleed.

Now you don't recognize my hand anymore,
So I don't need yours then,
Lying to you has already become
Very much like a second skin.
Mona Mar 2017
They say for a girl, sentiment wins over intelligence,
They say God gave her a heart, that'll be her guidance.

A man with yellow teeth, growling words out of a cigarette,
His lighter burns with each of his stares, he chuckles, "Oh why's the lady upset?"

He shows his son the world where only those devoid of emotion make it home,
His daughters are allergic to sunlight, he's building his son out of stone.

The fight has one face, the companions of the moon scarred by the night,
A man hides his dirt under a black suit but the lady shall wear white.

Because when she'll look in the mirror she'll see her mother,
And her mother will see her grandmother, hands wrinkled from serving her brother.

He said, "As your father I love you, but as a man, I'm meant to push the wheel,
Ask him to patch the holes of his socks, and what he'd like for the next meal."


Because sentiment wins over intelligence, isn't that how it works?
Make an extravaganza about respect, but only her heart it concerns.

And as one last word of wisdom, her mother taught her of vulnerability,
And warned her about how minds work, how they become a liability.

A table with shiny mahogany wood, that's where she sits,
She's having this conversation with time as it passes in seconds and splits.

And her name became an insult, one that dignity frowns upon,
Her future a ghoul, it's mere thought something she's running from.

It was amazing how they decided to diverge races of humanity,
Creatures shall live as predators and preys for eternities.
Mona Jan 2017
He'd count the fish
Swimming in his bathtub,
Drink liquid colors
From his painting cup.
Thought his windscreen wipers
Could wipe the sky,
When rainy days
Would take him off his high.
He'd add more sand
To his hourglass,
When he felt his
Weekends go by fast.
And take one bite from his apples,
Leave then till they went rotten,
His grip on sensibility
Long forgotten.
Mondays, he'd turn off the lights
For the whole day,
Praying he was just inanimate.
The day she went away.
He believed she was the one
Who made all the days restart, 
So he'd walk on cat tails
Aiming to break her heart.
1/16/2016
Mona Feb 2017
Eyes like it simple,

shrug

Just when it reaches that imaginary threshold of good,
It's overcooked.

shrug

We don't want interruption to our sleeping thoughts,
We just want a good night.

shrug

Eyes like flaws, eyes are the mothers of our young hearts,
They search for flaws, 
For reasons why they raised their kids better,
So they can smile to their neighbor and say the most superficial compliment.

shrug

So eyes just want to read a few words,
To convince the hearts they're leading that that's just what life offers.

shrug

Because when they train them, that they shouldn't trespass around a wider scale,
They will hate every masterpiece with a passion,
Sidestep it,
And pat mediocrity on the back.

shrug

Eyes like it simple,
... Oh but they don't,
They are the best of liars,
When it comes to shrugging.
Mona May 2017
It's okay,
It's alright,
You have yourself,
Just like you do
every night.

You're at your worst?
Well so be it...
They didn't see
that your hearts unfit?
Then
so
be
it.

You hold that heart,
and you tuck yourself,
Command your breaths
To fall into context,
The world will be there tomorrow,
And the day will fall
fom your hardened grip,
The landslide will come to curve,
The drought will leave
no tears to shed.

Even if you have to be the ocean,
The sun, the moon and the land,
To walk yourself to the last shore,
You've got yourself to understand.

You can be that push of courage,
You can be the one to soothe,
Nothing in this world matters,
Not even this heavy weight of blues.
You wanna bet?

You're at your worst?
Then so be it..
Goodnight.
Mona Apr 2017
Fate is hiding behind that tree,
Hearing fragments of your dreams,
Drawing a map on the water,
Following you under the moonbeam.

Oh you think your hands are full,
Stardust collecting under your fingernails,
And right before you jump into the sky,
It turns around and bites your tail.

So your pulse tries to hush,
Your shiny eyes appear nonchalant,
As you count your jinx encounters
Where your luck seems to bend.

You're always sniffing behind the trees,
If you betrayed a sign of your excitment,
The image of a future will be burnt,
Fate replacing the star alignment.

So you patiently await the worst,
And plaster a smile to reciprocate
the one hidden in every starry night,
As nothing is as unpredictable as fate.
Mona Apr 2017
Blue lighting embracing the faded linen of the couch,
We grow flowers to keep life flowing through this house,
Because planets only collide when it's the end of the world,
And the clean tile floors know that peace can't be disturbed.

The last we amplified our voices on one another's frequency,
The year sparkly white lighting hung down from trees,
Naivete of youth counting down to the far unknown,
Missing the fact that it will then be identities to mourn.

And down with China plates we inherit this folklore,
Bolt your windows and hide from strangers at your door,
Cause opportunities are nightmares you should avoid,
You see, you're only a half waiting to be adjoined.

