#egyptian
And you, whose dream in reality
Still hasn’t come true…
Except for the remnants of silence in a moment of your quietude
Your word calls out to your death
Your word has become nothing but life itself
Strung like beads of a rosary in the hand of a nation
Upon which fear descends…
When trials befall it
It waits for salvation
Your truth in the formation of your letters
Falls upon the city’s brow
Between every green patch
An olive tree
And a thousand witnesses to the martyr’s feast
When you decided to dream, forgetting your tear
Upon the wall
The cruelty of a day
Wandering over the cities of “Galilee”
And that same song of yours
Sleeping on the bed of a stranger, waiting
Witnessing forms of siege
Between praises for the seas
Between massacres and destruction
The demolition of bridges
You were the land… the covenant of writing
A poem from you is a cannon
A shell holding the saliva of steadfastness in its embrace
Peace, a rose, and a waking dream
Your fate is that you dreamed
Worthy of your dream, young man
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 8:49 PM UTC
I learned to grieve in silence,
As much as I learned to love you,
To surrender to your longing and die within it.
A bitter truth set me free:
That your love for me,
In reality,
Was a spider.
My simple dream was to find you,
Carrying my burdens,
Standing tall within my eyes,
My blood flowing through your veins.
I gave my heart to the sunrise,
Only to awaken and find you were a guillotine
In the hands of your own love.
And my love for you,
Was the whole point of the problem.
Your beginning was painful,
Your ending, crafted in deceit,
Cut to fit,
Without prayer.
I used to worship you,
Not even as a pagan to an idol.
I didn’t know the end of my love for you was nothingness,
Lost in regret.
I was like dough,
Shaped by your fingers.
I would find a future blooming
Under your sun, under your shadow,
And I’d forgive my past days
For ever
Having loved you.
Don’t deny I was the only one born
From your sky with two stars,
Two engravings on my forehead,
Perfectly matched.
The sun of dead truth was colored
Between my sincere words and your fake smile.
Your phony lines were created:
Sometimes an angel,
Sometimes destruction,
Sometimes your flaws were an epic poem
You’d tell with feigned innocence.
Your created devil didn’t leave
In the fire of your cruel loneliness.
Between the soft whisper of your voice
Filling an empty time,
I was there,
Remembering you calling him.
My heart was your toy,
You’d try it out.
It was no good except for being sad.
And for years,
When your dream would come to me and then leave,
I’d feel choked.
I’d become like the truth when it’s hanged
In the eyes of the wronged.
And for years,
When you were the cloud for me,
And the thirst in my tongue would howl,
Like wolves
Standing over a feast for the dead,
Waiting to share the meal.
My look was the orphan.
Your look… was the ambush
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 4:51 PM UTC
Your land cast you out,
So you settled on the wing of a poem.
Perhaps its letters won’t mislead… the one who failed you.
A homeland at the gate of hell, even if it seemed so—
Abandon it, for it wasn’t worthy.
The opposing trunk of the palm tree wasn’t shaken
So that ripe promises, like dates, might fall into your hand,
for the waves of a sea
whose cruel desires perhaps
tempted it…
to **** you.
Your land cast you out.
The breast of Arabism was no longer enough
to nurse you
a dream, shadowed by darkness,
its modesty within the borders.
The lofty ones accepted exile
with a dawn of sorrow that neglected you.
And you, who
took from your priest’s hand
the ember of preservation for the eternity that
will not betray you—
you believed those dwelling beside your soul,
and you were burned.
Destiny did not will it for you.
And it was as if they were the piece of candy, my child,
that fell from your mouth.
The sea does not nurse its children…
Sleep, my beloved.
It is a paradise for eternity, loftier
than a false nectar
we smell like a grave, its dwellers unconcerned.
And the lamb concealed in its lips
a song for the sorrow of your childhood.
Sleep, my beloved.
It is no longer from within history
that your innocence is condemned
or questioned.
This is its nature:
The sea does not nurse its children.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 4:48 PM UTC
Let the halos of my heart fall from my brow,
A light I thought I'd find while resting on the shoulder of the word,
The one that hums a tune through the folds of this poem.
Illuminate for others my journey, this bitter taste of a homeland's pain,
The anguish that fills it, stirring with every dawn
That rises on a morning full of nonsense.
The word was powerless then,
Unable to forge a new space for confession,
Or pluck a bejeweled pearl from its sky
To gift to the poor, the orphans, the forgotten,
Those on the brink of death.
I know I am the zero from which all poets begin,
The seed whose sprout only grew in the shadow of my ancestors’ verses.
