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Najwa Kareem Aug 2017
Ramadan 2017 in Sarajevo, Bosnia                      

The first day and the second

What a blessing!!!

Brothers and Sisters in the Old Town speaking the words Salamu Alaikum

Sisters wearing veils with colors like in the bright rainbow appearing before me and my two new friends from Bosnia in a sky above a bussling bazaar, there a smaller group of humans watching and a larger group of tourists capturing a rare moment in Sarajevo on photo

Many brothers wearing kufis and many brothers with trendy hair styles paired with Western outfits gathering in the courtyard of Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque, the largest in Bosnia and sixteen centuries old. Tourists from Africa, America, Europe, and other landscapes and many locals exchanging words and gestures in a month better than a thousand

Families spending time together at the Grand Mosque and at smaller mosques and in other places surrounded by picturesque hills and green plush trees

A father, a mother, their toddler son...he practicing walking on a masjid's cobblestone, and their young daughter...she smiling at her father as he walks by. Each family member physically at a distance from each other. Each family member at a cell's distance in communion with each other.

In the mid afternoon on a Ramadan's day, a sister from Munich and I having met for the first time at Bey Mosque ride together in a taxi up a steep hill to see a guest house she knows

A smell of lingering cigarette smoke permeating the air within the house so thick beckons me to leave politely and quickly. Unaware of the smell's degree, the owner learns of its' offensiveness as I disclose my sensitivity to & the dislike of the smell of cigarette smoke, both acutely heightened while fasting

Careful steps back down the steep hill to the city center, me avoiding stumbling on a large rock or being runover by a speeding automobile, interestingly instead I stumble upon a beautiful grave yard of uniquely shaped white gravestones and a charming mosque with a high minaret

At the bottom of the hill sits a crafts and artistry shop, one of many in Sarajevo's Old Town. Upon entering and a brief conversation with the owner, a piece of generosity is handed to me, a square shape piece of wood with Ayat tul Kursi in hand calligraphy

During the late afternoon hours, a time for reading Quran by many at mosques in the city. Sisters and brothers sitting on carpeted floors, some with backs supported by mosque walls, some with bodies sitting in chairs, fasters occupied with the most perfected Divine Scripture

A brief leisurely stroll with my two new friends Dzenita and her sister Amina through part of the Bazaar, they sharing opinions of their favorite restaurants, best eating experiences, and other things

In the early evening, a time to buy food to prepare for the Iftar meal. Showing me how it's done in Sarajevo, Dzenita and Amina invite me to join them on an excursion up a hill to buy Somun, a Bosnian flatbread topped with black seeds from the city's famous bread maker. Standing in a line longer than Georgetown Cupcake, Dzenita surprises me with a gift of Somun for myself

Two dates, one cube of Bosnian delight, and one cup of water to break our fast with at the Bey Mosque. A canon bomb sounds off to announce the time for Magrib prayer and Iftar, customary in Sarajevo during Ramadan

Startled and alerted by the bomb's depth and volume, I stand up to join the congregation for communion with God, The God Most Gracious, Most High

Out of nowhere I'm invited to Iftar at a shop nearby the Grand Mosque, about 8 of us guests being served by the warm owner, she offering a meal for Iftar at her shop every night during Ramadan, a big-hearted tradition of hers

Cevapi, Cevapi, Cevapi...I'll say it once more, Cevapi -- sold in Bosnian restaurants, cafes, bazaars, and made in many homes, eaten happily by many fasters at Iftar. Served with freshly chopped onions, some served with a soft white cheese, some with a red peppery sauce, many served with Somun, all ways tried by me and tasting as scrumptious as my first experience with Cevapi in Germany, then falling in love with it

Cold winds at night from the surrounding mountains, a refreshing air yet taking my breath and power away from the chill of it, completely disappearing with my start of Isha prayer with other Muslims and the declaration "Allah hu Akbar"

9 Muftis with impeccable Tajweed each taking turns to recite the words of our Grand Lord before sunrise, me weeping from God's messages, the reality of His greatness, my servitude to Him, and a recognition of sounds similar to that of my Mumin Father's, those familiar to me since birth

Three dear sisters, university students from Turkey and I journey together on foot after Fajr from the Old Mosque to a street train, along the way stopping by a community center, our destination - their home an hour or so away to rest, the four of us coming to know each other and each others' thoughts with every step. Contempleting my desire to spend more time in the city over sleep, the three sisters showing great generosity and I embrace and exchange Salams at a stop near the main station, the three walking with me to an open place before continuing on

In the land of a marriage between the East and the West and where newspaper is used to clean a cafe window, on the list of to-dos -- shopping for gifts for family and for souvenirs, window shopping done along the way, asking myself Shall I buy a Dzezva, a hand-made Bosnian coffee set, or a vintage wood Sarajevo box, or a woven wallet, or Bosnian sweets.

In a bazaar walkway, Maher Zain's song "Ramadan" playing loudly. At another moment, lyrics about a month of devotion and sacrifice from Sami Yusuf echoeing. Shop owners in Old Town with dispositions of calm and quiet grace greeting me and others cordially and respectfully. Shopping a few hours more until near sunset for post cards with a real version of the Grand Mosque, finding only less than satisfactory versions. Time running out for shopping, another reason now to return to Bosnia, God-Willing

Magrib prayer a second night at the Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque. Observing the crowd, a striking occurrence taking place, a teenage boy walking a small length behind a man on to the mosque carpet. There the boy approaches an older man giving him a respectful hand shake. After prayer, a native of Sarajevo shares with me in wholesome conversation, "You are known in the town not by what you have. You are known by how well you behave."

Another invitation, this time for a cup of a tea at a cafe. Overflowing with people mostly young adults, men and women sitting at tightly packed small tables inside and a few outside, conversations merging into each other with a loud volume flowing throughout, Shisha being smoked by some, cigarettes by some, smoke in the air and the temperature inside melting away heavy make-up on sisters' faces. "This is Ramadan in Sarajevo." Madia says. "One aspect of it." says I. Not having a good feeling right away when walking in and not wanting to stay, the two of us leave quickly.

