We line up in two parallel columns, me at the front of the first column and you beside me on the other.
You flash me a challenging grin. I smile back, accepting your offer.

The coach blows the whistle and we start to sprint across the hall towards the line of hurdles.
We match each other's pace, leaping across the hurdles of increasing height in perfect synchronization.

We reach the final and tallest hurdle.
You briefly turn your head towards me and mouth something.
I can't hear what you're saying - you're too soft. Or maybe my heart is too loud.

I shift my focus back to the last hurdle and heave my springy legs up, confident I can at least break even in this match.
But even before my right ankle was on the same level as the hurdle, my line of sight plunges, and I crash head-on into the embarrassing mess of defeat.

I tilt my head up in time to catch you flawlessly hop across what's become of my failure, your posture lacking any hint of looking back at me.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
*Till now, you haven't looked back.
And I still can't get over that last hurdle,
the same way I haven't gotten over you.

Every time I see a dream and chase it I run into hurdles. I always find myself running at full speed ready to leap over any obstacle in my way! I see the first hurdle and lunge into the air only to fall and scrape my knee. I wail like a small child who thinks they are dying from a tiny scrape. I am not dying! I get up and start running again tripping over hurdle after hurdle after hurdle and with each fall the scrape becomes a cut and then a ****** gouge until I cannot run anymore.
Finally I am running again and this time with a beautiful scar where I had repeatedly fallen before. I have started off a bit slower this time being more aware of what may lie ahead. I am speeding up and am feeling invincible, unstoppable, nothing can stop me now! I see the hurdles up ahead and I am ready! Hurdle 1! Yes, success! Hurdles 2, 3 and 4! I can see my dream just around the bend, I am almost there! Hurdle 5! I am soaring! Flying down the track! Hurdle 6! My toe catches and I fall. A tumbling but not quite fatal fall in which my scar reopens into that gaping gouge and my other is scraped and my right elbow.
Everything is visible now, everyone knows. I bandage myself up to hide it all, to hide the pain and scars and I continue to move, to trudge, to try and dream again. I am awkward and moving slowly, but I am moving, I am beginning to find motivation. And soon, I will be running this race again.

Hurdles, hurdles all the way
many a hurdle jumped
countless await to be jumped.
A short relief after each hurdle
it’s better than no relief.
Hurdles, hurdles all the way
many a hurdle jumped
countless await to be jumped
if a man/woman with much effort
jumps all the hurdles.
Then lie a long path
sans without hurdles
straight at times
long winding at other times
hair-pin curves at another times
Relaxation not allowed
and no turning back permitted
albeit the path is
littered with sharp stones,
thorns and ***-holes
barefooted is each man/woman.
Hurdles, hurdles all the way
many a hurdle jumped
countless await to be jumped
intricacies of life are strange
none knows what is yet to follow
each second, each minute, each hour
human beings are in a state of
suspended animation.
Hurdles, hurdles all the way,
many a hurdle jumped
countless await to be jumped….

(0)
Fly perfectly straight and high, and show the fly
out of the fly-bottle on your way.
Rise to victory, far above the blue sky,
and reap the reward: the opening of paradise!

The road ahead is clear and open this way,
with things small and big growing and disappearing up this way.
You will see sunrises and sunsets waxing and waning,
with mention of the moon and stars in the dark.
Be mindful as you sway, it's got to be laser-sharp.
There is no hard shoulder on this highway,
miss it by an inch and risk losing everything forever!

There is hope, there is light up high
pick up your paintbrush, just like the sun does
goodness knows how it sneaks in, right in the black
canvas of the night, painting the first light
lo, it shows up in heaven, the candle of the daylight.

As long as there is a man and a woman,
never give up, our canary bird can fly
rosy or not, the nest in every morn nets a sunrise!

(1)
A woman indeed plucks up the courage
she never had to look up to the stars
be it for the guide or the light in the night.
Fathima herself was the full Moon every night
is thanks to her Godsent innate light.

With it, she can bask in the full spread of the pi
on top of its short decimals mounting high
constantly as if countless stars in the sky.

The time and space under the sun
and that under Fathima's light
are far apart from each other
yet they coexist side by side.

As she points out,
"A circle is masculine
while pi is feminine."

Pi forms the circle with fine prints,
decimal dots continue to spring,
sprawling trillions of new digits,
the bandwagon is still increasing.
Connecting the dots is an untouched dream.

The full moon pi picture is veiled,
unseen at large, yet in short, 3.145 it can live!