From them, I drew the strength to survive,
Dreaming of their blissful, generous seas.
I lean on them all with a pride that lifts me
Into realms bright with the light of their wisdom, O Lady Poem.
All I ever wanted from you was salvation,
To end on your shores.
I began you (or you began me) among the transients
In a city whose streets had all gone dark,
Forgotten by long wars, then awakened just once
By the triumph of survivors, and drops of hope
That thirst couldn't defeat.
Between tables of gunpowder and ******
Scattered limbs and blood-stained walls,
Jackets lie vomiting on the sides of ruins,
With the words "I was here" scrawled upon them.
A hemorrhage of questions.
How I've longed for my poems to take them on,
A path to grief and to release.
I craft my shoot for the fated crowd,
And belong to the march coming from those forgotten lands
Hidden in the folds of shackles and prison cells,
The torment of hungry stomachs,
The gasping of tongues behind cries for departure,
The absence of hope for a coming brilliance
That carries on its face the radiance of the impossible.
Lady Poem, I know glory in your proof.
I know the secret in your river.
This is how we meet, and with us, we meet
A life that has no shrine,
A life that only survived through an impossible bargain
Between a bundle of thorns that grew just once
From the pain of salvation.
I am destined to live and to see the city
Be the first to bless the burning heat of a step toward freedom,
Swearing by the fading glory in its children's eyes,
The honeyed treasures flowing over a new homeland.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 4:45 PM UTC
The heart speaks, "dum dum dum,"
And love comes out of a flask.
For you is the life that draws
Happy dreams that please me so.
Happy dreams that picture
My entire past life, now changed.
My coming life, with you, will light
The darkness of my torment and despair.
Gather the joy before it passes,
The harvest of happiness it gives.
It grows sweet in your clarity, and I no longer wish
To bring back a single year from my life.
Happy dreams, in them, is all yearning,
You are the bliss that waters them.
You are the song and the sweetest meanings,
Happy dreams that please me so.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 4:39 PM UTC
with the taste of the cry and the lament,
and the tear from eyes with rusty cheeks, a sign.
I am the end goal,
scattered by the winds of bewilderment…
and I am divided
on the faces of weeping… an address.
I am a human,
born of time and wind,
a pain that braids thorns
between the first steps of the soul.
I am the one bleeding,
fields of truth on my forehead
leading me
to blood-poems that ache,
and they don’t return.
Letters of embers brand me.
The seeds of the dream in my veins,
a choked hope.
I am the hanged one,
and the ropes of death blindfold me.
I surrender all my flags.
I am the Coming One.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 4:37 PM UTC
The wheat stalks breathe you in,
Braid your letters for the evenings.
And stir your songs the day they met
Upon his face, the silence... the flock of stillness.
Depart to where we began our journey,
Indeed, the streams hold but fragments.
To a time squandered,
Forgive my death when I choose you,
To the mercy of the devout, in protest,
To the dwelling of the wound,
The distance of desolation.
And your endurance was to borrow
From the star, the day of collapse's rituals.
Within you, the debasement of poems eludes,
Towards the sunrise.
And you quiet above some plains
The languages of apprehension,
In your sailing times.
You soothe the blaze of solitude... cities,
And pour into the eye the tears of reunion,
Branches from the beginning we were,
For the land of severance.
We carry to it the beseeching letters,
To write in love,
The beloved's spinning song.
And you still swear by the earthquake,
So as to prepare a new homeland,
Which the questions lost in their lament,
And the impossible bolted its gates
With bursts of time that began to depart.
You never left the harvests of remembrance,
That we were quenching.
With your silence, visions will not overflow
The boundaries of emptiness.
And we...
Are in vain.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 4:34 PM UTC
Sorrows planted deep inside hearts,
Awakening seeds of fear,
With horror facts concealed and capped.
Dressed in the wear of silence,
The sorrows of the day were sown—
A sign upon a grave, a dub
To the slow death of man, unknown.
Silence is no picture of them,
Without a paint, it's stark and grim.
Accepted: you die anonymous,
Though in your truth, you live a dream.
Though your heart in desert carries home,
Though your age was right for your own land,
Accepted: you die anonymous,
Like Zia's glory, a vanishing strand.
When such a spirit's light extinguishes,
And disappears, a beautiful dream ends,
Accepted: you die anonymous.
Too, houses died, their doors against walls bend.
Her streets, they mourned; the night came, withered,
Leaving a body, chronically loved,
A shiny star, whose songs no longer tethered
To the moon, now silently removed.