My two new friends Dzenita and Amina aka angels of hospitality and kindness reciprocating my gift to them of Milka chocolate give me a gift before departing the next day. "Tespih!!" A burnt red and yellow colored set with sparkingly gold thinly cut wrapping paper looking stripes purchased at the Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque gift shop. Not knowing then I collect Tesbih, their gift is now my most favorite of my Tesbih collection

Husbands and wives, men and women both young and old, well-groomed and well-dressed, some holding hands as they stroll through narrow pathways in the Old Town on a Ramadan's night. Families talking and eating at restaurants, friends in groups sharing laughs, so much to see, so much to experience. At a cafe where baked goods, ice cream, and other sweets are sold, a lady sitting with a group of others initiates speaking to me, stopping me in my tracks. Bidding me farewell, she extends me a gracious compliment

Ramadan 2017 in Sarajevo, Bosnia to Remember

The first day and the second

What a blessing!!!

by Najwa Kareem
Maahv Z Dec 2016
Gabriel asked the Prophet
'read', prophet who God crowned with a prophethood
of being last
replied 'I cannot read'
Prophet wrapped himself with a warm blanket
Khadija the prophet's true love said
You are God's chosen one
since you are all sincere, honest
and never do wrong to His people.

this, what is wrong with today's people
never seeking to learn
or read
knowing they know everything.
so they can **** anyone
in the name of God
they **** innocent people
and yet, the response is
'we **** infidel's
who are the infidels?
You and i are not God
It is for the God to decide
who's the most kind of all

The Sunni Muslims have a story to tell they're better than shia Muslims
and shia' have defensive tale to say, 'they are less honored one'
it's all politicized matters
not the religion
the crusades of islam is not about religion
but the gaining of power
who's going to lead after the Prophet's  death?

even the prophet himself narrated 'he's mere human being
who God blessed with might

God says, love thee people
as I love you the best
I'm closest to you, even more closer to your own heartbeat
no other will love you, as i how love you

I felt the longingness
this hunger, and the strike to do well in life
even though, i no longer am with people
who i thought to be my people
it feels so odd and out of place
most of the time
since i can't begin to tell
how truly i feel

i learned to unlearn
my roots, and inheritance
how hard it is, to defy
what you knew for your entire life

I learned to be with people, without needing them
and saying, 'goodbye's, when I didn't want to
since nothing is real
nobody is here for real
only the matters, and interactions with each other
will define
the true identities of us

it doesn't hold true to people, who share Islamic faith
but, the Christianity, Hinduism, or Judaism
or another religion
in any other region of the world

As of my utterance, i don't trust people with establishments
and people, running the show

In Pakistan, the land where i was born
nobody cares for anyone, whether they leave
or stay
even if somebody dies
people stay inhumane, insensitive about most of the things
but the focus is too much on religion
even the moral conduct
is not so right

At the edge of my state, when i utter this i feel erked
and awkward
low in spirits or perhaps
i don't feel anything, at all.

When the Abraham was asked to 'sacrifice'
his beloved son, 'Ismail'
he without defying
obliged to Gods will
God, in his dutiful obedience
replace Ismail with a lamb
to fulfill the traditions, Muslims each year
follow the Abrahams traditions
when people slaughter million of animals
in name of God which has merely became a mockery
of 'sacrifice'

The day i left my house, i felt truly abandon
and so, the time when i left my friend's house
who i visited only before leaving
I thought to myself, this will never be filled
and it didn't
even after many years afterward
I stand in my nomadic spirit
without owning anything
or have anything in mind, to occupy anything

This world, as i see
is a mere transition period
where we meet people
of all race, and kinds
from all regions , and faith
but it doesn't give us any upper or lower hand
to justify anything, whatever we feel
or think.

As it is not for me to decide
or others to judge,
by other people's religion, or region
color, race, kind

There is no place in Quran that says, hate people
from other religion
nor it says, to defend your faith
when people attack you.
The rising Islamphobia and hatred
for the muslims,
in response, all the muslims could say,
'Islam is a religion of peace'
a defensive approach, again and again
not wiling to understand
it's not for you to defend your religion
your faith doesn't need you, it's you, who needs it
for your own purity, to perserve the innocence
and the feeling for others
when others fail to do

God says, 'Surely there are signs in this
for those of you who would reflect'
to me, its a comforting zone
I derive my pleasure in this
but there are so many people out there, interpreting the verses
in their own perspectives.

Upon the reasons, i feel it's necessary to challenge yourself
your mind, your readings
learnings
inheritances
wisdom and all the knowledge you acquired over the years

we don't acquire knowledge in order to boost
but to be better,
and to understand the reasons

I was named by the 'Moons light, that means moonlight which is poetic
and referred as 'beautiful'
I am not sure who named me, as i remember my childhood
a very quiet, deserted and lonely one
it wasn't tragic but disturbed


I have erased my memory and the corners of heart, that used to feel mighty heavy
for so many things
the betrayals, insincere
and lack of resistance shown by people
i left everything behind me

When Ishaq's sons took Yusuf
he cried most of his times, till the point
he lost his sight which he regained by seeing Yusuf's
he was betrayed by his own brothers
only to gain their father's attention
they tricked Yusuf
which he survived regardless

the betrayals are hard to forgive or even remove
and the cultural hindrances, resistant obstacles

it's been a while since i felt home
anywhere
and even when I'm home
i feel the distant memory of my own self
which was innocent

I'm Mahwish, and it means 'beautiful like moonlight
my life will reflect the meaning of my name, someday
and till then
I continue to live.
Kuzhur Wilson Oct 2013
When I rang in the morning, amma asked ‘who is it?’

‘who is it’
In the same voice that she used in the olden days
Worried that she would have to serve coffee and snacks
When Jinu, Pradeep, Riyaz came calling

Amma, it is not the nair boy nor Pradeep from pallippuram, nor the Muslim boy Riyaz,
It is your son

‘who is it’

Amma, this is me,
What else shall I say?
Your son.

What other title do I have

Your Youngest
Born in old age
One who is supposed to look after his amma
Who left home
Who lived as he pleased
Who married without consent from those at home
Who failed many exams
Who used to wander around with strangers
Who used to drink and shout obscenities at the clergy

The butcher knife in amma’s chest

When again the question ‘who is it’
Falls in my ears,
Amma, what should I say?

The dark one of yesteryears became fair
Because of not going in the sun, amma
I cannot become dark even if I pretend, amma

I drank and drank and got all swollen up, amma
I smoked and smoked and became tired, amma
I shouted and shouted and became hoarse, amma
I read and read poems and overflowed, amma..

When amma asks again ‘who is it’
As though she didn’t know anything

I felt like answering I have become Thadiyantavida Naseer, having read too much news
I felt like answering that I have become A P Abdullakkutti  having hankered after whatever I heard and saw
I felt like answering that I have become MA Yusuf Ali, tallying accounts again and again
I felt like answering I have become Kunjhalikkutty, having lusted after everyone I saw
Who is it, who is it, when the voice cracks asking, what more am I to say

Amma, who are you?

Why do you start as though you heard the question ‘who is the father?”

Do crows still visit the breadfruit tree on the northern side, amma?
Do you still scold, ‘hey breadfruit tree, you little minx, do not fall before you are grown enough!’, amma?

Is amma listening?
Do you understand?

What about Biran?
After his girl got married,
After his boy went to the gulf,
Biran doesn’t come
He is prosperous now,
Good fish are not available nowadays..