In search for a wall to cower under its shadow,
The sun is never kind to lone figures with no one to follow,
So it won't matter if you mend this vacancy with cement,
No one will see past the frame, wood doesn't comprehend.
Mona Mar 2018
Sitting around the circular table,
Heads strung down with the realization,
That you have to come to terms again
With how temporary everything is
How the beginnings are only a means to an end.

The lamps are all shining bright together,
A rare occurrence for the living room,
Only adding to the seriousness of the situation,
The need to focus on what to do.

Wishing your hand was wide enough
To carry all the right decisions,
So that nothing could be out of hand,
Nothing could cross the peripheries
Of your man made plans.

You look up through the ceiling
And your heart does all the talking for you,
With every jab and every ache
It writes a paragraph with pure anger,
But then you plead with everything at stake

And with the first stripes of dawn,
You're pulled to your dark cold bed,
With pillows like rocks floating on water,
And covers that suffocate your body,
To close your eyes, you're just not ready
Not ready to let it go yet.
Mona Jul 2017
Once, they used to associate
the color of terror
With a shade darker than midnight,
Folded deep between the blacks,
They say darkness is never frank.

The ghouls hang after dinner,
After the 7 pm soap opera,
The ones that fear the smell of light,
Scandalized by afternoons,
Only protected by a bribed moon.

I fear there's been a mutation,
A transformance of some sort,
Holding the clear sky a witness
To misfortunes marring the bright of day,
The watching sun didn't scare them away.

So as we're scattered,
Playing along,
As specs in a dynamic universe,
Stirred by life's invisible hands,
Believing in our clockwork plans,
The oil falls and the painting is saturated,
Disrupted, disfigured, ravaged,
Beyond the setting of all the bad bad tales,
Trouble trickles wherever it falls into place,
Never caring to merge into the painting with grace.
Mona Sep 2019
The week goes by,
Your attitude
the ***** laundry
I get to go home with,
I open the washing mashing
The drain
inside my mind
And for a second I wonder,
And the thought coils
and spirals,
Rotates with the wheels
of my mind’s washing machine
Would the stains you left –
From your lipophilic words
Adhering to the seems of my skin
… ever be washed out?
Or will this thin cloth –
Thinned by my tendency to forgive –
Not see better days?
That it’s only a matter of time,
Before it’s time to recycle it,
Hop onto this cycle
And give you back
the attitude
You ever so generously spilled,
I don’t recall a bigger dilemma
That kept me awake
even on mondays
When all the laundry was fresh,
Than this one.
Do I become you
to you,
Or do I show you how
to be me
to me.
Mona Jan 2017
Currents swept away the thin material of her heart,
Veins torn in their scandalous confession,
The elope of time with the tainted arms of every clock,
Now the elements are blindly following in their succession.

Shivers danced along the valley of her spine,
From her peripheral view, a growing gap between the earth and the sky,
A marionette to the soles of her of unknowns,
She twirled and twirled till the obscured horizon was in front of her eyes.

The highest of mountains detached from their roots,
The drawbridge to the poorly paved past drowning in mist,
Only was it in the latest hour to be alive,
Did she realize that another world - hindered by the present - did exist.*

● ● ●
Mona Oct 2019
Hello, The Inspiration Agency?

= Yes, Ma'am. That's correct.

- I have a complaint, sir.

= Do tell. Anything we need to inspect?

- Oh yes sir, the material you're sending is too complex!

= Would you like a refund?

- Oh no! You said I should write with no regrets!

= Then I don't understand...

- I would prefer a lighter tune, something happy or simple.

= Oh but we're running out of those, would you like some romance?

- No please, none of that, I'd rather write about Rick turning himself into a pickle...

= But those would get you the biggest fans!

- Couldn't care less...

= Well I'm afraid there's nothing here we can do...

- You could fulfill my requests!

= Careful, ma'am! We could only send your orders once in a blue moon!

- No ... no, sir! Please hang on!

= You're overusing our customer service hot line.

- But everything is going wrong!

= I'm sure your writing is just fine...

- But it's not! It's too depressing, even I don't get it!

= Miss, I'm about to hang up.

- Then I don't want your service anymore! Not. One. Bit.

= You sure about that? Okay, our services will officially stop.

- Sir, no! That was out of line...

- Sir?

- Sir! NO!

...
Mona May 2017
Your need is a knife,
Sometimes a chainsaw.

It cuts at my shoulders,
The bones in my arms,
Some days it's quite greedy,
Wanting a share of my soul,
Dissecting a chamber or two
of my heart.

You eagerly want to drink my sanity,
To dehydrate me of any positivity,
Till life seeps through me and into you,
And osmosis makes us even,
Two distorted figures with no aim,
That's when you can sleep.

I'm afraid we can't both reside
in my fraying body,
You weigh a million unsaid words,
And my spine isn't strong enough
To keep pushing us through
your derailing paths.
Mona Sep 2016
What are we doing stifling flames,
Taming the wilderness with acceptance,
Our breathing is a stale pattern,
Our actions are just where the currents send us.