(2)
Fathima flies her lock of hair
in the lurking air of the transcended pi
the primitive feminine does that,
no wonder she is God's secret feminine opus!
An immeasurable black hole lies in between
the short and transcended pi, running like a river,
dancing anew on every riverbank
in the many curls of Fathima's jet black hair.

She lent out a hair to the planet earth
and crossed over like a silhouette
without spilling out the colour
of the transcended end of the pi.
The earth takes it in the core in her heart
as if it would keepsake it forever.

Weaving the pi in Fathima embeds two hairs ties one
perfect circle at the back and one at the front of the universe.
Inside each hair the earth is finest fluid in the core
none is as deep as high as proportionate a perfect flow.
No time is as revealing no music is as sweet in this orb
no force is as mighty nor as prevailing a true giant
causing gravity and the heat at the earth's core.
Matter and spirit mix free in the play both wax lyrical
thanks to the pure resonance of 'Qun Be' the word of God!

(3)
The way to the earth's core is exposed to none other
save the Angel of Death the lucky one.

See both sides of the one lofty sky swathed in countless stars  
but the day and night render through still remains an unseen one  
Terra is shalet zeroed in Fathima is heaven on earth!  
Up in the sky-high bank turning the starry bowl upside down
Fathima took no star nor a pearl diving deep down the Arab water,
the brightest luminary came after Muhammad (PBUH),
in veil from the Night of Measures and into the flipside in the night
she's gone without lifting the veil but left her penetrating mark.

Few could find the shortcut contemplating on a blank canvas
the Moon looks down into the abyss down the sea eyes on far
for a mirror in the bottom on the as above so below matter
since Godsent Fathima touched on the all-inclusive primitive water.
The sun gets caught up in the very water dew she raised in the sky
the ancient fold of time still unfurls with the sun-kissed flowers
for the new hands yet the fingerprint on the sun remains only her!

Azrael heads to Fathima around the year 632 after death
touches down in Medina on his usual thin earth he steps.  
But this time a little mundane dust couldn't be thicker
he keeps descending deep down to the earth's centre
following from Medina but the angel locates her
inside the perfect circle a closed geometric figure.

(4)
Fathima is the female headline her secret is not all known
when she used to visit the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)
he would stand up for her hold her hand and kiss it
and seat her on his seat, she would do the same to the prophet
when he would visit her like they did know each other
in and outside the spheres of heaven and earth!

She is the embodiment of the infinite feminine variations
the first spiritual woman created following God's word Qun.
Her is the mother tongue of the ever diversified feminine lingua
no one woman on her own can rhyme with her alone
she has no peer her rhetoric is unique like none other.
The galactic run from planet to planet up on the starry ladder
climbing high up the mountain heaven yet streams out like oval
off their rock bottom stone until that unleashes the final run
in perfect circle delving into the rhythm of the loop at the centre
made of Fathima's hair charged by 'Qun' God's uncreated word.  

Prophet David can sing on the bank of the river
and can see the fish are jumping to him out of the water.
The masculine is open form, eye on everywhere,
but not her the woman is in juxtaposition her
all-inclusive schema supplanting the details rest only on her.
She is the unseen world within the world at best imagine her!
Guess, through this inwardly open door who might disappear?
It's nature before the scientist on ultimate discovery of the matter!  

Aligning with her down the rainbow up high the land absorbs
the grooming sky looking on the running rivers within her.
Her words spread through like the smart cloud that flies far
over the lands and valleys but not even the wind none other
gets a sniff of the potion and melody it caries until that rain down
without a hurdle without a visual she moves on at the target
such a soul needs no after death lift from the angel of death.

Before Azrael Fathima loses an arc of the circle then and there
so not the earth but giant Azrael can take the pressure!
Marked by a fluid discharge since then she is cooling this fire
In Shaa Allah God willing when she ajars it, it will be elixir!  

(5)
Draw a straight line, but it won't be perfect
it keeps bending, fly straight touching the sky
the flight path won't look like a straight line
it would be like the crest of a crescent moon
like curve touched the sky, like climbing up
atop the pyramid is not going high straight on
it goes up from the widespread seked slopes.

Moves in golden ration 1.618 not the full two
and gets the designing formula flawlessly full
micro to macro all levels all the way to the true north!    

Fathima being the original feminine eyeing at her
she can tap in the knowhow of naturally feminine nature.
And discovers the immanent pattern - the world
is pre-designed and measured is never a coincidence.
The creatures' creativity, scientist's science
is to follow, discover working formulas like phi and pi.