Was the tamarind tree fruitful this year, amma?
Did you dry the tamarind to make it into cakes to preserve it, amma?

Cannot down a morsel without buttermilk
In the morning, when I looked, all sourness was lost
moreover, the milk got curdled

Amma, wont you get up fast
Don’t we have to go to church?

There are lots of people there
There are lots of people there

I have taken the matchbox
Buy two candles (small, cheap ones)
Come, I will be here
It has been long since you lighted a candle for your father



I wrote my name
At the tip of a huge tree in our genealogy

It sways in a gentle wind

Brethren with whom I grew up
Say that it is because
Of  intoxication

People say it is acting the fool
Some say that all that is needed is a beating



On the roots of a huge tree in the genealogy, amma,
You sprout little greens of new awareness

Still even in heavy winds

Your children, fruits of your womb, who knew the labour you went through
say it is because  you are not in your right mind

People say it is acting the fool
Those who watch recommend tying up

Amma,
for me
and you,
what is consciousness,
trans from Malayalam by Anitha Varma
Ceyhun Mahi Aug 2019
Ripped shirt,
but I am still
running with all my might
through this house who's doors are all locked,
to Light.
A reference to the story of the Prophet Yusuf/Joseph.
judy smith May 2015
Acara dalam rangka memperingati hari lahir (harlah) Ke-65 PW Fatayat NU itu diikuti hampir 38 peserta se-Jatim yang meliputi perwakilan seluruh pimpinan cabang Fatayat NU.

Hasil desain peserta diperagakan model andalan mereka. Tak kalah dengan model profesional, para model Fatayat NU ini juga tampak percaya diri berlenggak-lenggok di atas caltwalk.

Dalam lomba fashion show ini, peserta dari PC Fatayat Bojonegoro meraih juara pertama, sedangkan pemenang kedua diraih oleh peserta dari Nganjuk dan pemenang ketiga dari Fatayat Bangil.

Menurut desainer muslimah yang dinobatkan jadi juri lomba ini, Ana Farhasy, ada beberapa poin dimiliki peserta Bojonegoro sehingga meraih juara.

"Kendati bertemakan busana pesta muslimah, namun desainnya simpel dan elegan. Itu menjadi kelebihan sendiri daripada peserta lain yang banyak menonjolkan aksesoris sehingga tampak berlebihan," katanya.

Selain itu, peserta dari Bojonegoro menampilkan tema gold kayu jati. "Batik yang digunakan asli Bojonegoro," jelas Ana.

Sementara itu, Ketua Fatayat NU Jatim Hikmah Bafaqih mengatakan selain lomba fashion show, kegiatan lain juga digelar dalam rangkaian harlah Fatayat NU itu.

"Ada lomba menulis artikel, lomba menjadi presenter, dan bazar produk unggulan (handycraft) kreasi kader Fatayat di seluruh cabang Fatayat se-Jatim," katanya.

Ia menambahkan, puncak peringatan Harlah Fatayat NU dilaksanakan di kantor PWNU Jatim pada Minggu, 17 Mei 2015. Rencananya, acara puncak dihadiri Menpora Imam Nahrawi, Wagub Jatim Saifullah Yusuf, dan Ketua DPRD Jatim.

"Ketua Umum PP Fatayat NU Hajah Ida Fauziyah tidak bisa hadir karena berbarengan dengan acara prakongres Fatayat di Bandung," katanya.

Mbak Hikmah, sapaan akrabnya, mengemukakan tema yang diambil harlah kali ini adalah "Ikhtiar Fatayat NU menuju Indonesia Berkeadaban".

"Karenanya kita akan terus berusaha untuk melakukan berbagai karya nyata, tentu kita bangun ulang keadaban kita dengan Islam ahlussunnah wal jamaah atau yang kita kenal dengan Islam Nusantara," katanya.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/mermaid-trumpet-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/one-shoulder-formal-dresses
Ally Oct 2019
It's been a long time

since we connected

beautiful words, shared

you are my friend



You don't utter unkind

you push me

to a better version of me

your respect for me, I treasure



A man, not mine

but you are in my heart

my soul searched

and found you, my Yusuf, my friend.
DINNER TIME
TIME OF THOUGHT : 11:04PM
DATE OF THOUGHT: APRIL 2011
OGUNLABI OLAJIDE YUSUF-Nativepen

Oh mammy!
It's lunch time already
Debson's house are set
At the family table
For dinner is about to be served
Oh mammy, what took your time?
I thought the market is near
Mammy what kept you that long?
Thought your words never slipped
Why now?
Mammy should we fill the kettle for you?
Should we fetch the fire?
I can defroze the beef
If am permitted
Come quickly
Come quickly
Mammy, should we share the apples?
Cathe said we should go visit
To the Debson's house
Mammy should we?
Eeehn mammy?
Shouldn't we?
Because I know
You are almost home
Robinson, wont you go?
Wont you come along?
You know
Maybe she met a long time friend
At the market square
Who knows wether she lost her purse
Or missed the last train home.
Connor Nov 2016
I (Reverie)

Thisbe senses diamonds in the dusk/
Turner protects himself with cozying ash created from the minerals of adoration

The street is a hundred constant cinders
Communicating with mystic language
Repeating itself

While the newsstation weeps
And front yards hold their damp cheeks
Cherishing the child who is now gone

The envisioned tower, embarassed with its Windows n lack of decorations/
Not even the cobwebs will settle in vicinity!

A paranoid Sculpter cant sleep and so takes to Spanish poetry

"You're giving out your tarot cards to
Yusuf what will he do with them!"

A mother says to her child who
Incidentally goes blind in that exact moment

An epitaph for the ashtray sitting precariously on the stainglass table on the porch where an
Empress seeks shelter
Carving at her senses with
Violent monologues about religion
Courtesy her friend

(A stranger to risk,
Some tired dull balloon rises up within her consciousness going higher and higher!)

II (December in Moods)

Mauve temporarily fills the room
Your soft breathing brings an elation
To the dresser at the foot of your bed
I can't rest here beside you
I want to kiss you
And your sleep

The discontent arrives
In shrouded form
You resign yourself to the kitchen watching logging trucks forever heave around the bend of forestry
Threatened with the possibility that they'll lose balance and collide with the house

I visit during Holidays with marigolds and fantasies of Asia
& with sweetness on verge
of imancipation
You kiss my face
attempting composure
As the radio promises
That this Winter will be especially
Frigid.

I apologize for my arrogance!
In losing friends, betraying my past beliefs for
White wine & phenomenology

You recite a foreign anthem with whispers, curious of the mathematics of romance.
Questioning yourself but especially yourself in relation to me.

