the eastern seaboard premieres a show,
spectators from the west are enthused and thrilled.
with the surround sounds of friction and sparks,
I hark and pay attention to the mysterious theater.

a character is full of anger and delusions;
going to and fro on the amphitheater's stage.
as the play closes to its duration, her anger intensifies.
the protagonist transforms into a menace!

a madwoman, but her act is fathomable.
she hopes for everyone to see, to realize -
the continuing abuse of the Mind.
because her act is real suffering.

the show will  be seen not just by the west;
this is the first regular performance
it's a story that is never told,
and it was supposed to be not.
but..

my mind doesn't make sense
my body doesn't make sense
my action doesn't make sense
do i still make sense?

too dumb and desperate;
lust was running in my nerves.
so the consequence of imprudence:
I became naked,
and then everything’s gone.
stolen.

a song started slow
the midway stirred us though
so hand in hand, we moved around to try
𝑆𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠'𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑒
had the midway let us to and fro,
yet we ended...
in full sorrow

A massacre inside his brain;
perfect eloquence of pain.
Bowling with cuss and strain,
The entire community remains.

A growling neighbour
and I hear his tears keep on to pour.

The devastation again explicits
in the idle Capital Beirut.
Seventy are killed,
Hundreds are bloodied.

Is this a terrorism?
Nobody knows.

All we hope for is justice for all;
and, condolences for those who are deprived.

Glistering, Antares is.
As I commemorate our uncombed fist,
and the bright masterpiece.

Now, these eyes are soaked.
Summer night coats
with nothing but heavy load.

I'll cease because you've stopped.
Soon weightless in a countertop;
our piece is a mere sham perhaps.

In the midst of the turmoil,
Everyone has infection -
race by discrimination,
religion by reeducation,
*** by conversion.
Everyone is suffering -
power is suppressing,
"Submissive shall detain;
nothing has to remain!"
What is our fight?
Is it really the plague?
I say, the fight is within our might.
That is also the fact.

insomnia attacks, time lavishing;
my thoughts still open as
they're relishing.
you.

As I examine my own reflection,
"Who am really I?"
I think me as a wandering thought;
I have no aim, no direction.

My body feels not me
I'm scared of something or even everything.
I feel not right - not sick - but falsified.
Definitely, my soul is inscrutable.

Great,
I am understood by no one.
I am falsified like I am always misrepresented.
I never felt I belonged to this altering universe.
I never felt home.
I am a homeless hero even in my own dreams

Then, there's you.

You leapt me out of anger which is my comfort.
You introduced me to a world I never expected or believed to be existing.
You are being you while I understand my world is not real without you.
You made me understand something: everything.

So now let me tell you, amor.
I'm done being inscrutable.
I want to be understood with the one I choose to be in more than evergreen... and that's you.

Now, I therefore yearn from thy sweet caresses.
As you always aim for a bounty success,
I have left with an unresolved equation of torture;
My agony could not spare me from that sum of your nature.

You left, you ran, because of thy stubborn will;
You broke, you escaped, because I wasn't the highest bill.
What I am left with are multiple delusions!
Dare to speak that I'm just a trial and error to cause us division.

To must choose to depart is perhaps thy solution
To answer what is correct from all the best choices.
However, if you landed to any particular inequation,
I am pleased to advise to not answer back my spaces.

A monochromatic gloom envelopes the night of an idle town
Whilst, the people remain unconscious on this deceptive verity.
Isn't anyone alarmed about the forlorn that surrounds?
Perhaps, no one dares to inspect its perfect illusion.

The town governs with ardent perturbation and perplexity
With the regressive taxation, Gehenna reigns overall still.
Had one done enough, it continued hitherto.
Such a waste exhaustion in the plague's eye of temerity.

Turmoil is an eternal damnation; a life obliteration!
Ere is not in any alike. How come it has become?
Hardly, no person with a typical savoir-faire could learn its commencement.
Until tomorrow hops up to shower her ambrosial light.
However, when?

Dawn is about to rule in this exact coordinates in hours away
My state is being held up notwithstanding to the ridicule
Aid is where when the illusion daunts, suffocates, and drowns forward.
Could I expect thy glamour only to retreat me?
If not later, when?

From a distance, under my presence,
pop of shapes and sizes,
spike of contours and edges,
variety of smooth and ragged,
but, intangible in all ways.

An alterable gaiety; but, summer turns you defined.
minute by minute, widening my idealism.
Forming yourself to an ash explosion;
erupted from the boiling land and sea!

Above me, ere, were dark and growling.
Now, your sheen brightens like evergreen.
You move as waves of the Great Pacific,
turn gold until darkens by the dusk.

Clashes with the sky blue, it is thee, indeed.
An Artist stroking for aestheticism
who invents the shades of blanch -
a surrealistic abstract's kind that is alive!