Play along it works until an unknown hour strikes
comes with accurate knowledge dead on time
numerically correct never miss taking a life away
as if it was calculated beforehand before the birth.
A newborn is born for a limited time
already set but no one knows when it goes up  
is a deadlock clock but it isn't so shrouded
in the blueprint of the creatures' grand design
there the clock ticks safe and sounds it never dies!  

(6)
Fathima hailing from the other side of the pool
eyes on the ever live pre-design side of the creation!
Then its corporeal face was only a water drop,
the primitive one looks see-through it has dead zero
knowledge of its lively other side of the pool.
She comes closer and perfectly mirrors both sides
that shines through on her reflected face on the water.
An absolute new image that livens up the dead part
Bang - Big Bang! The corporeal world gets the spark
explodes out from the very first drop of the water!

Fathima's appearance was miraculously instrumental
God reveals nature the finite and infinite, 0 and 1,
future in the present and the death and life in play!
Nature follows suit it just saw the perfect role model
banged out but only to its corporeal set
it aspires to be with its infinite reality yet!

Fathima leaves the door open constructing a perfect circle,
hardly straight, took the mixed bag of countless variations
she zooms into the abyss irrational portion of the first matter,
the primitive water drop and aces the circle with her hair
that nothing can equate throughout the corporeal world.
Done the math discovering the zero starting point at the bottom.
The ocean of digit numbers, the DNA of all things material
banged out of it, still, the zero is numberless irrational!

(7)
All things, within oneself and in a set constantly vibrate,
strive to align with the enduring reality of itself.
The atom vibrates to reach out to its immortal portion
that doesn't die and is in the know of its lower base.
The planets are in a defined circular orbit, accurately measured
just the apex on top of their dynamic pyramid the pyramidon
is tucked away; they too have an irrational portion in the circle.

With the finest spin, they zoom in the spacious universe,
in part and like the sun outside the constellations round they go
never miss a target line yet to re-discover Fathima's perfect circle
the origin of their digital essences' breakthrough
the door to their transcended destination de jour.
Lo the matter turns the last stone pulsing across the cosmos
the mortal horizontal spread, the spirit returns home.

The earth has a line in its swansong it has a place in paradise
it's not here to stay for good neither to perish forever!

Matters form and break without losing the rope,
it's not to paint the shades of the eternal blue
but to ace an irrational portion in the circle
at the heart of the earth, as above, so below.  
The deep the high the perfect circle
up and down the centre of gravitation for all!

At even and at odd the vibration within the matter is fluid
somewhere is parched there the arch matter must make a splash.
Far away on that dark beach, the full-fledged sea of the matters
outpours its billowy potion with the Moon on the frontline
from deep within the physical world's most glowed up firefly!

(8)
The seven seas swell up smoothly into the moonlight-dip
oh, the waterless Moon at the core is still fasting.
Led by time the sweet swan punting along the waves
streams down the watery inner circle of the planets.
Until stuck in the Moon no water in the last waterfront
but paradise is on the other side of the pool!  

The sun dips away into the night
while the eve baths in the shades of pink and gold,
the dazzling hues soon turn to taupe.
Drawing down painting the picture in full colour
only to find the time is up on the halfway,
yet to print a colour copy of the night!
The other unseen half is passed down to the Moon
tiptoeing in slow motion in the depths of the night
barely keeping the head afloat in a fathomless ocean
of shades of black hails from where knows no one.  

The sun enkindles the moon half-lit keeping itself away
amid shadows as if comparing the shades now it knows
a Mehrem a veiled female is ahead not to look on or
compared to that the sun has no light or true are both.

Wrapped in the eternal night beneath its black mole
once the moon on the front approaching most close
directly down to the centre of the earth eyes on
over that inlaid string hairy black perfect circle
never did it turn back the same gaze is still on
orbiting around the earth in synchronous rotation.

(9)
The never-ending night is becoming a night indeed
it's coming to an end so soon in our time.
In Shaa Allah I will see it with my eyes before I die
in the Night of Measures in an odd night in Ramadan
Fathima from the transcendental end of irrational heart
will turn on top of the curve opening for the first time
a 9-degree angle in the circle at the centre of the earth.

Instantly the leading force, time will get the first sniff
of the other world, so peaceful heart-melting serene.
Rapturous time feeling an ounce of the enduring peace
for the first time cutting all the corners with ease
will be propelled into its yet uncharted golden mean.
Scurrying to the peaceful abode time will be on its wings
across the globe, people will be stunned seeing
how first the times pass from then on incredibly quick!

Fathima, the first spiritual woman on duty, will start
pulling her hair back off the circle at the centre
Juxtaposed in between the worlds of here and hereafter.
She will take back every inch of it, the heavenly bodies
will feel the pinch of her every little subtle pull
that too is a boon helping them perfect their circle.