III (Josephine, Burial)

In contemplation
A dog listens to nearby whistling
Of a young girl home from school/
In six months she'll fall victim to the divorce of her family/
And in twelve months
Accept that her mother had a lot of problems
It isn't her fault
It was never her fault/

In sixteen months she'll chip her front teeth on the coffee table

In three years she'll decide on a better first name
"Josephine"
In four she will legally change it and

In five the previously mentioned dog will be buried
With his owner's favorite scarf

IV (2015)

The August heat causing distant roads to waver in illusion while
A home catches fire

Luckily not my own

I save my mind one night before it loses itself to pure imaginative flow
In midsts of 108 repititions of the Gayatri Mantra
I remember that!
The portrait of a french woman robed in sunset colors is taken off the rotting walls of a Cabin, auburn with evening rain.

Silence!

V (The rosebush blushes while being painted)

Yggdrasil is being renovated a few blocks away & a garden is unable to answer
For its
Unusual poetics

The local raincoat impressionist observes
A fantasy hidden in the soil
Nurturing itself
With percieved
Infant curiosity
Dedicated to Gaston Bachelard

From all of the blanks
floatin' up in my mind
By knowledge indeed
i am but as blind

So without it to prevail
there is no understandin'
For a word just mere a word
when nothin' in the endin'

Tho to believe 'n' witness
firmly within my capabilities
Please would Ye make it one
of ibn Yusuf's accepted abilities

By flowin' through veins
'n' the ponderin' upon
The heart alone to beget
which thread to be on

Thy example of livin'
aswell as Thy deeds
Come to be the only things
that i will ever need
*

..assalaato assalaamo alayka ya Sayyidi...!


..salawaat'Ullahi wa salaamahu alayhi wa aalihi wa sahbihi...!


..revive thy consiousness
    'n'
       love always...



عرفان بن يوسف © AH 23/01/1437
CONSCIENCE
TIME OF THOUGHT: LOST
DATE OF THOUGHT: LOST
OGUNLABI OLAJIDE YUSUF-Nativepen

The incorrigible judge of the universe
The voice of man's spirit
The breaker of the stone heart
You should get one

He pounds the accusssed heart to confession
A mortal pessil
The rod that punishes
The accused mind

He chastises the mind of kings and priests
He makes the most secretive to voice out
The arch angel in our heart
Who dare resist him

He changes the mood of a friendly one
Whenever they misbehave
He never condone any indiscipline around him
Whenever he sights any bad deeds

The ever faithful companion
He is no respecter of anyone
You should get one
You sincerely need one

Dear friend
Do you have a conscience?
Dear friend get one
You really need to.
wordvango May 2015
hours since I was home,
my sign is astrological calm
twelve dozen months or years until
Revelations 12:1
or twelve tribes
twelve sons of Jacob
twelve Imams legitimate  successors
twelve Disciples, narrates the Prophet Yusuf
and his twelve brothers,
the twelfth moon of Jupiter, Lysithea,
the number of Magnesium, my son's weight
at three months plus his nine inside,
my cranial nerves,
C in hexadecimal,
NGC 12 spiral galaxy,
is craps on the first roll?
I GAT MY FEARS
TIME OF THOUGHT:02:30AM
DATE OF THOUGHT:24/02/2010
OGUNLABI OLAJIDE YUSUF-Nativepen

I GAT MY DEEPER FEARS
Indeed, I gat my deeper fears
The one I will live to see
Not at all of the past
But just of the future

The coming future
The unknown
Not of the day old
But of the old age

When strength will reduce;
Vision become blurred
Kneels disengage the body
And all smartness shall be gone

When a staff
Shall be my third leg
And the smooth radiant skin
Will be wrinkle

When all my youthful flares
Will bid goodbye while am here
When the hand of time will turn
My children to my nanny

Hmm, what a future to wait upon
When all black turns grey
When my age will grow old
And turn my lombs to banana stalk
DEAR FRIEND
TIME OF THOUGHT: 02:18PM
DATE OF THOUGHT:29/11/2011
OGUNLABI OLAJIDE YUSUF-Nativepen

Your worth is more than a precious stone
So cute,dependable, clever and unavoidable
Having you around me makes my being a meaningful
one
You are such a friend indeed
As grasses to the open field
As fishes to the oceans
And as butterflies to flowers
So is your presence in my life
You in my life
Brings flavour of millions fragrance
That charms my fears
And radiate my countenance
At all seasons of life
If I were to choose
You and attires of many colours
I would rather go for you
You worth more than riches and gold
Irrespective of my mood
You are my darling friend
Right in my hands
I will hold and held unto you
With all loyalty and sincerity
I will draw you close to my heart.
You are a friend indeed 'cos you are a friend in need.
WHEN NOBODY CARES
TIME OF THOUGHT: LOST
DATE OF THOUGHT: LOST
OGUNLABI OLAJIDE YUSUF-Nativepen

When I was in blue
No one pitied me
You passed by
And had compassion for me
Sometimes the cloud gathers
Without given its resources
And all shoulder seems too tall to lean on
You passed by
And said come and rest
You shower my thirsty soil with rain
Then I grew up like a plant of the field
And my years of famine vanished
You adorned me with  royal ornament
And with a fine linen you  bound me
Gold and silver I am adorned with
You gave me the choice of flour, honey and oil
My fame you spread among all nations
Because of the splendor love you had bestowed on me
And I grow exceedingly to fit a prince
What a lovely father you are
PRISONT WALL
TIME OF THOUGHT:3:00PM
DATE OF THOUGHT:24/12/2008
OGUNLABI OLAJIDE YUSUF-Nativepen
PRISON WALL
Tall walls surround me
Several attempt seems impossible
Its just too tall to climb
Ever  pointed gun at the walls
By the men in uniform
All eyes on us
When will I see these walls from outside
My days I have spent dreaming
None of these in them
Oh!sweet home I crave
When will I have it back
The God given choice of life
Nothing of such is paramount
My thought is always of home
Uniform all through days
My voice comes from nowhere
But behind a shut gate
With a rat hole window to the south
But yet shows the beauties of the night in the skies
All my thirst is freedom
If possible I would have turned the hand of time
For I know the day is fast approaching
The day I will step into the free world
No matter my offence
I will one day go a free man
I know a king is about to reign
A merciful king
I shall obtain His favour
And I shall be freed.
OH BUTTERFLY
TIME OF THOUGHT: 12: 56PM
DATE OF THOUGHT:13/04/2011
OGUNLABI OLAJIDE YUSUF-Nativepen

Come around
For the darkness has vanished away
Come quickly around
For the barrier has finally gone

What a relief
The morning is here
I have open up my petals
Filled with nectars of your choice

The ever flowing juice I have in stock
Withoout you ,I may not be known
Your frequent visit help my growth
Oh butterfly come around

Once the day break
I will open up for you
Neither sun nor rainfall
Would restrain me from welcoming you

I always await you
Please do not tarry
So I wont worry
And be sorry.

The ever flowing juice I h
BETRAYER
TIME OF THOUGHT: 09:09PM
DATE OF THOUGHT:08/03/2010
OGUNLABI OLAJIDE YUSUF- Nativepen

Thanks to the eastern wind that blown
Now I know the truth
Tha your smile is just a plastic one
My trust you finally ransomed

Your target I realised now
Nothing else but my trust
And the bond we share
You just broken

Where to hide?
The cloud is crystal clear
What do you have to say?
You are unmasked

Pretender!
My trust you barter
With nothing but
Your fake and rehearsed smile

Now I know why your smiles
Does not reach your face
You naught
A betrayer
You bogey

Be your own counsel
What have you to say?
Can I still trust you?
If you were me, would you?
SEASON
TIME OF THOUGHT:08:20PM
DATE OF THhOUGHT:08/03/2010
OGUNLBI OLAJIDE YUSUF -Nativepen

I will not be moved
If the rain refuses to fall
I will not be moved
Even, if the sun refuses to shine

If the moon remains dark and red
I will not be moved
If the breez turns to a statue
I say I will not be moved

I will not  be moved
All because, they are for the main time
I say I will not be moved
It is a matter of time
DEATH
TIME OF THOUGHT:LOST
DATE OF THOUGHT:LOST
OGUNLABI OLAJIDE YUSUF-Nativepen

DEATH
Umm...............
The end of mortals sojourn
An Au'gust visitor
A must all living dislike
Is there any armour against it?
A thief that strikes unnoticed
A snatcher
A destroyer
He snatches the forgotten
The free born
The most sought after
Even the loved one's are not left out
He snatches the kings maker
The princes and princess
The queens are not excluded
Not to talk of the kings
He is a cruel messenger
He is no respecter of anyone
What a ruthless messenger
The offer of gold, brass and bronze
He rejects
The best attire in style never frick him
What a cruel you are
A ticket to the judgement hall
The leverage amongst all
He is not a friend of all classes;
Pauper,slave and the wealthy
Oh death
The breaker of the umbreakable bond.
WHEN THE DEED IS DONE
TIME OF THOUGHT: LOST
DATE OF THOUGHT: 21/11/2010
OGUNLABI OLAJIDE YUSUF- Nativepen

Was anyone around then?
Was there no one to caution?
When the deed is been done
Was there a person,was there no one?

I wonder where?
All the wise one have gone to
When the deed was done

When was the deed done?
Was it done at night?
Was it in the morning?
Or broad noon day?
I still wonder when

I wonder if the moon was aware
And the glowing star
When all was done

Deep in the flesh it has passed
Before we realised
Down in the bone it has penetrated
What a pity
Oh! the deed has been done

What a decay
What a ruin
Hmm, who are to pay

What can we say?
When the keepers
Were found sleeping
What else can we say?
When they are the say

That heaven will fall
Is not one's problem
All of us will pay

What can we say then?
When the wise men are ignored
When the eyes of the watcher
Have been trampled on
And the strength of the strong ones
Have been quenched with threat

The deed is fast spread
The impact kills gradually
Yet solution is  unknown

The deed has been done
Remedy! Remedy!Remedy!
We all cry for
Restoration ! Restoration!
Our land cries for.
Al Grant May 2020
in my long prairie white dress
with my fist clenched on my chest
I shut my eyes as I try to discern
a way out of this maze, I'm entrenched.

No one can compare to how
you move, blessed with grace
A sliver scent of paradise air
Causing me to pulsate everywhere

Hear my screams, cries, and moans
It is you I need
I have long coveted
in perpetual carnal longing
The center of me burning
           shaking, quivering

Your perfect undulating form
is making me swirl and twirl in abyss  
My **** hard, riveted by you, as it throbs
the center of me spreading the burn
aching, begging for you to relieve me
          please…

I don’t think I can endure
this pure pulsating yearn
this fluttering emptiness and heartburn
feeling unsatisfied, insatiable, barren  
— and worn-out full maximum

Say you want me too.
          please…
Say you want me too
Say you desire me, as
half of the beauty of the world is in you
And I cannot compare
Even just to your stare.
TIME OF THOUGHT : 08:45PM
DATE OF THOUGHT: 07/10/2009
OGUNLABI OLAJIDE YUSUF- Nativepen

IF I WERE TO TALK OF his PERSON(DEATH)
Even if I sleep walk
I wont mix my words
Yes I wont meant A and say Z
Yes I mean every bit of it
For there is no dumb being as you
Neither have I seen a blind like you
The hear you have is nothing but a plug in
My imagination never cease
To think (ponder) on how you operate
Had it mean you are not dumb?
Have you not heard of happy Catherine?
Were you blind althrough to see her countenance
Is as radiant as the morning sun?
Have you ever heard she was angry a minute?
Oh what a radiant smile we have missed
If not cruel, merciless, being you are
You would not have done this to us
And abruptly erase that contagious smile
You have done your best
Your worst, I know nothing of
Whether  you can bring her back alive
Yes we are grieved
We know we have lost a GEM
Happy Cath is no more.
TIME OF THOUGHT: 10:15PM
DATE OF THOUGHT: 2/12/2011
OGUNLABI OLAJIDE YUSUF-Nativepen

ROAMING RAVEN
Where from here
Art thou heading to?
On errand?
I believe
Oh! Wait and hear;
I have a message for 'them'
Branch up there
Tell them for us
That 'they' have done us evil
Tell 'them' their conscience is failing
And we are fainting of waiting
Tell 'them'
They vowed and swore
Vowed to wipe our tears
Swore to stand in for us all through seasons
Not to make it flow the more
Ask 'them' why they idle up there
While our land is wasting away
With our throat dried out of thirst
And our stomach twists daily of hunger
Tell 'them'
They are the leaf hoppers
That eats up our green land
Let them know
Their body language signals red-blood
And we are angry because of hunger
And they are cursed by what they have caused us.
Tell them
Their deeds makes our women a widow mother
And orphans of our innocent little children
They can never tell
What an hungry man will do
Because hunger is a  burning fire in the  bossom of an hungry man
To their conscience we awaits to judge them
This I beg you to deliver unto them
But please Raven, do not lead the wolf to them.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
\alt

work-around title: Çymru among the Ottomans (Ę vs. Щ)

a propos: pre-scriptum... in the background demdike stare's - janissary , for one reason or another... the fantasy of being in the legion of either the janissaries or the mamluks... hell... let the sultan have his harem... he's still going to favour the slave girl from the north... Hurrem... give me this one ******* from a past of romance... this Khadaia... i'll see her once more just to catch her name properly: all i have is the prefix Khada- while she hushed the suffix... over all that's on offer in this playground of freedoms... hedonism never tasted this... limited... when it is so freely available... 4 years without touching a woman's body and then... resurrected with a pulverising urge to touch one once more: over the debacle of grooming a female cat who was eagerly entertaining trans-species ***... *** is ugly esp. when animals come to the fore...

