I wonder

I am actually wondering if people still like my poetry. I realised today I am not as prolific as I once was like 5-7 years ago. I also wondered if my poetry stills means anything to anyone. I know through my entire time writing in this blog for almost 11 years that it has been a bittersweet, but meaningful journey. I had my lows and highs. I was able to share some of them here. I was experimental, logical, emotive, attempting to positive and empathetic but also at times mislead. I am happy that I have grown up so much. Matured more than I could have ever realised when I have started. This has been a very personal and intimate journey for me. I have been very fortunate to have had it. I Thank Allah Almighty that I did. It means so much to me.

So, I wanna continue forward. I wanna keep on writing poems here. I wanna keep on experimenting and writing my feelings. If the years back was more an experimentation I think the years would be a mix of confessions and memoirs as well.

I wanna thank everyone who stuck by me as I kept on writing here. I hope to keep on writing more and more.

I feel Blessed that I can write. I Thank Allah Almighty. I just feel blessed to get to know these poems and also have them in me.

Continuing on the journey of writing poems

Much love and good luck and prayers to me and the readers ❤

ennui-tonic

this import of aggression that ennui had made
worsted and winnowed into a fine parable
that only I can share; I who hold the bones
and the crosshairs of my skeletal affixations

this tire which is smoothened and crinkled by the night
whose gaze is not a penetration by a clitoral malady
and not a sufficeless prefix that pretends to bode well

there is a feeling, as I said in the last verse, an endless beginning
or a ending without any beginning. I am obsessed with ennui and boredom
because I do not know if life was an egg for me or already a chicken
whose paleontology I studied in some slaughterhouse on some heap
and made up crude names for its near-extinction. Yes, near extinction…

for we have domesticated life and the simulacra of domestication continues
you may say I too sometimes become manifestation of such a domestication
where culture restricts my sex to either so-called modesty or so-called openness

for the Venus De Milo is a nude without arms  and the Mona Lisa is always a
guesswork in progress. Caught between the Madonna and the Whore of Old
wondering which path I can take and knowing so forging my own takes more courage
it takes a certain kind of loyalty which is civil disobedience but there is Walden I can

retreat to feeling that there would be no taxation upon my sex and gender; even if I bide as a conscious gynandrous of sorts. I do not like to be bound as bondage portraits nor fixed as a saint. I want a messy me; getting tired of being a pendulous predictable.▬

solace temporary; torture temporary

bits and pieces of raggedy bone
that is the slimming of my patience
reading other poets online to be inspired
as I am exasperated, weight gain and the logic of dieting
it infuriates me; not due to non-participation, I need exercise
yet a lush-and vivid life too; to call my own
this ennui blinks and I am tundra or desert or something of barking sap
madness of impatience winning, I am no race winner. I came second place once
in Year 2, Class 2, I have the silver, white ribboned medallion. I loved running and still do
I love feeling the orbit of the earth on my soles: I have to learn to romanticise treadmills
as sexist bitches and sexist tropes don’t allow me the run I need to feel the axis of my heels
know the axis of the planet. I so want to be a projectile, yet they narrow me to mechanics
objectification of body fitness. I am just angry. Why can’t things be my way for once? God,
why do I always beg? Please give me something as you recently did. I need this. I need to run
in open spaces. For now, only for now, I will also do this liminal walking. Only because I love running
but this is a compromise temporary. I will weave my wings back somehow — God, you have to let me.▬

Defeating Defeat

If I die tonight, would anyone care?
I choose to live tonight. Because I care.
And that is enough. That is enough.
That is enough. That is always enough—
these fuckers who feel they can unfriend me
block me, redact me, detract me, gossip me,
try to categorise me into think plates of fuck
that they eat through their asses should know
I am enough to decimate them if I start
howling a song, a fury, a sound, Faulkner’s gonna say
“Wow, I wanna fuck her!” — I am not a loose end to your charming story
I am not a thread to fill up your tattoo needed space — I am more than space
I am spatially allocated but go beyond that. Who the fuck do you think you are?
I am a fucking one as much as you. Privilege and poverty runs bare and wild in both
our veins — if I die tonight you will be die with me. I won’t die tonight. For I am encased
in depression — which makes me bleed. Which makes me bleed. I am numb but I bleed. I cry, I wail
I wail and breakdown then I stand up. I FIGHT FOR EACH FEET TO BE PLACED!

I won’t be dyed with death
death will be dyed by me — I think I heard those lines before. Death, not today.
Know me. I stand in the precipice. Linger in my life. I will linger in yours.
I may die many times before my death
But because I rose up
Death live with me
You bring gloomy clouds
I will bring rainbows
Without each other we are incomplete
So I am going to live
Know Life
For life is what they wanna deny me
like it was theirs to deny

I DENY THEM

EXISTENCE IN MY LIFE
EXIST ELSEWHERE MOTHERFUCKER FOOLS

I am a prism
I am a resurgence
I am cancer to your avarice
I am antidote to your envy
I am jalapeno that can eat your jealousies

I am me.
Broken
Scarred
Scratched
Feathered
And Tarred
Yet like oil I am valuable as fuck
My saliva, froth, rabid to live
washes away the tar

I am immortal for I am human.—

Our Greatest Fear by Marianne Williamson

http://explorersfoundation.org/glyphery/122.html

Our Greatest Fear —Marianne Williamson

it is our light not our darkness that most frightens us

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other

people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of
God that is within us.

It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people
permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.

—Marianne Williamson

Often said to have been quoted in a speech by Nelson Mandela. The source is Return to Love by Marianne Williamson, Harper Collins, 1992. —Peter McLaughlin”

Ever since I heard this poem recited by Rick Gonzalez’s character Timo Cruz I have been in love with this poem.  It is one of my favourite poems of all times. Though Ctuz changed the words and excluded God I thought God made the poem more powerful as in even if you don’t believe you have to admit that the way God symbolically is used here is pretty amazing.

This poem for anyone feeling down 🙂

without the drink

 

trickling down, a droplet of absurdity
parenthesis entity — that is me
I am a creature sublime to oddities
artefacts can behold me and I beholden
the seas of chaos, calamity and serenity;

surprised aren’t you when my mouth glides
on tongue and I produce a kiss of words
in sobriety, I mated with soberness and it was
sombre, there is a seriousness in the sexiness
of some abstinence and some less inhibitions (a hybrid)
I am caught in tongues, who are not carcera to cheeks

it feels in the midst of conversations I am the phantom
I do not glow with the iridescence of being high
yet I am a novelty of loosened limbs and tongue
without the bottle — I am still an engaged firefly of sorts

trying to talk to everyone … —