(10)
Soon she opens it just 9-degree wide at first
the Moon will see a glimpse of the first drop of water.
Without it, it's living perched without the water of life
that's destined to rain down soon and the Moon
back into its original pond shall revive!
Mapping the pi's whole infinitesimals playground
finally, Fathima will turn the circle upside down
on the dot the stunned sun shall rise in the western sky!

By now under Fathima's hair's shaded closed circle
it must have sailed far over the blue sky in the other world.
Billowing with the breeze over the sea of uncharted water
and stacking to the brim with all that it could discover
humbly stood like a cloud in that corner of the sky.

The time is finally ticking fast to rain down with love
paradise's welcoming schema rendering in waterpaint drops
on the Moon over the sea of matters, that's most glowed up firefly
ah, finally can break the fast sipping in a drop of elixir!
It's their heavenly adopted, Miʿrāj performed, primitive water.
The Moon with the seven seas will leave off the corporeal shell
gliding gracefully with this stately water nymph as if it never dies
and will make a splash plopping into the pond of paradise!  

For the matter ultimately is water and its extent is sound
Fathima will fetch it the water of life and take it to the next life!
Oh, the matter shall do both die and revive with Israfil's sound
the cloud will fly out of the dead water on the ground,
like the earth with chorus songs of the rain revives.
When that a melodious nymph in the water makes waves
see paradise is here the Moon over the sea can't take off its eyes.

(11)
Hang on though they all set ready on their horizontal span  
to pull in such a fluid yet colourful descending like a rainbow swan.
First chaste Fathima will evaporate her hair's perfume away
that's yet lingering in the water warming it up to its premium
no crowd then can see where this heady, fragrant cloud will fly!
There are the momentum and delights where that will alight.

Israfil might then blow his trumpet swooning the world away
the secret will remain a secret exception is said in the Qur'an.
A strange sound will silence the chorus of the innate digits
collapsing the floating cosmos bubbling on their music.  
The corporeal circle will collapse as if there is no base no pi
the melody of the first word Qun means Be will still be loud
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious so how can we all expire?

Israfil too will play his reviving trumpet pure mellifluous
and In Shaa Allah numerically perfect Fathima will rise
amidst the resonant Qun as like she did in the beginning
when except prophet Muhammad (PBUH) there was nothing!
Now the earth once zeroed in beneath her hair will follow her
the stunned terra will discover Fathima took her hair away
only to shift the constellation up onto the upper world!

The old songs of the planets the chorus of the digits will revive
from the zero bases in the core the digital panache that dance
planet upon the planet as if they are always at the perfect hertz.

Indeed that is yet to come, the arts of the fine layers
opening from the irrational pi, the finest one is to flower
when Fathima will unloop her circled hair at the centre
piercing the very immanent irrational cut
that no creation can fathom only the loving creator Allah
will turn odd to even in between the here and hereafter
then the ocean stuck in deep salt shall turn to enduring potion!
The As-Sirat shall turn to be the bridge to paradise
the body shall revive with the enduring soul forever
and with ah Fathima couple shall enter paradise In Shaa Allah
with the rhapsody 'all praise is for Allah' Alhamdulillah!

a throughbred ran
leaping over wood hurdles
confident he could.

an old mare ran
stopped just short of the hurdle
apathy and fear.

a pony tail ran
just clearing the wood hurdles
feeling like a horse.

a young white horse ran
"now just hold on there Wilber
not all horses jump."

Will this be my last climb?
Will I make it past the last hurdle?

Walking up to the last place that felt like home,
I began to shake with trepidation.
The past is my hurdle to negotiate
As I now face old memories.

Seeing the path ahead I was, somewhat happy,
Yet, something stopped me from the enjoyment
Which once fed my childhood memories,
But now leads to my anxiety.

How can I make it to the end?
How can I climb the last hurdle?

I am ready to make my final trip to
The place where it first started.
To the home that brought me this unease
To the place where the hurdles began.

The descent before me was long, but doable.
The path was old but still evoked memories.
I recall falls that caused me pain
And hurdles I could not overcome, then.

Will I make it to the end?
Will I survive the obstacles?

The boulders in my way want me to stop.
They thwart me with their solid form,
Yelling at me in their stone-cold voices -
‘You can’t make it past us. You’re too weak.’

The trees block my path with their long arms,
Using their branches to scratch at me.
Their roots try to trip me,
While prickly leaves attack me.

Who can understand what I’ve been through?
Who can help me overcome my hurdles?