Rumored, the last beats from your heart,
You felt and then announced absence.
Faces passed like dreams, printed apart
On the plate-blooded board of lost essence.
Regrets the eye which saw of leaving
At mystery. It was not inspiring—
A frame to image aching, ever grieving
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 12:05 PM UTC
The child residing deep inside me,
When fear ignites, blazes with delight,
Shattering every frame,
Out into the street, he openly proclaims
His right to taste a morsel of truth.
With utter innocence, he’d plead with the sun’s rays,
As they arrived to confiscate tomorrow’s darkness.
He never knew that the morrow,
Lying slain on the heart’s threshold,
Was already sacrificed.
The child residing deep inside me,
Quietly gathers fragments from the shadow
Of the girl fallen from the window of desire.
He passes from beneath the navel,
To the furthest lip at the edge of the house,
Retreating to the corner, at the furthest bank,
And in the dark rooms, he rattles
Matchboxes.
The child residing deep inside me,
Has but one hand,
With it, he gathers the world before him,
Drawing it in clusters.
And within his notebook of dreams,
He scribbles, then redraws.
The child residing deep inside me,
Is inherently stubborn.
He demolishes every dream in an instant,
The moment he awakens
To a new dawn
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 12:06 PM UTC
Sign me up, right here,
To a womb that defies history's commute.
Inscribe my name.
Never did I nurse from the ******* of women in a slave market.
I could not trust mystics,
Nor did their bells ring recognition in my heart.
A million fears
My fears, multiplied a millionfold,
When I find death staring into my life,
When I see coffins stacked,
Black as the tears of rain.
May God grant you a long life,
To console homes filled with sorrow—
The bodies of the martyrs,
Whose lives gifted you freedom.
Beside the widows and orphans,
Gallows craft your dreams,
Selling your heart on the very first road.
Be a martyr.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 11:48 AM UTC
I gather the faces of people,
in the treasure of folly,
engraving upon my poor dress
a song, a silent prayer.
I add colors to creation,
to weave a metamorphosis,
one after another,
echoing the depths of happiness.
I am your dream,
O people of reason,
a condition veiled in wonder,
eyes gazing towards tomorrow.
The streets are empty,
hearts outstretched,
trodden by the weight
of silent doubt.
I adapt to grandeur,
inhabiting an incapacity,
visible to all,
my nakedness, my fragility.
My feet are nailed
to the pavement's face,
showcases of sorrow,
where hope feels faint.
Sometimes it sighs,
and sometimes it softens,
your dream, O people of words,
is sweeter, but often forgotten.
For I am the one who wanders,
or do people wander with me?
A dervish in a circle,
lost in a memory.
I emerge, my soul pours forth,
between its lines, the strings
of longing for the sanctuary's robe,
and the blessings that true love brings.
They slept upon the shoulders of time,
testimony of interwoven moments,
signs of exchange,
a miracle yet to be found
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 11:45 AM UTC
Part of reductionist philosophy
Is accelerationism.
Where One acts in haste,
Rather than 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 speed:
This is the antithesis of
Hermes.
This is the antithesis of
Toth.
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 2:44 PM UTC
Don't get caught in the Rain,
Only to be struck by Lightning
And curse the Thunder.
For Oceans are beckoning,
Electric is waving,
Thunder is speaking;
The point is,
Pick up the torch.
For when fires are raging & spreading
You either lead, leave, or get burned.
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 2:41 PM UTC
A Tiny Explanation Of The Previous Work Posted:
In the "mysteries" of "Dionysus,"
Or the philosophy of Apollo,
This means stand when you imbibe libations.
When/if you do drugs.
To better know how inebriated or intoxicated
You are or have become.
To properly imbibe them rather than be binded by them or blinded by them.
Similarly, such libations can cause sickness
Without moderation. Such things zap us
Of our relaxation, even stealing our tongue(s).
Hunting what the cause is -
Searching for the light in silence or by abstaining,
Can rebirth the (good) time
Of truth wrapped in/up.
We must ward off sickness;
About our troubles we must talk.
What made them philosophies to the Order(s),
Was the constants between cultures.
You could rattle off names of "Titans" & "Gods"
To easily communicate
Whatever was happening,
Readily understood by those initiated.
Very useful if you spoke different languages,
If it was not safe/was dangerous to talk in open/openness.
And what made them "mysteries"
Was that outside observers
Were left clueless
Unless they themselves had found the light/sawed through the darkness
Or hunted for the truth(s) of the matter(s).
It was a language of Philosophy,
The Philosophy of Language.
