Don't try to pin me down. Instead,
let me flutter gently around the twinkling lights
that look intriguing to me at the moment.
Don't try to catch me. Instead,
watch me keep my distance and try to understand
that I can still exist happily in the freedom of solitude.
Don't try to predict my changes. Instead,
know that even I cannot usually do so, and try,
if you so wish, to weather with me my changing seasons and summer storms.
Don't try to immitate me. Instead,
realize how beautiful you are as yourself and furthermore,
I am not something you should immitate, want to be.
Don't try to change me. Instead,
accept me as I am. Though your forced changes may indeed be better
for me, your acceptance will make me want to better myself.
Don't try to explain me. Instead,
internalize that some things are inexplicable
and that my reasons for being this are so much uglier than you see.
Don't try to justify me. Instead,
remember that even those who are hard to grasp
make mistakes, even horrible ones, and sometimes need someone not to forgive.
Don't try to destroy me. Instead,
listen to me when I warn that many have tried, purposefully
or otherwise, and I am not so fragile as I look. You will end up burnt.
Don't try to push me away forcefully. Instead,
ask me to go. I will understand, I promise
I only want distance to be a respectfully created space, not a hidden minefield.
Don't try to reel me in. Instead,
if I come to land near you, bear in mind that this is rare
but, too, bear in mind you have no obligation to want me here.
Please, don't try to pin me down.
If you ever do., I will be a dead thing of former splendor
pinned to your corkboard, and you will finally understand me
when all of my entrails come spilling out, displayed to you
and I lay, helpless.

carried out by the whistling
tune my whisteling tune which no
instrument can immitate
my whistling tune which plays
on the heavens above my whilstling
tune which is magnificent, innocent
and creative

i cherich my whistle tune it gives me
my own identity my own signature
my own creativity my whistling tune
is the best for i whistle evry rise of the burning star to the the rottating of the coin
my whistle tune goes like this

dun-dun-da-da-da-dan
do-do-do-do
dun-dun-da-da-da-dan
do-do-do-do
doo-doo-doo-doo-do-do
di-di-di-do
do-do-do-do-do

its touches my sences presess my
my hunger for success pushes me where
their is no limit for i love my whistle tune

Does it make you feel good?
To make people love you
To make them fall in love
To make them think your perfect

Does it make you feel good?
When you tell them
Everything they want to here
All the things you wished you could say

Does it make you feel good?
When you fade away
When you loose touch
And collect more

Beauty is the only card you know
How to play
Perfection is there only thing you know
How to immitate
Love is the only thing you know
How to play with

Does it make you feel good?
Collecting hearts
By the thousands
Hearing their sweet whispers

Does it make you feel good?
When you actually fall in love
But you know How disgusting
You really are

But still you seek the attention
The compliments
The love you don't deserve
But they still do
Do you feel good?

Body hurts from last night's wine and
This morning's lifting.
Hands shake, sounds of construction
Like an insane symphony of
Unsilence.

My limbs are the fingers of a clenched
Fist around the hope that
The hours may grow wings.
The city, a snail outside
The construction site fence.

We're both prisoners under a
Sky that's waiting to downpour,
Giving each other nervous looks
Through iron bars, smiling
Unwillingly with tears in our eyes,

To immitate consolement.
Today, a line has been drawn between
The world and its enemy,
Of which I'm on the wrong side.
This is how I die;

A drowned flower.
A bleeding scar. An
Exposed nerve in the rain.
At least I have the wine.
Without it, I'd never get this thirsty.

Midnight
in my mess of a room.
outer chaos
but inner peace.
And outside there sleeps a beast
that breathes with the wind
and immitate the ocean so I can sleep.
And it's pitch black tonight
at least, looking out from inside.
Beyond the tufts of grey sheep
sleeping in the summer heat
worlds are colliding,
lighting up my midnight sky.
Cities burned, and people died.
planets and countries and towns were sacrificed
to bring light to my midnight....
And it happened lightyears ago, I know.
But it's those little things that give us hope.
worlds collide
and die,
so that we have something to wish on at night,
something reminding us to hold on tight
just until the sun rises.
And when it does
and lights the sky
the world will sing the victor's cry,
simply because
you are alive.
So hold on tight.
The sun will rise.
Look up, hold your head high:
the entire galaxy
is cheering for you
"fight for your life."
"Stay alive."
And "be alive."

Outer chaos/
inner peace.
Because the beast
inside me?
Tonight, he's asleep.

Pen on paper, pen on paper
Mouths speak words and words meet ears
All you do is sit and learn, sit and learn
And watch and learn, and emulate
Emulate, immitate, impersonate
And ditto ditto ditto
What difference are you from the rest
When we all aim to be the best
As we play this infinite game
Of question and answer, question and answer

Lost on an island of psychedelics
Where euphoria is an eternal dance
My mind in mosaic with all relics
A pegasus a wild queer prance

My soul searches for tranquility
To dance on waves of energy
While my brain trips in crude reality
And Tao of life whispers of synergy

I wonder at the simplex complexity
Where billions of particles collaborate
In varying lengths of solidity and vanity
Unique and impossible to immitate

My imagination in holographic verse
Innumerable pictures new possibilities
What a quantum mechanical universe
With waves in dynamic instabilities

∴ Lyna Salman