The storm is one of the millions of challenges I’ve had to face.
Its rain couldn’t care less if it is drowning me.
The wind is blowing hard, hurtful whispers,
While the thunder screams loud abuse at me.

This storm is one from the past.
I fall through it towards the pain.
Nothing is giving me joy.
And I’m so tired I don’t care anymore.

Will I get through this storm?
Will I find my way once more?

No! The morning fog is hard to penetrate
And my path is covered in confusion.
It’s another hurdle to overcome.
I’m lost again but still I need hope.

My mind is making me question my choices.
Thoughts are racing and tearing me apart.
The path is now rocky and uneven,
But I keep going hoping it will become easier.

Then the path splits before me.
Which way? That way? What way?

A physical indication tells me where to go,
The last hurdle is about to be leapt over.
I see it. I see my childhood home,
and all the memories begin to rise.

Memories evoked
Hurt fully provoked.

Hurdles old and new
All hard to get through.

Oppressive memories attack
And I begin to crack.

They’re blocking my path.
And showing me their wrath.

Their punches cause pain,
And cuts appear again.

Dark clouds of memories
Surrounding like vultures.

Tears falling firm
Making me squirm.

Confusion lying
As lost thoughts start prying.

As bad choices rise,
All making me unwise.

Why did I try climbing the hurdles?
Why did I come back to face this hurt?

I realise now that I should have left the past in the past.
It is too much.

Death and sorrow
For me there is no tomorrow.

Bullying, Depression and suicide.
They are all just too real.

Failure is the hardest emotional hurdle to overcome.
It means the end of the adventure,
And worse,
That this particular end is your fault.

Failure means a creased brow, fidgety fingers, and knotted stomach
It means confrontation
And admission of guilt.
Failure means you didn't succeed.

When failure sneaks up on me at night,
Seeps into the skin on my back,
And wraps its slimy hands around my rib cage
When I'm in its vice grip
And I can't breathe
Will you give me CPR?

What is ..... with ......
All this ... " ATTITUDE " ... ?!?
  
It seems ... The ... " In Thing " ...
to simply be ... " Rude " ... !?! ...  
  
People in ... " The World " ...
are now .... So Crude .... !!!!!!!
  
Girls now walk streets ...
with arses ... in view ...  
  
" Prostitution's " ... RIFE ...  
But this ... " Isn't New " ... !!!!!!
  
So ....
If you have ... " A Bad Attitude " ... !!! ...
May I ask ... " What's wrong with you ? " ...
  
Do you feel ... " Misled " ... ???
Are you feeling ... " Upset " ... ???
  
Do you feel that your life ... ?
is just a .... " Pretence " .... ?
  
Do you feel as if ... ?
You'd be ... Better off ... DEAD ... !!!!!
  
Well ... if you do ... ?
It's Not Just ... YOU ... !!!!!
  
But it's ... NOT COOL ... !!!
to act the ... " Fool " ...  
and live your life ...
with .... ATTITUDE .... !!!!!
  
If life's ... " So Rough " ...
and you wanna ... " Act Tough " ...  
  
Get in ... THE RING ... !!!!!
Try on ... some gloves ...  
and if it ... " Suits " ...
Make WAR ... NOT Love ... !!!
  
I riSE ... abOVE ...
This ... " Attitude Stuff " ...  
  
But ... " Many suggest " ...
I'm ... " Billy Goat gruff " ...  
  
This ain't ... " Call My Bluff " ... !!!!!
  
But I guess it's cos' ... ???
I'm NOT ... " White Enough " ...  
to be .... " So Cool " ....
and ... NOT ... Wear Cuffs ...  
  
Presumption can make ... ???
People give ... ATTITUDE ... !!!
  
So .....
Don't just ... " Assume " ...
cos this might be ... ?
Your ... LAST MISTAKE ... !!!!
  
" Attitude " ... that arises ...
because of ... " Assumption " ...
can leave men with ... " Truncheon " ...
Without their ... Heart Function ... !!!
  
cos' Attitude ... quelled ...
will then reach ... COMBUSTION ... !!!!!
  
So ....
  
PLEASE ... Don't Assume ...
when you enter ... " A Room " ...  
  
Read this ... CLOSELY ... !!!
cos' when you ... Assume ...
  
You just make an ... " *** " ...
of ... Both You and Me ... !!! ...  
  
Did you ...  
Read it ... CLOSELY ... ???  
  
Break that word into ... " Three " ...
  
*** ...
" U " ...
and then ... ME ...  
  
Reminds me of a word ...
Yes ... " That Word " ... His - story
  
Just look at ... News Stories ...
and you ... Surely ... MUST SEE ... ?!?
  
