"oxygenating" poems
You laugh
Angels weep out of jealousy
Devils have no single conspiracy
Demons dancing in harmony
Men hearts go broken with no remedy
Women eyes tearing continuously
Violins break out of envy terribly
Composers have no more creativity
Music plays with no melody
Silence starts listening joyfully
Happiness laughters left in agony
Beautiful words describe nothing but misery
Tulip flowers become colorless shamefully
Believers lose their faith immediately
Infidels drop their convictions instantly
Hearts start beating rapidly
Lungs oxygenating quickly
Living ones laying listening carefully
The dead come back miraculously
--Hisham Alshaikh
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
So this is as it was, the old wound still itches
Glimpses of your face and my heart still twitches
If time heals all wounds then what am I to do
When my life has been frozen
Since last I saw
You soften your eyes as they flickered to mine
Skirted the contact then burned deep inside
Gritting my teeth in the pleasurable pain
A razor machete in welcome invasion
Expertly wielded through my jungle of thoughts
Clearing a path and discovering
My soul lost in
Your damp forest of evergreen trees
Rooting my soil and growing up through me
Bringing fresh life to my stagnant dirt
Oxygenating the air of my earth
Reversing pollution, reviving, refreshing,
Regressing the growth of the thorns in my flesh and
Cutting the cancer that
I might live,
Leaving your legacy scars.
So this is as it was, the wound still itches
Glimpses of your hand and my heart still twitches
If time heals all then what can I do
Since my death was frozen
When last I felt you.
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 4:22 PM UTC
at the bottom of a stagnant lake
lived a dead forest
black trunks standing
knuckle deep in muck
branches simply armature
for a fluttering array
of gray scarves
blowing in the watery wind
molds and aquatic plant life
growing quieter in near darkness
the forest laid down years ago
gave up the sun and the breezes
the same arguments from the same birds
slid back toward the sandy edge
then gradually leaned over
one after another they followed
under the forgiving cover
of progressively longer nights
a very slow migration
the stars really weren’t watching
eventual full immersion
nothing left uncovered
but the land around the lake
the gray water always present
became all any tree could remember
oxygenating the murk for a while
the contradictions grew
in place of leaves
instead of hopeful young twigs
stanchions indicating nothing
huddled together under the surface
standing sunken in an air more dense
a different kind of time passing
light arriving but
only in soft whispers
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
here i am, three months later still perpetually oxygenating the suffocated fantasy that one day i will see you again and my heart will remember how to pulse, my hands will remember how to hold, and you will somehow love me again
here i am, three months later spoon-feeding lies to my hungry brain, telling it "he will come back" spilling fraudulent words into my impressionable mind
"maybe he misses you too"
"it will all make sense in time"
"keep your head up, and remember you're strong enough to get through this"
here i am with a mind that fully believes you came into my life for a reason yet somewhere beneath those strongly wired thoughts, though i have no control over it, is the lingering pessimist that whispers in my ear when i'm sleeping at night, dreaming about the grace of your skin against mine
"he never loved you"
but it wasn't until this moment right now that, that pessimist has been truly heard
because i'm still here
after three, exhausting months, arms weak from reaching out for your grasp, lungs collapsed from all the dry heaving and half-breaths of missing you, and i'm finally looking at you
but you don't even
see me.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
i love and hate my body,
because even when i am dying inside,
my lungs are inhaling and exhaling air,
oxygenating my brain,
making blood flow,
causing my heart to beat,
even when im wishing it to stop.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
Born into this world drenched with crimson stains, we all struggle a little bit with oxygenating our veins.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
*It was about oxygenating seas
crossing them on our bare feet
as we tied wishes to the stars
that live deeply within
entwining a few more
with silver strands of thread
and placing them as sequins
on your skin
It was about cleaning the veins
of all nostalgic things
giving them wings, setting them free
and laying all the sunsets at our feet
it was about putting an end to thoughts
that double over in the rain
to pick the daisies in the spring
and boughs of yesterdays
For me
it was about surrendering to you
without a question or regret
claiming your heart
amidst a breaking laughter
of the waves and rustle of the sheets
submitting to each other
under white linen leaves
it was about waking up yours
with you
not knowing the hour or the day*
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC
I love you and there's no if or but about it,
I love you like I've known all my life how to,
Like I was born with the feeling oxygenating
my blood, my very core,
I love you even when I try to deny it,
I think about you even if I am thinking about something else,
You're always there, sometimes in background,
sometimes in foreground, but you're always there, why?
Because I love you!
With you I leave all the road maps behind,
With you I don't go according to "plan",
You take my plans and set them haywire,
Jazz them up into something unexpected and
Phenomenal, you take me to the road I would never
have taken, but I do, because that road has
You.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
i fall in love with the way your lips form words,
how your tongue dampens your lips so that
your voice doesn’t come through dry.
i fall in love with the way your veins have
spilled across your hands, your warm blood
ebbing towards the surface, oxygenating
your numb structure. your upper lip curls,
and there is a careless trail of stubble,
indicating that you didn’t want to wake today.
your accent isn’t from here, but i find it familiar
all the same. your lullaby-like voice
speaks something funny, and i can feel
a smile tug on the corner of my lips. you could
cease my demons, hush me into a slumber.
you could graze my skin in careless movements,
skimming the surface like a stone on water.
i would welcome you into my humble embrace,
and plant precise kisses on your skin, like
seeds into soil. let them grow, let them bloom,
let us alienate our favored circumstances, and
welcome the possibility of broken bones.
scars tell the best stories,
let us see how this one ends.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
to be kissed by him is to be trudging along a sidewalk in the midst of November, alone, cold, searching in the solemn for something to put an abrupt stop to your melancholy, and allow the coldness to heal the hot blood flowing from your open wounds,
a light blue car passes by you and it's playing the song you haven't heard since you were fifteen and in love, naive and in love, but feeling the warmth that love brings in every molecule in your body, filling your lungs and oxygenating your blood with familiar rhythmic groupings and effervescent notes
your head lifts from your chest and the blockage from your ear canals drain and suddenly you can hear sounds that perpetually stimulate your heart strings, tugging and pulling, allowing tears to accumulate and flow through your ducts until your universe is no longer recognizable and in a state of nostalgic, aqueous disarray
you wipe the tears from your eyes,
you open your eyes,
you look into his eyes,
and oh god, you can see.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC