My friend draw a spoken bleeding, stiff, relieving
piece Seed of the migrated heart of his twin,
A Gemini whispered question in my ear -
Pray, what was God, if you be religious?
Sigh, what was witch, if you be rebellious
If a savior were only here just now,
Among the city's blades and graves
Teaching the life he taught us, how
Would he be welcome to your tales?
The untold, the unseen and the unjust.


I go and tease your logic-straws,
A sip of former-friends with memory swayed,
A cup of petty ways and narrow laws,
A drink of blood and your love, deserted.
From your inevitable dark lies, I flee
I know not where, like a wondering cry
Full of blood drools, unsounded splash
I swim from your dishonest means.
As I have no means of being a fling.
If you know what I mean.


Is he Alone on that unsounded deep ?
Poor genius,  may his wisdom never perish,
Not Far from the course I thought to keep,
Not Far from the friends I hoped to cherish.
It may be that I shall sink, and yet
Hear, through smart, angry and bitter laughter,
Through all defeat and all regret,
The stronger swimmers coming after.

I live in a world where a path illustrates a conflict
trying to capture the internal realities,
wait for it


I suffer the explanation of every path
For all The Truth striving to remind mankind of what Allah has gave
wait for it


I heard The greater conflict triggering a soul
shuttering the whole meaning but I sensed what comes close is conscious
wait for it


A suraah of oath is not only a chapter of hope

I gazed upon words being said, but not understood
like When the sun soothe completely out,providing morning light
wait for it


I reflect on equidistand madness and gentleness
like When the moon is full,it draws the full light from the sun
wait for it


I reflect on approval following responsibility
as The sequence of the moon trailing the sun
wait for it


As the day gives life a full exposure
Do you see it ?
As Morning gives brilliance to a day
Can You feel it ?
As The night covers the light of the sun
Even silence succumbs to it.


I have duties to meet and deem
as the sun has roles and characters to build
wait for it


“I swear by the sky and what and who made it
who is,is the origin of imagination
what is,is the verb of attributes
the fundamental of powers and forces embedded in
The fuse of inseperables
The flaw of dependables
The remarkable creation”


I have a dilemma,how should I honour these abilities
What if they trip my balance,steal my stability and sorry my advance
Such as The Sun and the moon,The day and the night
wait for it

I have an exceptional rival between instinct and reason
Such as the conflict between the sun and the moon
between The day and the night
All those are different worlds with limits
You waited for it ?


I piloted a system creating chances and plough like
An oath clash during the intersection of Water and a bubble
opportunities blowing like a reflection of wind
When would we know the truth is within the seed
Should I tell you to wait for it ?


The conscious of issueing the existence of a threat
commanded is conscious when I imagine guilt,fear,failure
Can I  pull equal weight on both threat and guilt
both fear and failure
reflect on your self and your conscious
remember how balanced are they
remarkable empty desires
Am I too close to it ?


My conscious sends a reminder about our profound reality
The human heart makes you measure touch,and feel width
The human gut makes you measure navigation,and see height
I was told There is no definition for Personality
Unless the perception is self,not being slaves to no lens
Unless growth is a fact,not being excused for a piece in a rand
Unless that makes you puke such as I we have a common solution
Ever since medicine reduced human into chemicals,hormones,
All it ever did was seducing human into status,choices .
Working with what we can see and what we cannot see
There exist every tablet for me to overcome that for every dent caused by
invisible deals and means that leans towards the inclination of
what is good in us and what is not in advance
Even the soil provides clay
Even the moist provides clarity
Even the sand proves
Everytime I feel mentally hungry,
I get fed with food from earth



Then I recall my worth,I was taught
The concern is my body’
whether body as self or self as fame
Suffocating the inner
covering myselves with clothes to console the outer
handing justice two things
the portion of the unseen,the untouched and the untold
As I told the heart,How fashionable can I dress it
Like a :
A scent of diseases
A lamp of desires
A dozen of fears
A gutter of love
A dosage of hate
A lumpsum of anger
A sample of emotions
A ring of resentment
Married to influences
Ignoring the needs of the soul
Even though The heart is the territory
hearing,listening and seeing is the allegory
Because we see and we hear the truth
A feeling more powerful than thought
Nothing I never thought I would have bought.