in all honesty: i wasn't convinced when i initially
read the list of ingredients...
not at all: or one bit...
i wasn't going to read the instructions
or... watch the video...

   i forget which flatbread i used...
gözleme? no... there was a SH grapheme at the end
of the name...
not the SH of hiding the H with
a Czech caron:  š...
the Turkish variation...
               the cedilla "s":    ş...
certainly not bazlama...

lucky me: first the Turkish barbers...
then the Turkish prostitutes...
now Turkish food...
i had a similar fetish for Indian girls...
hardly a fetish: one uneventful
summer: should we say...

ah... here we go... lavash... flat... bread...
funny how...
oh i can just imagine...
the year when... the ancients stumbled
upon using yeast when mixing
flour and water... watching the first
yeast infested bread rise up
like a sunrise in the heat...

blame the French... or don't blame them...
it's hardly mesmerizing watching
a hot pan with a tortilla on it...
the earth would still be flat for thoese
civilizations...
or how... yeast was used to make:
wine rather than drink ultra-sweet
grape-****-juice of the diabetic h'arabs...

no... i wasn't expecting the recipe to turn out
as it did: better than the local Cypriots
making imitation turkish with their doner-kebabs...
all those raw vegetables to somehow counter
the grease of the lamb...
raw (albeit) spanish onions... i.e. sweeter
and juicier... raw iceberg lettuce...
raw tomatoes... raw cucumber...
pickled chillies...
two sauces... a diluted chilli sauce and...
yoghurt garlic?
i've been gagging for some yoghurt mint:
but no... no... none of that...

- now i'm back from the days of drinking ms. amber...
i'm back on the drip of "blood":
wine sooths... wine... progresses: slowly...
esp. cheap wine in the form of kalimotxo:
the blood of Montezuma!
a toast to Montezuma!
    gradual involvement in intoxication...
never a lag like with ms. amber...
never waking up still drunk...
             drunk in the process of drinking...
much better...
and when enough lubrication has been
downed: 2 bottles for a night worth drinking
through...
3 hours of sleep at best: but all this...
mind like a whirlwind...
ms. amber: you have stiffened me for the last
time... your supposed
cure for my ailments come too late:
i'm stiffened: i'm numbed by you...
i will no longer associate you with good
tidings... never mind my own deeds...
now i prefer a drink that will creep up on me...
there will be a statement surrounding:
succumbing to gradation...

- the same year the ancients
invested their genius / imagination into pursuing
the use of yeast in baking:
making flat-breads become sunrises
as they... started to ferment... grapes?
all the stags and the bears are in on it
come autumn when they fill their belly's full
with rotting... fermenting fruits...
and stumble around the world
like they might be inclined to acknowledge
the existence of Bacchus...
a bear's drunken walk: i can't match
with a dance... perhaps these words might
just suffice...

- come to think of it... since i'm in all my 35 year old
splendour...
i think i fitted the bill for being
an "angry young man"... most of us were...
but... thankfully... as i've aged...
i've noticed how so few people have
the capacity to drink some sense into themselves...
even Nietzsche preferred barbiturates...
i can't say that i would:
in vino vivo! veritas comes after...
animation... scandal... trenches...
at 35 i can say the anger has... slowly diluted itself:
i guess the anger was at youth itself:
it must have been...
to be angry at being young is every man's
ball & chain...
with two exceptions of Paris and Adonis...
now... the sweet melancholic cloud
that makes my sense of humour subtle...
sharpening my ridicule: since i'm still yet to
receive pointers on wit
and...  reactionary tongue-whip anecdotes...
oddly enough i picked up a copy of
Rousseau's the social contract & a letter
about spectacles...

why haven't i picked up Rousseau earlier?
mind you... with this tongue i now use...
i could never read Rousseau in english...
i can read Bertrand Russell in english...
but every philosophy book i ever read was
read in my mother tongue...
the tongue with all the fancy diacritical stressors...
"so-called" by the people
who don't use them... who have Charles Dickens
calling a spelling-mistake
an orthographical transgression... ******* to that...

- suppose i wanted to paint...
well... writing is not exactly painting:
Frank O'Hara noted how terrible orange is
on canvas: unless the orange stands as
synchronised by actual oranges
in a still life depiction...
orange elsewhere? on a metallic alloy
on a bicycle... i cycled a few schoolboys
once on my Trek Marlin and heard
a compliment about it...
i should have painted...
but then i like that self-deprecating joke
i once heard a Glaswegian say
in class: how was copper wire invented?
two Scots arguing over a penny...
i have diacritical marks for contorts...
and if i'm really desperate:
as i sometimes am: i'll lend an eye on reading
some katakana...

why haven't i read Rousseau earlier?
perhaps i was too stupid too young too naive...
perhaps i should have a tattoo of
Robespierre on my buttocks...
perhaps... just... perhaps...
like someone might have a tattoo of
Roy Orbison to counter all that's Hey-Lvis
in that waterboy flick...

wine is like oil on a bike chains...
for the brain... the wine tide as i explore...
a slowly breaking of the dam
of formality...
but i'm not painting: come to think of it:
i'd hate to paint...
i like skeletons: i like sounds...
i like to walk into a forest at night
and listen to some wild animal tender itself
on breaking a dry branch:
or... misstep on a crunch of dry
autumnal leaves... while i bask shirtless
in the moon on a throne of a stump:
where once a tree stood proud...

that there exists a culture of celebrity:
a vacuous life-support machine of cringe...
in my vicinity: some trees have a higher
status than "people" in the greater prospect (potential)
of the world...
of note... this tree: let's call it Henry-eta
near Chigwell... bulging: crass: entity...
breaking all manner of contemplating girth...
famous: by my concerns...
hard not to miss...
try figuring out: celebrity in a forest of pines...
stilettos or anorexic models...
by then: prostitution doesn't seem that
bad... that bad when compared with
what "they" do with the models...

skeleton and skin being adorned with:
a second layer of fabricated: skin... nothing more...
a body that grieves its former status
of being: mandible... all over:
i think of models as i might think of glass...
a shattering: a breaking...
a variation of... arthritis...

        oh... well... in between the wine:
ms. amber returns: like a stimulus... an injection...
to keep me focused on the cascade...
i'm yet to cover the ground of narrative
i was keeping fresh in my mind...
ah... yes...
of note... only in England...
the multicultural project...

  i still retain my native tongue...
in the privacy of my own abode: i speak it...
i don't speak English...
i speak English to the people who speak
English...
a formality...
English in England is a "lingua franca":
i pity the natives for not have enough
incentives to learn another European tongue:
i guess that's what's happens with
"spazzial relationships" in the shadow
under the yoke of cousin ******* the h'americans...
pity them?
oh no no... blame them...

who was Yusuf Stalin? a Georgian...
tactical subversion of the Russian people...
where is the Georgian alphabet and where
is Cyrillic, or Greek for that matter?
where is... Armenian?
"where" is code for: comparison...
   like the supposed people integrated into
English society:
these... born & "bred" types... typos...
they speak English... at least i can resemble
an Englishman...
most likely i'll be mistaken by some
quran pushing ****- as being a German...
insult?     (oi oi... mr. -stani, don't worry...
the English just slosh with slang sometimes...)

the people of the subversion...
they speak English but... ha ha..
if they only managed to retain their mother tongue:
perhaps something of England could
also be retained...
clamouring like ******* ***** in a bucket
to no avail...