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 2:37 PM UTC
As we enter and branch off
In & as each different stream of water,
Let us share flow equitably as pressure,
May no loose colmation of ignorance
Seperate us. To the maturity of our emotions
And to the equality of our intellect;
May we wash away
All the built up silt and dead rot,
Which if without purpose
Only exists as an obstacle
Toward greater understanding.
May we wind & wade not
Where we face arrest by impasses
But are found by oceans.
May we be worthy,
That we walk away
More than we entered.
Feb 10, 2025
Feb 10, 2025 at 12:45 PM UTC
In a vast courtyard
surrounded by columned
portico ,
on one side a tall cylinder
made from the finest
Egyptian glass .
☆
There in was the sensual
dark
blue liquid essence of his
soul .
Blueprint of a challenged
path
and where one was never
as another .
☆
Ahead a towering vulture
six feet high ,
with wingspan over
thirteen feet ,
atop a high golden plinth
of light ,
one last witness of Nature
before beyond .
☆
Till finally the Alter of Fire
where
tiny lizards licked and
stripped his skin .
Numbers , lines , stars and
a red light became
blue ,
drenching him in dread
and dearth .
☆
Where the caressing velvet
blackness
met newly dead souls on
the shores of Acheron ,
Abandon all hope ye who
enter here ,
the grey gloomy path of
torment .
☆
Now frozen and outside of
Time ,
a boundless lake of violet
light ,
wherefrom a giant dolphin's
head
is birthed a new galaxy of
pure thought .
☆
The perfect sword of
surrender
in Tree of Life and mirrored
reflection ,
became The Eagle , high
above the mesa
and saw where the futures
had been sown .
☆
Then he heard her voice
" It is the Initiation of
Destiny ! "
And so fulfilling the sacred
contract
he sat down now , in
prescence of the Great Scribe .
Sep 29, 2024
Sep 29, 2024 at 5:07 PM UTC
~
*Bangle jangle
Strings of Mitra beads
Ankle-length sheath
Suzanna Hoffs
Painted lips
Shifting hips
Testing the poisons
Of her dance steps
Directly into the camera*
~
May 2, 2024
May 2, 2024 at 11:39 PM UTC
The other day I recognised Anubis
walking down the street smoking cannabis,
soon joined by his good friend Thoth
who was strangely disguised as a moth.
The jackal headed one fell into crisis
and cried out for his mother Isis,
who, puzzled, said she didn't get this
and called for her sister Nepthys.
But this was beyond even her art
so they summoned their cousin Maat,
She said only one could conspire this
blame must lay with the Lord Osiris.
Then up popped the hawkish Horus
to join his voice to the growing chorus,
followed in shadows by his brother Set
who hadn't a clue what was happening yet.
An angry Osiris appears with lips a'froth
denying he transformed Thoth into a moth,
this magic only one deity has mastered
so you can blame that ****** cat Bast..
Pagan Paul (02/10/23)
Oct 16, 2023
Oct 16, 2023 at 10:17 AM UTC
Lady adjacent waiter,
ruler of the medulla,
give me a certain angle
that'll make her want to maneuver,
make her want to consider
in the absence of his figure,
that maybe not the whole gender
is full of secret agendas,
with her left over right leg,
glass in her right hand,
a tribute to her innocence
ever since she walked in,
assembled it's, white wine
Krispy Kreme eyes,
glazed look,
lips glossed like her oil thighs,
it's finally off time
her sorority cross line,
it's happy hour,
she wasn't,
his whole crime has been a cover up
since she wants him,
this whole scene has been taped off
by her girlfriends,
it's often I see it,
alcoholic rehab,
a culprit — a demon
making contracts with my open tab,
broken bad in the bathroom,
clad woman,
For all the attention
such good first impressions,
but not you,
I feel a different aura,
I feel I'll get exposed
so I call a different offense,
Semper Fi
within my eyes
this energy —
I quiet the restaurant,
Can you hear me?
Proceed to throwing signals
Tom Brady couldn't throw,
the ball's in my court so I'm finally on the move,
crushing on you while the sky undresses,
you catch a glimpse
as the clouds bare witness,
Excuse me Miss Unfortunate,
I know I'm at a disadvantage
but I had to call it
head or tails
I'm still offering,
a chance to be your man? No
a chance to be your author?
a chance to be your narrator now or later
call me,
a chance to say “there she is”
her piercing eyes, fixes her finger on my lips
be quiet, “I saw this in a movie once”
she told me as I spy and I grab onto her truths,
excuse me thats selfish, pardon me
apart of me just wants to see that movie,
a father daughter dance,
a chance to be your groupie,
a chance to see that smile
that you flashed
like a lunar star,
meteor crash
and its back to reality,
eye connection broken
and it’s back to the irony,
a word barely spoken
and I’m back to asking:
Check Please.