Attitude's ... runnin" ....
on streets ... TOO FREELY ... !!!!!  
  
Even on terraces ... in Italy .... !?!
  
Inter ... or ... A.C.  
which fans ... can it be ... ???
  
I'm told these fans ...  
... " Attitude " ...
FRIGHTENS POLICE ..... !!!!!  
  
So .....
When they're ... Supposed ...
to use ... BRUTALITY ...  
  
They'd rather not use it ...
but ... bring it to ... " Me " ... ?!?
  
Kind of like people ...
who do ... " Poetry " ...
  
From trying to act ...
Like ... They Like ... what I read  ... !!!
Until I write words ...
That DISTURRRBBBB ... " Their Chi " ... !!!
  
Attitude ... ISN'T ME ... !!!
Come on ... Don't You See ...
  
My name is ... " Big Virge " ...
Friends call me ... " Big V " ...  
  
But ....
Unless i've told you ...
  
You'd better use ... VIRGIL ... !!!
  
Unless you are ready ...
to fall at ... " That Hurdle " ...  
  
This Isn't ... " The National " ...
My Poetry's ... " Rational " ...  
  
as are ... " My Thoughts " ...
which ... CANNOT ... be bought ... !!!!!
  
So ....
Ideas that you ... " Court " ...
of ... Any such .... " Sort " ....  
  
Take my advice ....
it's time to ... ABORT ... !!!!!
cos' ... Attitude's RIFE ...
when my temper ... " Runs short " ... !!!!!
  
So .... maybe it's time .... ?
to leave you ... " This Thought " ...  ???
  
Attitudes' ... Crude ...
and is something for ... FOOLS ...  
who think ... Being Rude ...
is now ... The New ... " COOL " ... ?!?
  
Well ....  
Check out ... This view ... !!!
  
You're NOT ... being cool ... !!!
You're acting ... THE FOOL ... !!!
  
Now ....
If you're a ... " Female " ... ?
  
PLEASE ... Refuse to use ...  
This ... " Needless Abuse " ... !!!
  
But ....
If you're a ... " Male " ... ?
  
Just be a ... " Cool Dude " ...  
and just do ... " What's Right ... !!!
  
REMOVE ... !!!
  
... " Attitude " ... !!!!!!

the Islam of Malcolm X isn't the Islam of today... it isn't really the prescription of Nietzsche had before the Heraclitus flux took sway and said: waterfall or lottery... it really, really, really doesn't matter. the Islam of the 1960s isn't the Islam of today... too tinged with Sieg Heil... although less the Ave Caesar salute and more akin to: who's up for ****, *******? the Islam has changed... if i was wise enough i'd have converted, to mind you... but i thought: putting my faith by only having a library of only one book... i thought... n'ah... that's a bit extreme, can i at least have a comic book strip to add to that massive library? no? oh well, no, sorry, at least one book mentions several authors who tried to imitate but failed on the last hurdle, at least i can revise that, and completely erase the two extensions that borrowed from Hinduism; 'cos' like it ******* mattered.. don't test me, i'm anticipating death like  suicide-vest child... come on! let's start the Slavic crusade!

