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The board lies still—eight ranks, eight files,
Each square a world, a thousand trials.
Its checkered face, both calm and cruel,
Waits quietly to play the fool.

The stage is set, the players stare,
Each move a hope, each glance a dare.
They chase the crown, a fleeting throne,
Yet play this game so not alone.

The pawns march on with hearts held tight,
Blind to edges of wrong and right.
The knights vault over doubts and ties,
Twisting through paths that mask disguise.

While bishops slide through shades between,
They blur the line of right and mean.
The rooks stand firm with rigid pride,
Their paths cut sharp, no step to slide.

The queen—so fierce, so fast, so grand—
Wields power none can understand.
The king just shuffles, slow and small,
Yet all would die to guard his fall.

But none ask why this prize they seek—
What worth has power if souls grow weak?
They fight for check, they fall for mate,
They crown the skill, yet praise the fate.

But when the game has run its thread,
All lie the same—still, cold, and dead.
No victor’s cheer, no mournful cries,
Just silent echoes, fading skies.

A silent watcher beyond the frame,
Eyes steady, untouched by fleeting game.
He watches rules with endless flight,
The fragile dance of truth and lies.

Unmoved by moves both thrill and blind,
He holds the truth the young can’t find—
That all their struggle, all their pain,
Is but a shadow, not the reign.
Time comes and time goes. Timed perfectly, sometimes.
It times its tricks, in time. Like well timed rhythmic rhymes.
For time’s no time-thread, or a time-tangible thread.
Yet time spins time-webs into each time-plagued head.

Whispers from before time, in the time-chiming clock,
That aching tick tock, That promises time will not stop.
Might time be a stream? No, times flow is no stream.
So, time, times itself through seams in our time-faulted dreams.

Timed moments count beats in time, till the moment time snaps.
Then just in time, time resets, and traps our time in timed traps.
For time just times its mask, in a time-shadowed guise.
sometimes, time keeps us blind in a maze of time-layered lies.

Through time’s timely weaving, as time unwinds our  mind.
Strictly timed, are moments we live for, never found in good time.
For time isn’t timeless, though time insists that it is.
Time’s tricks are simply timed tricks, with no time-starts or ends.

Timed pauses in space and time, seemingly timely at their best,
But time steals those perfect times from the time that we invest.
Yet time in its time-vault, keeps no time. No, not at all,
Time rises through ages, timing ‘till its time-laden fall.

When time times our time, it feels like time, this time is real.
Yet ill-timed illusions distort the times that we can feel.
For time isn’t timed timely, nor timed to our tune.
Time is bound by time,  like the timed oribiting of the moon.

In times of confusion, we time what time says isnt there,
As Time sifts through our grasp of time. like time, itself, is air.
Yet time will timely tell that, Sometimes, time is a myth.
Oh, the time wasted I've spent, believing in times timed wits.

And that’s assuming time is flexible, by assuming time is fixed.
And on that note,  this is all assuming, that time even exists.
Laokos May 24
a severed branch in smooth moonlight
adorned above an open gate—
does it lead out or in?
does kindness wait beyond the blind corner,
or something severe
lurking in silence
to devour your life?
something wild with eyes for the dark calls through the night.
an inkling that this night may be your last,
and you’ve already forgotten
the gentle light of the rising sun.
death teases the truth behind the illusion
but never gives up the ghost.
maybe not tonight, but someday—
it will come,
as unavoidable
as the waterfall is to the river.
but you are not the river.
you are the sky, my friend—
vast and open.
do not mistake yourself for your life,
which is but a reflection
on the river, briefly.
let it fall away, as all things must,
over the edge,
into the unknown,
into the mist.
Cadmus May 23
🍽️

If I enjoy their attention today,
I remind myself of this:

They’ll call a nice dish “a ***** plate”
once they’ve eaten their fill.

Praise turns to pity,
desire to disdain.

The hands that reached for me
will recoil,
as if they never begged
to taste.

So I wear their craving like perfume
fleeting,
never mine to keep.