Sep 6, 2023
Sep 6, 2023 at 3:12 PM UTC
all the wells are empty
the wars are lost
all the children cry
but we focus on our capital instead
homeless crowd the streets but we blissfully sleep
in our egyptian cotton sheets, in our bed of lies counting sheep
praying away all the evil eyes
welcome to the end times
May 15, 2022
May 15, 2022 at 11:46 AM UTC
I was light and air, formless, boundless, free.
I was the sparkle in a drop of rain,
The first blades of new grass in spring,
The whisper of a warm breeze,
The promise in a lover's kiss.
I was also the darkness and silence,
The stillness of stone,
The emptiness of space,
The cold oblivion of snow,
The heaviness of grief.
I was the breath of Osiris,
Living and dying,
Dying and reborn,
In an endless eternal flux.
I was something else as well,
Something small and fragile,
Impermanent,
Something that could love and be loved,
A beating heart,
A mortal soul.
I was both and all and none
And I breathed.
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 7:34 AM UTC
1. Hecate the great,
A being of magical
Origin. She’ll make
Your crossroads feel clear again,
A kind of sweet sorcery.
2. Guru of healing,
Darling Gula, patron of
The Sumerian
Followers. Nurturing
And motherly, her embrace.
3. Goddess of the pen,
The brain, the stars, all in one.
Nibida reads the
Stars and writes the story to
Keep it immortal and free
Aug 16, 2019
Aug 16, 2019 at 1:11 AM UTC
The scarab sits atop its collected sphere
Wielding its mental sextant
It chases the sun
And it gives its life direction
Man sits atop the same
How we yearn for unreachable ideals
The gold of perfection
Ra, the sun
So scarab we aren't much different
We spend our lives with eyes fixed on the past
Blind to the future
We roll our cherished ***** into so many obstacles
Purely out of our condition
Strike the baring rock and become lost.
We climb back up on our ball
To find our golden god
And continue as if before
Our endless journey to find Tum
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 2:33 PM UTC
Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation,
But they were very much conscious.
Loving every minute of vacation,
Thoroughly adventurous.
An act that seemed to revive not just their souls,
But every atom, cell and ***** in their bodies.
Lived for those nights huddled up in arms (Goals!)
Even though time just couldn’t care less.
Carelessly dashing by without regard (its new foes!)
Even as this act would lead to many more worries.
Fast forward now; and they craved it more than ever.
Would it happen again, or am I forever trapped in nevers?
Can’t handle the pressure, brain’s got a fever.
At this rate, gonna be swiping left and right forever.
Bones dry, deep down I crave love and connection.
Sorely waiting for those sparks to keep an ********
More like an ***** sin.
Caught between a rock and a hard place.
A truth I once held close, feels like a lie I’m locked in
(I’m everything and nothing)
For where do I belong? Everywhere and nowhere
Except with my first love.
I long to meet someone like you.
Soft lips, beautiful eyes, luscious hair,
and a strong, gentle soul that softens the hearts of the hardest of men.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 6:32 PM UTC
The serpent represents the form of evil,
Some say, at least, during certain times.
He says it doesn’t.
Apophis,
Destroyer, World-eater,
Embodiment of the end,
Claims it never did.
Imagine, a creature of chaos,
From a time where moments were indivisible.
There are no seconds or minutes, no beginnings nor ends,
Only an eternity within itself.
Is it any wonder that it took the form of a snake,
The one creature that can devour its own tail
And pretend to last forever.
Envision the beginning, that fleeting second of novelty,
A swirling, chaotic mass of all that could be,
Being pulled apart into bright stars
That burned imprints onto the serpent’s eyes.
Now witness the first things that aren’t you
Blasting themselves apart, their remains flung far and wide.
Our sun, our Ra, isn’t the first he’s seen,
But it will be the one he devours,
Holds in his mouth so that its yellow brilliance
Never bubbles to bloated red
And swallows up that sweet blue
That hides within its rays.
Our race, and our ancestors
Who like him swirled out of the chaotic sea,
Are the first to watch the stars and see
The way nothing lasts forever.
Why wouldn’t he want to hold us in his belly?
We could exist forever, never wither, never rip apart,
Never be alone in eternity.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 2:24 AM UTC