perhaps it's not about not thinking certain thoughts,
or feeling certain emotions...
but perhaps it just is...
i say, we need the Sophists these days to
apply the fishing-net tactic to deciphering or
simply selectively reflecting our vocabularies...
strait-jacket vocabularies are there in plain sight...
i mean... wait a minute...
i jumped from jazz into pop music on the headphones,
from Miles Davis' *kind of blue defining
moment of the flamenco sketches right into the bog
of one direction - so i guess this is where
the antidote for art being too subjective comes in...
well, they sorted that problem already...
objectivity in art is around us as we speak,
it means "artists" that are manufactured,
art in the age of mechanical reproduction
(Walter Benjamin), it means more props than artists,
the problem got solved, it means reaching an
autocratic plateau of plugging in and sharing
a non-individualistic stream of emotion,
the opposite of democracy is autocracy, it isn't
despotism... i don't know why democracy doesn't
understand that it's ugly sister (autocracy)
is the enemy and not a Genghis Khan style of government...
democracy in the form of autocracy is a failed
attempt at Utopia... it suggests the system is perfect...
it means the institutions go about their daily business
like children in the playground who ******* and wet
themselves (the bankers), and still not one does anything
about it... what was once a demo tape of a indie band
becomes an automatic big seller big grosser E.P.,
just because the tragedy came, and they drove the touring
bus off a bridge in Sveeden... *******...
you ain't fighting dictators, you're fighting your change
from democracy into autocracy... where things
seem so perfect they can hardly ever change,
they're automated, they're not demographically sound...
sure, i'm the clown, i'll juggle a few big words around...
but in term of art? well, pop music has reached
the limit of what "philosophers" argued against...
to be frank... jealousy got to them that argued
for counter-productive constraints...
now they rebel against this objective construct of
artists in the shadows, writing text and tune and needing
some amateur to perform... and where do you
seek their rebellion? in the subjectivity they once
argued against: that famous Rage Against the Machine
protest against the X-factor...
so wait, first you argue against the subjectivity
of the artistic expression, then you postulate the non-existence
of the self: countered as the dasein for all subjectivity,
then you miss artistic objectivity with the karaoke
and what comes as the **** utopia with French
euthanasia tourists in Switzerland and Belgium...
you missed the argument you favoured, i.e.
artistic objectivity, i.e. performers, not people who write
the hit singles, Hiroshima Karaoke,
well, aren't we all objective now, that we have to source
our feelings in the expressions we once made angst against?
odd, isn't it? you never knew how well established
the counter argument became...
it's pop culture, it's evidently going to become viral...
but you see the power of subjective art...
it spreads like an infection, no point arguing against it...
objectivity in art is already a well established
virus, it doesn't really bite into your soul,
it bites, but you just get the odd body chicken ****...
that's what i mean about how a self-assured-without-a-self
democracy morphs into autocracy...
the fake Utopia of the well-established social
institutions actually being bankrupt, starting
with the post-colonial charity companies,
lying sharks and interest rates at 2000% per annum
i'm starting to think of Islam... leeches and hypocrites...
so your pointless critique of the subjectivity of the arts
became your most sling-shot friction strained weapon
to aim at the industry of art objectified,
in the age of mechanical reproduction true art = dodo...
it's on its way out... i hardly think that
50 years from now you'll find someone as idiotic
as me writing poetry for the love of the **** thing...
you'll get Utopian plateaus, anaesthetic democracy in
the realm of humanism, and hanging over you
autocracy... immovable foundations, cos' everything's
just perfect, time to invade another Libya where
some genius ensured the people knew their place
and who kept order on the pretence of
keeping weapons of mass destruction and
dog leashes... but there you will be ****-strapped going
huh? i thought subjectivity in art was bad?
n'ah mate, that's the only thing that made art good...
you got your ******* Karaoke, live with it!
the English Renaissance of the 1960s ain't coming back,
even if you gave Belfast back to the Dublin crew...
i say we need another Protagoras to get
the vocabulary inflation up to speed...
i say devalue the words self, ego... and make the
psychologists bums..
i say devalue the words nation, british and hamburger
to make the anglophile influence on Europe
a bit like sniffing a mortar of ******* off a penny...
i say reestablish the virtues of Japanese feudalism,
scare depressed teenagers with the words:
your only way out is by Hara Kiri.
something must come from a poem like this...
i have rage... you reason with it...
i'm not going to reason a calm into my heart with the words
i just wrote... n'ah... n'ah n'ah... that ain't happening...
it only took one needle in a haystack to give me prompt...
the ailments of subjectivity in art...
that got me, bull's eye reddened mad...
you ain't turning me into Darwinian grey matter!
this is democracy at its most despotic...
let me try democracy first, before i join the legion of dentists
with happy middle-class lives in autocracy...
can't blame ****** in this guise of organising people,
'cos' there just ain't no ******...
that got me hot wired and hired to argue...
first they say: art deserves no subjectivity...
fair enough: 1 man draws a rhombus a 1000 men draw a square...
but now that we can finally see objectivity being applied
to art, we only get pop: **** jazz, classical, rock and speedy-indie...
we get manufacture... as you once hated those with
personal intention to add to the democratic demographic,
now you turn against them for disturbing the status quo...
well, happy are those that come to the sun's repeat jargon
and happily doubt the roundabout...
because criticising art as subjectively orientated
really spared you art having ascribed objectivity to its cause
of attaining mechanical reproduction,
and the subjective placebo... neither thinking nor feeling
anything deeper than nervous yoga twitching dances...
spare me the ******* details if you come up with
a more accurate historical pinpoint.

When an issue does not get solved it takes the form an obstacle
An obstacle if not tackled, over a period of time it’s becomes a hurdle
A hurdle if not crossed at the right time, then most probably you will miss your aim.

Time is taken to understand, realize and accept an issue as an issue in it’s present form.

An issue can be in the form an obstacle,
it can also be a hurdle,
it can be anything.

Most importantly one must know how things started,
where did an issue crop up,
initially where did things go wrong.