They were never here for me…
just the feast.
This piece strips away illusion to expose the cruelty of conditional attention. It’s a brutal commentary on how people often glorify what they consume, only to discard it with contempt once their desire is satisfied. A warning to recognize the difference between admiration and appetite.
Ali Hassan May 19
I scream where no one ever stands,
With fractured voice and pleading hands.
I shout to skies, to winds, to dust
To bones like mine and hearts unjust.
No ear will bend, no soul draws near,
Yet still I scream through every year.

I am the grave, the end you flee,
The truth beneath your trembling knee.
You pass with flowers, soft and kind,
But none of you look deep to find
The words I hold beneath the clay,
Of life you waste, the price you pay.

I hold myself, I breathe in slow,
My scream turns quiet, soft and low.
Not anger now—just aching care,
A voice that only wants to spare
You from the race that kills your soul,
And leads you to this silent hole.

You fight for love, for dreams, for names,
You guard your world from loss and flames.
But when your breath begins to fall,
None of it will heed your call.
No gold, no touch, no lover's face
Will follow you to this still place.

I too had dreams, I too had pride,
I laughed, I bled, I broke inside.
I swore I'd never die alone
But here I lie, just dust and bone.
The ones I saved, the ones I knew,
Have long moved on, as you will too.

I tried to shout before the end,
I tried to tell you, tried to mend
The path you walk with blinded eyes,
But joy and fear both sell you lies.
You hear me not—you never do.
You think this end won't come for you.

I watch you cry, then chase the same,
You wipe your tears and play the game.
You mourn the dead, then forge ahead,
Ignoring all we ever said.
You want to live—but not to see
The weightless truth inside of me.

So I screamed again, until I cracked,
My voice like stone, my sorrow stacked.
I broke myself to make you hear
But silence grew with every year.
And then I knew—this world won't change.
To them, the grave is dark and strange.

I, too, once danced and looked away,
While older graves would plead and say:
“Don’t chase the wind, don’t chase the fire,
All ends in dust, your false desire”
But I just smiled, then turned aside
And laughed, and loved, and cursed, and died.

So now I rest. My screaming ends.
No more to beg. No more to bend.
Perhaps this world will only see
When all return to dust like me.
But should you stop, and hear one day
Know it was me… who tried to say.
Cadmus May 17
It wasn’t you…

You were exactly
as you are.

It was me,
who turned your smile into a sunrise,
and blamed you,
when it rained.

☔️
We don’t fall because others lift us too high, we fall because we climbed with our own illusions. My mistake wasn’t in trusting you. It was in scripting an ending you never signed up for.
Cadmus May 15
For a moment,
I was everything.

As we danced,
He spoke in sonnets,
promised castles and constellations.
I believed.

But when the music died,
so did he.
The stars blinked out,
the castle never was.

And I returned
to my table,
to my silence,
to a world that never danced.

With nothing in my hands
but the weight
of hollow words
spoken in fluent dreams.
Some men don’t love you. They just know how to speak fluently in dreams.
Nehal May 7
I lay down on the ground, ya habibi,
I search for the stars in the sky.
The light symbolizes dark, ya habibi,
I find no stars in the sky.
Not every light's a light, ya habibi,
Not all that shines will ever apply.
One and One Equals One

I know of a being that's potentially me.
Only fractions shy of my energetic frame.
Like quantum puppets, attached at the beams.
Like watchers, observed. Opposites yet the same.

As gravity pulled his essence to earth,
New light begins forming a gleam in the mind.
I wait; I watch from behind my own eye.
I'm trapped, he's free, but neither are defined.

The real animates, a well painted vision.
The paint is too thick. His voice is too thin.
But still, this figure creates our collision,
Yet somehow never stains the glass within.

If I'd never looked, would this being exist?
If I look away, can I remain undefined?
Perhaps we're just flickering waves made of mist,
In the glare of forever, fates born to entwine.

The mind that can hear the voice that can't speak.
Echoes that invaded the boundaries of my dreams.
A quantum equation, an impossible sum.
One and one equal one, when lost in-between.
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