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Noon M Imad Feb 2018
My mother doesn't remember my first memory,
It was of her lying in bed,
Facing the window,
Eyes closed to the sun,
Back to me,
I built a perfect square in the corner,
Blocks of color made uniform,
I looked back at her,
I did good mama I thought,
But my words melted,
I swallowed them back down because I thought,
Maybe today she didn't,
My mother doesn't feel my first instinct,
It was of me thinking our souls didn't match,
And neither did our words,
But those are all that was given to me,
I would've taken more but these things were never for the taking,
My mother doesn't understand my first steps,
They were out the door of the rusted familiar and down the jagged steps of the unknown,
Why would you wander?
I gave you all the things that bring comfort,
But she never did give comfort,
My mother doesn't see my biggest fear,
That I scorched myself out of my colors,
Maybe a perfect square wasn't enough,
Maybe it had to be all red or all blue,
My mother doesn't get my first regret,
That I didn't get to choose her,
But neither did she,
And the ones I did choose,
I can't help but to love the way I love you,
I can't help but to build squares in the corner hoping they still see the colors.
Noon M Imad Feb 2018
Say those pretty things,
Tell them they are real,
Set them besides your window,
Let them grow,
Down your roots,
Into your blood,
Out your lungs,
Like a child,
Believe they will reach the sky,
Bend to the light,
Let them stand the test of time,
Let them test you,
Let them be,
Noon M Imad Feb 2018
What I know to be true,
What I hope will be,
Sometimes they collide,
And the brilliance of it all,
The blinding splendor,
Covers the silhouettes of all the was,
Empties the fear out of me,
As if it never was,
But the light,
It's the kind that dies when it touches the ground,
It's the kind that reminds you of how small it is,
That no matter how bright it might be,
It will always have me in its way,
And I am the fault in it,
I am the grain that never will be a pearl,
I am the straw that never will be the needle,
I am not meant to see it,
It's blasphemy if I do,
And that is,
What I know to be true.
Noon M Imad Jan 2018
He said,
With eyes closed and hands stretched out,
He said I can't feel anything but the air between us,
The bitter taste of nothing,
I thought this time it would work,
I thought my stretched-out hands would touch something,
Any. Thing.
He said,
I can't feel the skin I'm supposed to,
I can't break through your bones,
I can't break through mine,
It's not you,
It's this, he said,
This whole thing,
This hole in me,
I tried to fill it,
Bury it with this and that,
Nothing would fit,
No. Thing.
But the air between us.

I want to tell him,
It's not a hole,
It's not your end,
You will carry it, but you will have to realize,
It's not a hole,
It's not in you,
It's an ocean,
It's an ocean,
Dulling everything outside,
Laying you across its stammering waves,
And you might feel like you're drowning,
And it might feel like you're not here,
But the air between us,
I promise to give it all to you,
I promise to force it down your lungs,
I promise that you will hate me,
But I promise to keep you alive,
I promise you will see yourself through this,
I promise to hold you when you reach the shore,
And I would promise so much more,
But it's not my hole to fill,
It's not my ocean to swim,
I would if I could,
But I know better,
I'll show you better,
There is a shore,
There will be an end,
And I promise all this,
Even the air between us,
Even if it's from my own lungs,
I promise it until you reach my shore.
Noon M Imad Nov 2012
So, what’s up?
Well, if you insist; nothing much.
Every time I see you,
I feel like our destinies collide,
Like our souls beam promises,
Like a mother and her child,
Like the color yellow,
Every time my eyes glare, they paint you,
Furious and loving,
Our bodies frozen,
My mind undresses you as you take my hand and ask me: What’s up?
You ask me what’s up as if it sums up all the rivers of a nation,
As if it tells of sin and the humor of knowledge,
As if up is where I’m going and rock bottom isn’t drowning my thoughts,
As if my mother still wants me,
As if my father thinks the world of me,
As if my lover never forgot me,
As if you want my answer,
What’s up?
What’s up with you?
What’s ahead of you? What’s above you?
Who watches over you?
What’s the sky like when heaven is nowhere in sight?
When pain eats away at sobriety,
When silence cracks minds and noise breaks glass faces,
What’s up?
I’m just alive,
... Inhale
You laugh because you think I said something funny,
I can’t tell you I haven’t looked up in a while,
I haven’t wondered about fairies and fairytales,
About what’s beyond this cloud, this sun, those barriers,
What’s up?
What’s up isn’t what I know,
What I know isn’t up,
Ask me once again,
Ask me who didn’t leave,
Who hears my words,
Who saw my tears,
When did I grow,
When did I fall,
Do I prefer tea over coffee,
Ask me of a universe I know nothing about,
A heaven my feet haven’t touched,
A thought that hasn’t crossed my mind,
Ask of persons lost, matter gained,
Piercings, physiology, my people’s faces,
Ask me once more,
What’s up?
If I answered 'What's Up?' literally.
Noon M Imad Nov 2012
What’s in a name?
I ask because I’ve never known your name,
Like a maddened Alice, I draw hearts on my books,
With nothing at the depth of them,
Strokes of Cupid,
I’ve never known your name,
Never seen the hands that would hold my children,
Nor the eyes that stars gaze at,
I’ve never had your skin brush against mine,
My feet have never stepped on your trail and I’ve never uttered a word to you,
I don’t even know if you exist,
But I know you,
I know the kindness and the serenity of your soul,
The number of time you would forgive me,
The way I would hold you when you need me to,
But I’ve never known your name,
And what’s in a name?
This poem is kind of simplistic, straight-forward. A good break from complex verses. Gets the point across though.
Noon M Imad Nov 2012
Sometimes in our journey, we meet strangers that we feel a kinship to; for no other reason than their existence. We wonder if we should put in some effort to get close to them, if we should go there and ask them if they want to grab a cup of coffee or something. And then the rest of life and its people get in the way. You're busy and distracted, but you still feel that tug. You let life take its course; if you're meant to know each other, you will. You have an arrogance that tells you: You're life is busy, they'll wait. All the while, that's exactly what their ego is telling them. So when time comes to pass and you've drifted apart, all you have to show for is a Facebook Friendship.
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