"shisha" poems
Meri zindagi mujhse ruth ***
ek anjaan bankar,
Chhod kahan chali ***
mera dil torkar,
Tut gaye mere sapne sare
ek shisha bankar,
Rah gaye wo purane pal ab
bas ek yaad bankar,
Aai mere jeevan me dard
teri judai bankar,
Tor diye sare rishtey mujhse
meri jahan bankar,
Rah jayenge ab hum tumhare bina
bas ek gumnaam bankar,
Kyon de gye ** dard mujhe
mere hi zajbaat bankar,
meri zindagi mujhse ruth ***
ek anjaan bankar,
ghabra jata hai dil kabhi kabhi
yahi baat sunkar,
Kab laut aayega wo pal
ek naya sabera bankar,
Badh jayegi meri khusi
Tumhare sath chalkar,
tumhare sath chalkar.....
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
Scraggly curl hair bounces in the air
wagging with whisky eyes breezy pleasing the eclectic electric hectic now mind
like finding a papaya inside an oyster
battery powered like a pomegranate passionfruit flower growing and glowing
around my trinity heart with the noise of a sphere's galactic ******
Crystal Citrine Mountains provide water fountains of sunlight
as so tye-dye t-shirt hip-cat hippos smokin' coconut shisha bathe in barrels
of bourbon.
Lion snakes spit words of worlds hurling nebulous timeline's spiraling
and crashing and splashing baptism ripples together painting Pollack Splatters
with the aroma of Byrd Jazz Jam on rye-whisky bread.
Fractal Berries served by the Far Out Faerrie Ferryman Skeletan with bejeweled emerald eyes
winks while I read in the reeds panting in pan-flutes while water rabbits scamper
into clay enclaves to bathe in pinecone designed sand-tubs.
The hieroglyphic phoenix twists and skip-scats neon green vinyl
turning the wind inside out to x-ray flames of fireworks.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
Coolers of alcohol
Blueberry shisha
Blazing bonfire
I'm having fun
Who are you to judge me?
Empty beer cans
Ashy coals
Cigarillo butts
I'm a little dizzy
Who are you?
Spilt *****
Tipped hookah
****** advances
I can't move
"Who..are..."
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
Jab se sath tohar chhut gail,
Hamar zindagi hamre se ruth gail,
tu t'h waada kailu sath nibhawe ke zindagi bhar,
Lekin tohar waada ek pal me kahen tut gail,
Naikhin sah sakat judai tohra pyar me,
mar jaib bhale tohre intejar me,
Dekh'na tohar deewana ke dil shisha jaise tut gail,
Jab se sath tohar chhut gail,
jab se sath tohar chhut gail,
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 6:42 AM UTC
I've been sedated and sold
bought by gypsy ways
my inhibitions have been stolen
by mundane sober days
I've been troubled and wandering
trying to find a place to lay
but the sleeping don't bring rest
so I found a place to play
shisha smoke fills my mouth
MDMA rolls hard
in the back of my eyes
and there's no feeling lonely
no hours to own me
no imperfections to hold me
in knowing no place as home
in my eyes
child fires
bright with delight
and hunger for more
my memory written down quickly
in thin white asp bite lines
crimes of the right mind
the creative souls borderlines
sweat rolls over my body
my arms find the sky
I can't see the ugliness
spying through childs eyes
with my hands
razor blade shakes
my poetry's written
one line at a time
and there's no feeling helpless
no reminders of distress
wandering free and careless
in knowing no place as home
in my eyes
child fires
bright with delight
and hunger for more
I hear music even in the hush
MDMA lusch, I crave life
with a violent crush
with two wide lines
and the life of one white pill
my life is filled
with more beauty than I can stand
until I can't even stand
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 4:36 PM UTC
tizz is love it or hate it, nuttin' in between
addicted to yayo like sheen, 500 bpm heartbeat
don't do it anymore, but remain psychotic
and hunt down idiotics like a carnivore
from florida to berlin, from tropic to toxic
deep in da game, da grimy streetz know my name
it'z tizzop, 14.8 inchez of hip-hop
hangin' at rashid'z, shisha ready, cuban necklace
three men in da back but ya don't know who it iz
all of 'em are dark-skinned, all of 'em are bearded
most important of all: all of 'em are fearless
we don't know what it meanz to be scared
just some migrantz who will now be heard
da territory split up: kurdz, arabz and turkz
we got our own law, like omerta, like da cosa
one apartment here, and one block' there
like bushido did, back in da dayz wit fler
sonny black carlo, godfatherz, yeeeah
power is about makin it and takin it, unlike nine said
unlike any other guy said, and if ya don't wanna buy it
find ya eyez in da wine-red, da choppaz are wild catz
ya can use them for da furiouz, some become notoriouz
otherz don't and die, but dey will be honored:
watch da muralz; urban networkz, also in da rural,