The river doomed to have only one shore,
And the boats sail to infinity,
But when the drought hits town,
All the sailors part for the sea.

Art became something we're used to,
A design where every curve has to fit,
Bold colors always mismatch,
Cause they just make the eyes upset.

So every candle smells of forgiveness,
Every night a canvas for a new excuse,
But it might be a month, a year, or ten,
When the paper can no longer be of use.
Mona May 2016
The end of the week is tied to the beginning,
And I'm walking in the middle of the loop,
Trying to catch my tail, but I keep on failing,
So I pause my thoughts for a second, my mind needs to regroup.

I listen to the only man walking in the streets past bedtime,
Disturbing the hush of the quietly collected hours,
I don't need a tomorrow to be my ruler, metaphorically or literally,
Snatching them from their stems, I randomly pluck wallflowers.

The paper is anything but crumbled, its corners neat,
But when your pen hinders mine, it's another story,
I fall to the sky-less ground and accept your offer of momentum,
I always have an available casket for my pride to bury.

But when I only stare ahead, I pick that pen again,
I don't compromise, I only climb on my ivy conditions,
Every letter is in pain, as I avenge my sense of being,
Not even in the mirror do I feel this sense of recognition.

By means of my own minutes, I learn and relearn,
How to never color past the lines, and stop when it's needed,
Separate the second chances from the black clouds,
And when the tide swallows me, I will stay firmly started.

● ● ●
Mona Jan 2017
Once upon a September night,
When breaths were taking flight,
To the upper parts of the atmosphere,
Where the fellow stars shine bright.

A soul was looming around a room,
Wishing the navy sky would turn blue,
Losing hope for a while there, 
Till a newborn sun came into view.

The soul then elbowed the eyes,
To take in this overwhelming sight,
Ray by ray the world awakened,
She'd then wait for dawn every night.

Sweat breaks and distraction ends,
The sun counting the time she's spent,
As orange pastels start to melt,
Soul watched sadly where she went.

And everyday the cycle was repeated,
A soul waits, watches as a day fleets,
Her sad sighs the only acquaintance
She's made with the moon beam.

After every sunset comes a phase
When soul and heart start to pace,
Whispering their heavy troubles,
To the dim moon's lonely face.

Acquaintances became stronger bonds,
As more blues started ranging on,
The night spread like a blanket,
The moon always had a soothing song.

Yet the soul remained captivated,
Sunrises and sunsets always awaited,
Till hellos are farewell were exchanged,
She spent the rest of the night sated.

She preferred a glow intense and warm,
Never grateful for the moon's arms,
A moon that forever stayed,
As the sun's always come and gone.

Hidden behind a treacherous day,
Never welcomed nor awaited,
No moon-rise nor moon-set,
Taken for granted cause he always stays.

Soul never knew the truth,
She'd diffuse all her sorrow to the moon,
He'd always shine never dimming,
Did the departing sun ever listen to you?


So why are we so mesmerized by the sun,
When the moon's always been the loyal one.
Written on 11/10/2015
Mona May 2017
What are we doing stifling flames,
Taming the wilderness with acceptance,
Handling life with kitchen mittens,
Following a bone to where the currents send us.

We live in a river doomed to have one shore,
And all the boats sail to infinity,
Only when the drought hits town
Do all the sailors part for the sea.

Art became something we're used to,
A design where every brushstroke has to fit,
Bold colors feel like salt in your coffee,
Cause they make the reserved eyes upset.

So every candle smells of forgiveness,
An act of worship for a new excuse,
You might wake up tomorrow or after 90 years,
And see that this paper can no longer be of use.
An old write from my drafts.
Mona Jun 2016
The actors shuffled around the stage,
In a hurry to deodorize themselves of what they were,
New words are getting recreated,
The vapor of the past moment taints the air.

It takes a neck at a right angle,
And a smile at a linear relationship curving upwards,
The machine spilling new pages,
Receiver ends watching standards getting ruptured.

Now you have to pay a ticket, a cost,
To live through a screen, framed by your acting skills,
Because what once started as a perfect match,
Now is only worth a motion picture's thrill.

The patterns that once ran parallel to one another,
Intersected along the way, now sitting perpendicular,
Running low on impulse amusement,
Backstage, the two actors were nobody in particular.

● ● ●
Mona Apr 2016
With her crumbled handkerchief,
She wiped the stars falling from her red eyes,
She bled her secrets to the galaxy thief,
Till the arrhythmia was reduced to defeated sighs.

Her violet joints matched the constellation,
With a violent pulse flickering in and out of life,
Her twilight breaths of condensation,
Till the planets are asleep, the only thing awake is the night.

When she's done orbiting around his fists,
And he's done burning her with his meteors,
She collects the hays of what is left,
Praying that galaxies could have a shore.
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