Which is better, a clock that is right only once a year, or a clock that is right twice every day?
"The latter," you reply, "unquestionably." Very good, now attend.
I have two clocks: one doesn't go at all, and the other loses a minute a day: which would you prefer? "The losing one," you answer, "without a doubt."
Now observe: the one which loses a minute a day has to lose twelve hours, or seven hundred and twenty minutes before it is right again, consequently it is only right once in two years, whereas the other is evidently right as often as the time it points to comes round, which happens twice a day.
So you've contradicted yourself once.
"Ah, but," you say, "what's the use of its being right twice a day, if I ca'n't tell when the time comes?"
Why, suppose the clock points to eight o'clock, don't you see that the clock is right at eight o'clock? Consequently, when eight o'clock comes round your clock is right.
"Yes, I see that," you reply.
Very good, then you've contradicted yourself twice: now get out of the difficulty as best you can, and don't contradict yourself again if you can help it.
You might go on to ask, "How am I to know when eight o'clock does come? My clock will not tell me." Be patient: you know that when eight o'clock comes your clock is right, very good; then your rule is this: keep your eye fixed on your clock, and the very moment it is right it will be eight o'clock.
"But--," you say.
There, that'll do; the more you argue the further you get from the point, so it will be as well to stop.

Childish slaves of social rules on these rooms,
we might be networking, I’m guessing
we had ourselves a name in making!
How I could shake our faith, tint our rate,
If I thought we worth the shame.
I see, and pity our deprived potential.
In search of better, brighter purpose,
A route confined through our senseless minds.


And, careless of our Town's set of rules,
We need to rule when we Seek
real friendship that ride outs
Among the friends of our own selecting,
liberals,mentalists,simpletons and inventors
None of their existence should be
a virtual depict with a status
Up to date I so wish we can hate these laws
so wisdom can never aboned us,
Although I honour their wits
salute their processes
all I hope is that reasoning
should always move us to it.


We need take our old philosophy from the rack,
under our hats
dust it off,
without any particula pond we fish
besides,
a rod is the floating reasoning
Unless the brain one is wearing
is dining on ices
bestowed with fantasies like a pieces
There is no loss
just as we are earthily men.
And who only dress to please self
so please slow down with our judgments
We own,a very strange list of belongings.
W smoke ****, sneeze guilt
lose a few cells
As we bake our social laws
sneer between two puffs of smoke,
and blow ourselves with insight,
Our choice of life has nothing to halt it.
It’s dead right,It’s cross faded
Everything differs according to definition
So is our set of rules for surviving
Speed up on eliminating life below ourselves
slow down on embracing life beyond our can.
Until we can

Well then, if we agree, it is not odd
that one man's filth is another's wealth
or that the true pleasures comes from
a magnitude of abnormal achievements;
anticipation of gray shades on human error
is our life's constant coefficient.
Perception betrays with its blindspot:
Fate tracks always meet, not here, but only
in the impossible mind's sight;
intentions beats recognition as we commence
on thin sheens crawling to overtake that lens
where highlight captures pretense cleansing darkness.

So we could stand up, move on, darling, you and I,
until the glare tick out the rest in the worst
nothing changes, for all the blazing of
our drastic style, but leading hands that move
forcefully from adorable to done.
We raise our arguments like a diluted depict
heave to a better angle for screen clarity
shake logic with escape of comfort
and contradict ourselves for humor;then pixels leak
raw wind dries our stand and we put on
the heights as an oath; love is a tinted gloss
who insists her associates play in the rain.

Now you, my sophisticated fading icon,
would you have me carry the dry lands  
Or swallow the future and coat consequences
to store them on a cloud, down
the server in one language:
Drawing vowels from a loop through the dark
we only left with [L.P] played at 3:33 am
should it overwhelm the almost awake town.
cycling phoenix never stops to frame
If it should, should it be real or
should it sketch drunks upon the vignette
and Rands spent in dubious doorways
Our Valentine habits, engraved decoders
dining close to burning candles with our expired heads;
I donate applauds, until the same cause attacks again
scattering image from imagination,
recovering from ghost shots of exposure.

The rise leans down to hook; the resounding leak
in the dustbin sinks and drowns; we consume
divine west and east and sigh
how do you do,
and then how do you do again
to a blind breathing routine
till our harsh melodies reaches
to call for a cut on our restored scenes;
capturing photocopied reflections,
shutter opens where black or white begins
and separate the film from focus:
the philosophy of absolute apertures
exposed in a retina of moralities
which idealist call absolute, and rationalist, myth:
an insight like the prism of mirrors:

The result that mangle direct gaze is flipped,
while knowing the secret of their glaucoma is going;
some day, to move, and drop,
trace a wound that heals collections
only to reopen as flash thickens:
So we shall walk barefoot on chatroom walls
build our bed as high as a dead silhouette;
Duplicating the pain in our own tears:
Today : we start to pay the optic with each infrared,
yet love knows not of perception nor reality above
the simple sum of collages.