Muslim. Stubborn. Confused.
Travel. Exploration. Deep Thoughts.
Giraffes, Green Lantern, Gaming
Ballpoint fists connect,
breaking paper jaws. Words come-
spilling from red ink.
She too, like the moon, has phases.
In which happiness hides
In the dark shadows.
Yet a sliver of her radiance, is always there.
She moves, like the tide.
Ebbing and flowing
Whitecaps of sea-foam form
As she crashes in anger
And retreats in humbleness.
Fearing that her waves
Only erode her.
When in reality,
She is polished by every swell.
She is blind to the crescent that is her smile
To the polished stones that are her gifts
She wields a sword to slay demons
but too often
She thinks that she’s the only one
Left to slay.
How would she feel?
In her battle hardened
Knowing that sometimes
Almost always, actually:
That I yearn to be the shield
That protects her
Against the sword
That she points
White is the color of my paper
Black are the words that are written
Blue is the color of the sky at high noon
and Green the color to which I’m smitten
Red is the blood that flows through me
Brown is their color when they scab
Orange the color of a small flame
and Yellow the color of a passing cab
Blue manifests itself in passive sadness
Red with aggressive rage
Yellow prompts warmth and joy
Green inspires more words on the page
Yet one can be green with envy
One can be sadly Blue
Ones lips can go white with fear
Ones cheeks take a tickled pink hue
One can have teeth white as snow
And pupils, black as night
Ones personality can be any color-
Don’t judge the world in Black and White
You have a hopeless facade of maturity about you.
You think that just because your joints now ache-
And your crows feet are more pronounced,
That you have come about the Earth
Into your own.
You think that you can ball your hand up into a fist
And win fights. Without ever drawing blood from another.
With age should come maturity.
When you see that swirling mist-
It is not a mist of hope, or relief
Not some ethereal substance
Identifying you as an elite;
That silver swirling gilded mist you hold dear
Are the cataracts that keep you blind
To your own ignorance
To your own hubris
And to the evil company you keep.
He penned his letter
addressed to himself,
but designed for another,
A lesson for him, but
a message to his brother
He said, with great calm
and without a blink-
don’t even deserve a drop of ink
Wait, you know what?
Actually never mind.
My words are wasted on you.
The problem, with paradise
Is that we, as humans are
To transcend humanity
That alone, is paradise.