and five-o just remainz neutral; it is crucial to be brutal
as it iz to remain truthful; lyricistz can't deal wit diz
g-boy attitude of tizz: letz celebrate diversity
and ante up on google, i write barz and do diz
i'm a little too youthful for these oldskoolish
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 8:12 AM UTC
You fumble with the cigarette
It is carelessly balanced between your index and middle finger
Like how you see in the movies
You hesitantly tapped it on the corner of the ashtray
You forced a confident smile
Coughed uncontrollably
Claimed it was a flu
But knew it was not
You poured too much ***** into your glass
And you gulped it bottoms up
You suppressed a look of disgust
And said it was good
You asked for another glass
Even though you were tipsy
And could not stand still
The white smoke
and false strawberry scent filled the room
You saw the bubbles
and the burning charcoal
We were blowing rings
and imitating dragons
You asked for a go
We couldn't say no
You swallowed the gas whole
You choked
you gagged
But said it felt good
And tasted strawberries
You couldn't wait for your turn again
Even though you couldn't breathe
without clearing your throat
You weren't enjoying yourself
But I guess everyone already knew
But beneath the bloodshot eyes
Frequent retching
Croaking throat
I saw a boy
that just wanted to belong
k.m.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
With a single
glance
you make me sweat--
your sticky breath
dances
melodically with every swagger
of your step.
You chronically
dehydrate
my thoughts--
ironically inspiring me
to bathe in refreshing
conscience streams
that are not mine.
I want to taste
the salty Sahara sands
between your toes
to feel what it's like this close
to the sun--
concealed by the burning
Shisha smoke you breathe
with such control into your soul.
For one steamy night
I want to be the wind
igniting--brightening--heightening
those burning embers in your eyes
watching you slither,
as if an ice cube touched your spine.
I want white light smiles
to scar our faces
the next morning,
disfiguring our charred
hearts--
our ashes scattered
by the wind from the burning
building we've collapsed.
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 1:54 PM UTC
I don't think you get how difficult this is for me. Do you?
At home, I can never be alone, always around my family because they are convinced I am a danger to myself and they have to keep constant watch over me. It's more like I'm trapped. I do not feel cared for, or loved (even though they do) but it feels like a prison where privacy and solitude no longer exist.
On campus, I cannot be myself. This writer, poet, loner, silent girl who only speaks to people who seem decent or whom initiates a conversation because she is too scared to do it herself. This insecure girl who must now change to acquire friendship, company. She only wants to be liked, accepted, and to belong. **** on Wednesday, clubbing, flings, shisha. I do not understand why it takes so much to have a friend that would stay. I smoke, and that would be the limit, but my loneliness begs for so much more.
In public, I want to just shout out who I am and who I could really be. I want to walk up to strangers and spark up a conversation of similar interest. Ask how they're doing, or if their family is well. Let them know I could be their friend and allow them to cry on my shoulder about the trauma they've been through. But I cannot. No one smiles when I smile at them, they only walk faster and turn their heads away. Why is it that simple acts of kindness or just friendliness can be such a disgusting and rare thing?
When I'm alone, I can be myself. I can cry and shout and sing and write and dance and do stupid things. I can smoke and laugh and scribble and put on make-up and take selfies while no one's watching. I can be at my worst, and I can be my best when I'm alone. It's a blessing and a curse but it's solitude which I treasure so much.
It's funny how much I crave companionship; a friend, a partner, a love interest. Yet, I wish to be alone. Why is that?
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
We are children animals
singing
on the island palace
dipping our toes into the Nile River.
Birds incessantly chirp
along with the rhythm of my pen
and the echo of your voice
we share the same simulacra--
The music sways our bodies
like a candelabra--
We are dancing children,
solid ripples.
Smoke breath
under palm trees
the music cradles the shisha
into blissful oblivion
as we donate part of ourselves
to the space AUM.
We sing peach energy
surrounded by history
and vibrant banana yellow
and pink lemonade foliage.
We dance with the wind
between our bodies
pull us closer
until the sunlight disappears.