Napoleon's ditto: a man who knows two tongues
is worth two men...
all these new integration projects
who want to integrate so bad... so so bad...
that they "somehow" forge their mother tongue...
talk English as the language of mediation:
it's not yours...
it never will be!
**** me... if all these people retained their
mother tongue rather than playing:
i'd feed you to the pigs for playing
this ******* drive-by stealing mobile phones
"gangster":

what if ol' Adoolph was Swiss and not
Austrian?! imagine that... no... wait...
you don't have to...

- of note: if ha ha h'america of the united
is supposedly this beacon: this success story
for all the english speaking people of the world:
it should: by now... be... a well oiled:
bilingual Behemoth...
like the Swiss "project": of the Benelux or
the Scandinavian heap of blondes outbreeding
gingers...
h'americana should be well embedded
in a fluidity of come English come Spanish...

if h'america could be a success story:
it would be a bilingual conglomerate...
i guess it's just easier to speak only one zunge...
no?
how many tongue arrived on these isles?
i should be learning Romanian come to think of
it...
no one is going to meet me half way
concerning my: tongue...
while these asiatic ******* abandoned
their mother tongue to play petty
gangster... i sometimes fall asleep:
counting teeth... i have no worthy comparison
with the point of sheep:
i like to imagine teeth...

how they become the lesser half of Mongol:
with their mongrel "forgetfulness":
if we just cherished the medium
of the tongue used to invite commerce:
real or meta-...
perhaps... we wouldn't be cycling through
Barking looking at people feeling comfortable
donning those Pakistani pyjamas!

don't get me started on the Rotherham
"livestock" affair... i have no sympathy for
not being ******: looking elsewhere
at ol' Turkic raven hair...
at £2 per minute i'm not going to...
suddenly... "suddenly" do what?
pity the high earner
while she *****-off the concept of *******?
thank god i still have *******:
which implies i can ******* with pleasure...
but while interacting with HER...
she can peel it back and i'm left with
her tender mouth and my numbed metaphor...

castration, mr. ******... doesn't feel so bad...
compared with having your "excess" skin
guillotined...
i started to ******* long before i had
any use for *******...
the thrill is in the shaft...
aged 8 i did it myself...
circa 10 i taught a boy a year younger
about the joys of jerking off...
in a bath... while my mother scrutinised us
while she ironed some clothes...
oh... the gloves are off...

it might be a bare knuckle fight:
but i wrapped a leather belt around them
for a sense of purpose... alias for security: covert...
if the beacon of the world
grew up: sensibly: as a bilingual federation
it was supposed to become...
what? the Swiss are all schizophrenics:
for having the capacity to use 2+ languages?
******* retards:
you live with the reckoning that:
some people deserve their own bollocking...
you hear it... in the distance:
like churchbells...
esp. at night... when the air thins out...
i have no sympathy...
no empathy...
the remains of Malcolm X's mantra of
how there can be a never-ending war:
a "cultural" war:
just use the women as ammunition and
shields...
they're dump enough: Sabine as they are...
bring women to the fore of warfare...
you're not dealing with Gaza strip slingshots...
you have invested yourself in: trenches...
show me a Panzer i show you a naked
white girl...
the prize for all these sub-Saharan gambits...
i don't want to **** sub-Saharan girls:
maybe Boko Haram might...
can i... tickle a Turkish *******?
wait: do i "have" to?

you bring women to the fore: this little shitshow
will never end...
drop an atom bomb: no difference...
the supposed "collateral" becomes
the biggest asset... mind-bending load
of: otherwise what a sword ought to do:
the biggest killer: compassion...

don't worry... the recipe is still invested in me
scribbling it down...

- persisting with all these: Asiatic bundles of
"integrated" joys...
living among these isles...
you begin to wonder:
now... i generally think of the Welsh as a bit...
cuntish...
but... at least they have this...
unnerving ambition to retain their:
Briton spreschen: before the Anglicans
and their Normandy landing quasi French
came along... the Welsh still retain their
*******:  Çymru...
i lost faith concerning the Scots...
they're just... accent clowns...
accent clowns...
          they trill their R and sometimes forget
to F their TH with: t'ings...
like their elder cousins that... perhaps:
might... usher in some Gaelic...
astounding: the concept of the Welsh:
because: they are more a concept than some
concrete evidence of nationhood...
oh: they're beyond merely organic...

some says the king's route was to mind:
from London through to Edinburgh: more like St. Andrew's...
all this time, though...
it was en route to Cardiff...

- of these isles... these glorious isles:
where's the Gaelic in a man from Edinburgh?
the Sikh beat you to that tartan turban
or something:
posers of accents... the whole lot of you...
one up with the Velsh...
at least they still retain their concept of mother...
and tongue...
accented pretenders: it's not what they speak:
it's how they might: speak...

******* sing-along sprache Gael...
i simultaneously don't want to stop writing this
as an excuse for: not wanting to stop drinking
wine!

back to that Turkish recipe...
i had to make a full roundabout at some point...

even now i still can't believe it...
frozen beef, which implies: it would be more easily
sliced into an imitation pancetta:
carpaccio?
        **** me: the whole bonanza of nouns!
most not "gender neutral" too!

wine wine wine wine!
bring me more wine!
wine wine wine wine: to hell with whining women!
wine wine wine wine!
bring me more wine!
she can't feed me... i'm the devil in the kitchen:
i'll cook my own!

the "government" of delayed words in
transit toward: a proper translation...
notably?  sunak...
   not aleppo pepper...
   not sunmak...
    ah... SUMAC!
red onions sprinkled with some
salt and sugar... fiddled with...
crushed... a dash of lime juice:
to get the pickling going...
tender hands of a Cyclops...
then the addition of fresh parsley
and some SUMAC...
that's the radish for you...

the meat? beef... beef and rosemary?!
fair enough: let's have "us" a go...
it only takes 10 to 15 minutes since...
the beef is sliced oh so thinly...
plus... the marinate:

4 tablespoons of oil...
2 tablespoons of red... white... either...
wine vinegar: for curing the meat...
after all... you dip any seafood into acid:
it'll cook...
Bolshoi cannibals of ambition
and all that ballet on the side:
raw herrings as: Baltic sushi in a creamy
dill sauce...

believe me: the Ottomans have interrogated
post WWII Germany...
they're stiches and tattoos by now...

tzatziki...
but the marinade of the meat only takes
about 10 to 15 minutes... since the beef is sliced
so thinly: from frozen...
the marinade?
ol' pestle 'n' mortar...
black peppercorns...
4 cloves of raw: living garlic cloves...
2 springs of rosemary...
sea salt... 4 kashimir dried chillies...

strips of Turkish mozzarella...
i'm of the persuasion:
let's see what the Ottomans had on offer...
the ******... the barbers...
this... pristine cuisine...
it sounds like: shuk shuk shugar shig shig:
chug a fog... chappy chappy chim-shee...

bound to the anchor of a revision:
of these isles... i'm starting to harvest more and more
respect for the Welsh...
i'm starting to suspect that...
the Irish don't require:
the Scots seemingly never will...
but the Welsh: forever will...
display their adamant decorum...
to keep in mind their mothers and their tongue...

let me stress is:
ich bin nicht Ęnglisch:
    lie down... szczeka: it barks...
Щ...              

Copernicus Copernicus: seriously:
where are you?! literally: "where"?!
not literally: a somehow a now...
    
counting matchsticks i presume...
to hell with these semi-literate folk who have
the supposed reins: yeah: now... for now...
but not when time is allowed to imitate space
and stretch...
the currency of shouting for "justice"
dies a death slower than a death succumbed via
a crucifixion...
i'm no sadist... i love animals above
the status of fellow humans...
but... there comes a time that...
i'd rather... savour the company of a dog...
above... someone that might resolve itself
to speak letters back to me...

- you can only insinuate when dealing:
dwelling on the furore of the Hebrews...
but in the confine of these isles...
i hae no greater respect than might be allowed
for what's already arrived at:
they have: KEPT... KADŁ...

      EI CWSG GYDA COCH CLORIAN:

almost every Jew will amount to the maxim:
i be: the citizen of the world:
which is borrowed Greek...
   somehow there come to excuse when:
strip-down... striptease...
the last of the Holocaust survivors is dead:
appeasing the h'arabs and h'americans
for their deepened trough and
monzzie?
  yeah: sure thing...
             me and my stupid
delusion concerning that ol' chestnut
of the certainty of death...
i'm not willing to pressure
the delay button... to be honest.
people may think that i am pretty harsh
at times like feelin'less to what they say
the sight of indifference be displayed
i am rude, i 'ave no manners to marsh

while people may think in one certain way
those things they do know of, or do deny
like to reality they keep sayin' "why..?"
'n' with those things they be fillin' their days

'tis just that knowin' to me 'tisn't the same
to whatever we be livin' up to
whatever in this life we want to do
oh yes, we all say "i do in God's Name"

that seems to be how we keep remainin'
but ibne Yusuf be contemplatin'...



..love always...




عرفان بن يوسف © AH 22/02/1440
'..a pentameter / freestyle rhymescheme Sonnet...'
James Floss Sep 2018
Some songs transport me
Sometimes going deep
So deeply I weep

“Sounds of Silence”
"Puff the Magic Dragon”
“Cat’s Cradle”

Yusuf wrote
Father to son:
“It’s not time…”

I made that change
Pilgrim’s progress
Wending Westward

In my ‘67 Mustang fastback
Weaving 7 Cleveland lanes
“I know, I have to go away…”
Juliana Oct 2019
Feliz Navidad we sing.
The Christmas show. A
Warning is said. "I'm
Leaving. New York."
Then Sydnie left.
Without our glue,
Joanna and I strayed
Away. I was five.

I found a new friend.
Lilly. We played. At the
Park, at school, art class.
She was gone, last day
Of school. "Who will see
Her this summer?" "I will."
Her magnet still hangs on
My fridge. I was six.

Girl Scouts. Bullying.
Hailey and Hannah were
There. We went to the
Zoo, on playdates. Friends
Came and left along the
Way, but they have always
Been there. I was seven.
She came up to me in gym.
A year older than me. I
Was running alone. Playing
A game I called homeless;
Basketball. Erica opened me up.
I talked to her and her friends
before school. Boys. Bagels.
One of them smoked. Last day
of school. She was moving.
I was eleven.

Summertime has ended. School is
Back, as is dance. I'm taking
A new class. Modern. Sophie just
Moved here. Over the year, we
Create Jimmothy Timmons and I
**** her snake, kind of.
I was twelve.

A boy sits next to me in Social
Studies. Ethan. He plays video
Games. I've always wanted to.
Another boy, Cormack looks
Over. He has a crush on me. The
Three of us talk at my locker
Every day. Cormack lies. They both
ask me to the dance. I was thirteen.
A girl runs up to me in gym.
Cindy. I talk to her. We play
Homeless, and talk about boys.
She has anxiety, like me.
I was thirteen.

I look over to my left one day
At lunch. It's Cindy, and...
Sophie? She goes to my school?
And it's Rebecca, and Maren, and
Sophia, and Grace, and Aillyana.
Over the year, I switch from
Facing Hailey and Hannah, to
them. I was thirteen.

Ethan and I text all the time.
We go to two dances. Cormack
Still tries to talk to me, still
Comes to my house, but I don't
Let him in. I was thirteen.

Ethan gives me a letter. It takes
A few days for me to read it. We
Never end up dating. I was thirteen.

I'm still friends with Hailey and
Hannah. With Cindy, Sophie, Rebecca,
Maren, Sophia, Grace, and Aillyana.
We all become friends with Joey,
And hang out all the time. I dance
With some of them. I have another
Family now, my Impulse girls. I
Will be rooming with Cindy next
Year. At school dances, we make
A salsa circle. We had around
Twenty people join us once.
I've made friends along the way.
Jośe, Aíne, Celia, Rose, Ananya,
Erin, Ginny, Abbey, Devon, Bella,
Three Emmas, Angelina, Claire,
Carley, Karina, Naomi, Riley, Oliva,
Abi, Sarah, Rachel, Allison, Tanu,
And many others. I've lost even more
Friends. Kennedy, Sonya, Brooke,
Cristopher, Aisa, Yusuf, Zoey, Emily,
Hallie, Chelsea, Gianna, Autumn, two
Jades, Donovan, Olive, Kaitlin, and
More. But I love the ones I've kept,
and I wouldn't have it any other way.
I am seventeen.
Inspired and In the Style of "Fifteen" by William Stafford

— The End —