Once understood, accept the same,
accept the fact that you made a mistake.
No point in going for reconciliation, since time is important.

See that habits change, attitude differs
Make a note, issues like this will not crop up again
Once decided, be determined in your mind and follow the same

It’s important to keep going along the right track,
since once the track changes,
it’s not the destination that comes to mind,
what one feels is what is written in fate.

So no more of an imagination play and also what else is there in the mind that the mind desires.

It’s important to follow your aim and keep in mind to maintain your focus on the same.

Definitely a moment in time will come when you will get what you aim.

I thought                                         you'd left us, long ago
desolate on a swing
                       rocking stale, dry grass and still air
                      
                      crossing
never quite                  the hurdle

                                                               ­                                                    lost

unaware
sweating youth in this humidity

I thought we'd never make it past the
rusty red and brown of weathered fences

                            like
              felt                        moun
   They                                  
                                                     tains

                                                               ­   Made of dirt
                                                                ­                       (guilt)
and an endless turmoiling scent, still fresh



I thought you'd forlorned us                  
h     e     a     v    y       r  a  i  n   and warm bodies
standing next to oxidized hoops
                                                          one adjacent to the other
The haze of the heat hard, but not impossible
to withstand                swaying like the gust of wind, swaying  
                                            the blazing sun and my open palms swaying




Why was it here                                         that it felt like you left us
                                                              ­                                              stumped,  
unaware,­
consuming  with no  
                                              idea of the Greater



2.


                                                W­ H A T was it about inner cities
And skin that would tan
Or resist the sun
   that made you  mutter murky words  


judgement
                   that made me hike a

                                  K
                       A
            E
P
that for so long made feel like a (lost) traveler
unable to come find my way   D O W N.

Still on a mountain top
Never quite crossing the hurdle.
That’s how you wanted me
A
     B
          A
                N
                     D  O N E D.

3.

But my tongue made sounds
copper pots and plastic measuring cups
became the pious  accompaniment
of a song sung inwardly
until it manifested
Words on lips
                            Lips willing to kiss the purple clouds made out of strange fruit and a high border walls over my hand and back

4. A Swimsuit and a pool that could cool
me
small children see the cicatrixes
      But I walk towards the water; I have long abandoned shame.

I have a friend,
She jumps hurdles.
For me,
She seems quiet,
In her zone,
Eyes focused on what's ahead,
I stand at one end of the stadium,
pretending to read a book,
But with eyes behind dark glasses,
I enjoy watching her in a different realm.
She runs up and down the field,
And stops to chat with different people,
Which I find encouraging,
Because she seems to not care who those people are,
Or that they have a past,
That may be filled with secrets as dark as my t shirt.
When its her turn to run,
She stands at the blocks,
The man says "ready"
But she treats it as if its a question
Because she goes down on one knee
And flips her hair over her left shoulder,
Pulls each leg of her spandex down,
As if it'll make them grow in length,
Which I find amusing.
The man with the gun says "set"
And she rises in the air before it goes off
And as it does,
She explodes outward like ocean mist
Hitting black cliffsides
And I wonder how she seems to bring her own sunset
Becasue as she runs,
The colors never leave her face
Even when she crosses the finish line.
The other runners must see it too,
Becasue they seem to slow their step
To watch her set out in front of them
Which I think is funny,
Because they don't even get to watch the clouds break
When she smiles after ******* In a few gusts of wind.
I like to watch all people do the things they love,
But maybe it means more when you're watching someone
you truly wish to be happy
No matter the cost of yourself.
I was Sitting underneath a tree
That was raining pieces of bark down around me
Maybe to try an make the scene more poetic
As if it could change itself into water.
I was deep in thought,
Which annoys me sometimes
Cause I think too much,
But anyways,
I was thinking about how the hurdler
Doesn't just run races
On harmless school fields,
Jumping tiny tables laid out for her.
She also jumps hurdles in her own life,
Which are usually much bigger,
and scarier.
But just like the start,
She seems to crouch down at the sight of the people and their guns,
And springs forward,
Pushing against the ground, not running away,
But conquering everything before her.
And when she gets done with her race,
I can't help but swell with pride,
Because even her running,
seems to create poems of her life.
She handles each hurdle with such grace,
And respect,
a sort of beauty.
My eyes seem to always smile,
When I stand where I always am,
At the finish.
Waiting.
I stand at the end and not the start
Because just like in life,
I can't wait to see her conquer each hurdle
And meet me at the finish line
where ill always be,
With a smile,
Waiting for the hurdler.
Waiting,
For her to win.