We are children animals
singing
on the island palace
dipping our toes into the Nile River.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC
I am from no place for I have never had one home
Having packed too many suitcases and saying goodbye to just as many friends
I am from cheesy Italian pizza in Melbourne to the smoke of shisha in Arabia
From raw fish and coconuts in Fiji to Aunty's famous Kiwi pavlova
I am from the aroma of coffee being breathed in my face as a child
And from losing my breath chasing dad as he drove off to work
I am from long, quiet chats with mother by the ocean
To ferocious one-way conversations as she screamed from the sidelines
I am from a family choir whose desire for perfection spiralled me into years of silence
And the learning the guitar to compensate so I wouldn't feel like an outsider
I am from laughter and I am from mischief
From throwing the sister's cat out a two-story window to emulating the Mask of Zoro with steak knives in the kitchen
I am from hours of swimming laps and hours sprinting on the track
I am from the dewy, green grass of a rugby field upon whom I have many times laid writing in agony
My body has eleven scars from the surgeon's scalpel
And I am a survivor of divine heart surgery as I processed shattered dreams
I am now in pursuit of change everyday
Change to be more like Him who took my sins away
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 2:59 PM UTC
upstairs
with
a
3am craving for some shisha smoke
the lemon lime and melon mint
to share a double apple
and mix it with that cinnamon
to be not quite faded
only relaxed enlightened
to not lose the experience
remembering the faces
at a later time still
the laughs and inside jokes
in midst the growing cloud
of flavorful smoke
we sit smile breathe
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
From Shisha with Love
The room was dark as I entered
Like a tangled pipe, I twisted, turned, and stumbled to my seat
That’s when I saw her, everything was suddenly bright
My eyes struck her creating a spark, she set me alight
Her head had all the flavour, her hair the fiery glow
Her eyes sweet like double apples, and her mouth mulish like mint
She was, so tall, so fine, so slender
The combination of cute and **** any man would surrender
The path to the glow was clear, I couldn’t let this opportunity pass
Every advance I took towards her I inhaled and exhaled a little deeper
Like a shooting star in the night, I had to make my wish come true before the star strays
I found myself immersed in smoke I had lost my way; where was the star, the glow the blaze?
I began coughing and blowing the smoke away, and there she was
In my brief moment of vertiginous, the pipe was in another palm
The once fresh flavours became harsh, and the fiery flame was now smouldering
Like a coal that had lost its grey coat that protected its fragile warmth was now mouldering
Take a deep breath and let it go.
@BengGeorge
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 5:34 PM UTC
Rolling
down
the rabbit
hole--
under the stars
s w a y i n g
like shisha smoke
gypsy dancing hips sway lips smile wide
sound
sight light taste all one
echoes swirl around we twirl
like whirling dervish
leaving our bodies--
leaving the tube
joining each other's saltwater skin
bathing in
our conscious one
our conscious AUM
as the midnight sapphire ocean's white foam splashes over
every ONE of us.
The shooting stars dance with us--
the air dances with us
the water dances with us
Jack & coke's dance inside us
between our toes
the sand dances with us
the hash dances with us
as we are
just being
JUST BEING!
LIVING!
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
I'm sick of writing
self-righteous sadness
just to drain the abscesses
left putrefying small cavities
that sneaked past my demeanor
so cleverly, so cautiously
Sticky fingers are a hard thing to manage
when everything is crying out to be taken,
i suppose.
I mainly remember ***** smeared in shisha
on the door of a shed where we would go to get drunk
and listen to the two albums left on my rich kid phone
because it's the only music we had, and silence was just slightly too unbearable.
But **** I want to stop citing all these ******* sea wolf songs
before i lose the discography to my inner ocean
and have nothing left to sing my sails
away from here.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
Sitting inside a cloud of shisha--
with subtle hints of strawberry shimmying
through the midnight moonlight,
the incandescent embers
radiate from their core
forming ancient runic shapes
reminding me of a time beyond the concept of before....
when elders spoke with ashes in their words
traveling to worlds within looking through
the windows to each other's souls
where the rhythm of a heartbeat
and the melody of breathing cacophonously echos
through our gray matter canyons.
A time when millennia passed by in milliseconds
as everyone danced like a flame grinding on a candle wick
wailing with ecstasy--
every bead of sweat slithering from head to feet
arousing like a maddening kundalini explosion--
a honey-like nectar glowing throughout our body
pouring out of us brilliantly brighter than any white-hot sun!
I think
this might be a reason for my fascination
when it comes to inhaling fire--
despite my earth-natured tendencies
I'm still hypnotized by the first gift to mankind;
light.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 6:41 AM UTC
*children the happy idiots, secondary children doubly idiotic thinking of love idealising via Darwinism, must be a toast... well surrender you and i, i'd too be ably nimble, but i got Mandela on my back quacking: you?! what the **** yeah, they said till the field and laugh and pretend. brain dead you ***** BRAIN... DEAD! they didn't hear you, they're english, try Celtic.. Brie anomaly of Normandy... nothing... what about egyptian? sha shoo shisha collar coo coo? hey... that works, lets give the flapping owl a cuneiform signature worth a sunset!*
love it,
slightly drunk,
got a bottle of whiskey ready,
cried listening to a horror film
soundtrack, got over 200 reads on a poem
of mine,
got hooked on a pope song
from the early millennials,
when i was a teen hammering leftover
refrigerators on the sly with a tourist
as a party was taking place,
and the un-lived the happily ever after
with the suicide of the Grimm brothers
for subsequent pressures that demanded
attentive dissatisfaction marginalised
into concrete paragraphs sentenced for a grade
for a furthering from schooled to schooling.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 9:57 PM UTC
You want to be near me
but also have your space.
Fiercely independent spending days in bed
gives way to the shisha hangout.
In one moment, an ecstatic smile
is murdered by your melancholy eyes.
You're confidence surges when you're straddling me;
a tiger ready for the passionate bite
yet you cry like a sick kitten at your own reflection.
You don't mind holding hands, kissing my forehead
but then tell me you've just been pretending.
You tell me "I love you,"
but then "I don't know what love means."
You feel something is missing
yet are most comfortable laying next to me.
And yet I don't mind all of these contradictions...
for some reason I still want to be in your presence
because I have faith and hope that one day
you will see how much mental anguish
emotional confusion yet pure white-hot
right from the sun warmth you've given to me.
And I hope and have faith that one day
you will see what I mean when I speak
I LOVE YOU
into your heart and soul.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:11 PM UTC
Late breakfast in the cafe of sins,
The one where all the calories hang out,
Cholesterol climbs up the tasty mountain,
Counting the calories that pile onto her voluptuous waist,
Like hell she did.
A devious mischievous taste.
She nibbles at mushrooms, just like Alice did,
The sliced up sausages chucked on to her plate,
Taste real great,
The beans as much too freaking hot.
The eggs are runny, just like snot, but that's how she likes them,
The bacon squealed, as it jumped from her plate, wrapped up in tissue,
Dog thought it great,
And the Turks, they sat with their wives,
******* like crazy on sweet Shisha pipes!
(C) Livvi
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
suddenly I'm overwhelmed by a desire for shisha and hot tea and warm weather. A desire for the thirst caused by hours of kissing. A desire for you.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 8:52 PM UTC
note: this is not a poem but an account of the mental aftermath of Hanau, where ten people got killed yesterday. one of them was the mother of the killer who worked in a bank, was paranoid and believed in conspiracy theories.
a turkish guy whose name means "justness" was shot to death by him. in the community, he was popular for his kindness.
he was killed because he was an immigrant, a muslim, and because he hung out with his friends in a shisha bar to enjoy his leisure time. got hit by bullets. died, leaving relatives, friends and an entire muslim community, the entire world, in daze.
met three uber drivers today, all of them muslims, two of them know some of the victims personally.
the first one of them was desperately sad today. i asked him "how are you?" he answered "not well" and told me everything. i was very concerned because i can't deal with such inhumane cruelty.
the second driver was from pakistan. he argued that germany is an open-minded country and that he had left his country due to religious lunacy that is lived by some people there.
the third driver was interestingly humorous. as wired as it may sound, he thought positively after the assasination and said that the relatives of the victims should live on as if their people hadn't been killed.
i don't know about that; yet, everyone deals with terror differently.
hanau is just a couple of miles from my home city, frankfurt am main.
in my heart, my spirit and my soul, i am with all the victims, their relatives, friends and colleagues.
MAY GOD BLESS ALL YOUR SOULS. MY CONDOLENCES. MAY GOD BLESS US ALL.
MUCH LOVE FOR ALL BELIEVERS OF ALL RELIGIONS. LOVE IS THE ONLY WAY TO DEAL WITH THAT.
The killer killed himself after the crime.
OH GOD, GIVE US STRENGTH. WARMTH. HOPE.
Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 3:01 PM UTC
I'm afraid of trips to the hospital
you know that.
I'm allergic to dogs, cats, and dust
of course you know that.
Something I can't bear,
but you live for.
It starts with a wheeze,
a trembling cough with no matter
andthenIpanic.
Fiddling through old pockets and and a glove box
ican'tbreathe.
I know you're somewhere close
wherethehellareyou?
Hiding in a pocket from yesterday
thankyoujesus.
Gripped firmly to my mouth
I give your silver top a hard push
AND THEN AT LAST
vapor fills my airways to ease the inhales
from my last cigarette.
A subtle sweet taste, like spray candy
mixed with cough syrup.
I hold for ten alligators so you can work in peace
as you navigate through swamps
of shisha and THC.
A thick fog I cannot see.
Ripping the mucus from my walls
making tar stuck to tissue seem like a lubricant
for a fire engine.
At last clean air.
A moment enjoyed for a minute.
One last puff,
and I'm not dead yet.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC