Category Archives: Poetry

Sciamachy by Osman Naeem

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Sci·am·a·chy noun [sahy-am–uh-kee]: an act or instance of fighting a shadow or an imaginary enemy.

A fresh start, in the comfort of discomfort, is a monster sized bite on the pie chart of the things I need
So then, when I try to kiss you, why does your visage taste like omelette du fromage?
I would answer that question, but then I’d have to question my answer considering how I’ve been swinging for way too long to know that I really am Tarzan and that this skin is just a facade I wear to  hide my superhero costume
Because when you throw a man who is the sum of his addictions in a straitjacket, into a room infested with all his fears, even the parasites in his brain begin to develop mental disorders

I was told I was infected since wrath greed sloth envy their cousins stepbrothers and mothers in law, none of these imaginary enemies ever made it to my shitlist, and in my defense I told them it was a defense mechanism against their conventional and dogmatic lifestyle, they heard every word but they refused to listen, they threw me into concentration camp with this man who never broke eye contact and was called a therapist

Yes, he was called the-rapist because he asked my mind to open its mouth and used a tongue depressor to inspect the deepest reaches of my mind’s throat, then he went on to unbutton my neurons and used his stethoscope to hear my heart bang against my chest after asking me to take in long and gentle breaths. And after he was done he handed me a mini roulette wheel with pills so that I could avoid spawning symptoms and described the taste of a mirror to me…which is why the person I’m talking about appears to be a narcissist with a big nose and a crisp list of words at his lips…and he sounds like he talks with a lithp

Sciamachy by Merriam AlFuhaid

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Sci·am·a·chy noun [sahy-am–uh-kee]: an act or instance of fighting a shadow or an imaginary enemy.

You call me your dark side

But I’m not one side

Or another side

I’m your inside.

You call me your shadow

But that cannot be true

Because how is that your shadow

Overshadows you?

You say you want me to leave

But you still sleep with me

Every night

Reach out to me

Palms up

Even though I carve crosses on your heart line

Make a river of blood where there once was a life line

While you twitch and cry so helplessly

While clouds of cotton darkness dust

The world you once could see

And you’re jerked around as though hooked up

To electricity.

Don’t leave me with my thoughts, you say

So I settle down and breathe out fog

Around your ugly face.

You will never awake, I hiss,

But you will not die.

Instead, I give you dreams

Of an airtight coffin

Built of the love you know

Of sunset-colored sins

And how the mask you wear outside

Is not the face within

Dreams of empty arms

And falling stars

And the hundred thousand million

Failures of your heart.

You will never get away

You lie in bed dead while rats

Nibble at your nightgown

While your nails turn black

And your veins change to green cracks

I have taken so much of your life

That the only tears you now can cry

Are pale blue chips of ice.

And you lie there

As stupid as you always were

As weak as you have chosen to become

You’re just a dumb little warrior

With an already broken blade

So do you want to fight?

Be my guest—I’m not afraid

Because the more you hate and hurt and hide

And hunt down misery

The less there is of you

And the more there is of me.

Sciamachy by Berlin

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Sci·am·a·chy noun [sahy-am-uh-kee]: an act or instance of fighting a shadow or an imaginary enemy.

You see his name on your friends list

Regretting the fact that you weren’t online when he was, 27 minutes ago.

As if you would have said anything

As if you could have even typed “hello”

You click on his name and sigh at the sight of his profile picture

Not just because he was adorable but also because you see him cuddling “Monster”

The Jack Russel terrier he had had until giving him up for adoption a year ago.

You remember your heart sank as you read his goodbye letter to him.

How much it hurt him to let go of a very smart, brave although often stubborn companion.

Which you know Jack Russel terriers are…

Not that you were particularly knowledgeable in dog breeds…

It’s just that you had time to pull up all the dog photos Google had and settled for the one that monster resembled the most.

You thought about asking him directly, but then again you wouldn’t want to re-open that wound…

Or cause one on you.

You hovered the cursor over the like button

And debated whether clicking it would be too incriminating

You settled for later and clicked on his photo albums instead.

You realize he takes a lot of selfies… another thing you found in common with him.

Aside from badminton, the sport that introduced him to you.

You remember being called to umpire his game.

You remember him mistaking the first letter of your name for M.

You remember correcting him and him shyly apologizing.

You smiled, letting him know it was ok.

He smiled back.

That was your last memory of your sanity.

You watched him playfully sing, smile and stare at you during the game.

You didn’t want to assume it meant anything…

So you just officiated the game keeping your eyes on his b… the ball.

You found his name on the score sheet and repeated it a hundred times in your head so you can find him on Facebook… as if forgetting it was even possible.

You typed his name, hoping that he was there and PRAYING he didn’t know how to adjust his privacy settings.

Because you don’t really plan to add him…

You don’t even plan to say anything.

You just wanted to observe…

To see if he is or was married.

To know where he lived… worked.

To find common interests.

Basically stalk him like the psycho you are in the comfort of your own bed

But still keeping the right to act like you weren’t the least interested when you see him next.

You remember freaking out one night when Facebook notified you that he had accepted the friend request you were certain you didn’t send.

You wanted to blame your sister who used your computer that morning,

You were waiting for her to answer your call when the culprit caught your attention.

You rolled your eyes, hung up and cursed at the quarter-full bottle of J.D. on your bookcase.

“You’ve done bad things before but this…” you shook your head in disapproval and took a swig of the perpetrator.

Weeks passed and you found yourself thanking Zuckerberg for never considering the “who viewed your profile” option.

He doesn’t need to know his profile was viewed 87 times today… and he DOESN’T need to know you were responsible for 74… 82 of those views.

You read all of his statuses, scanned all his photos

Mentally clicking “like” on all of them… never physically.

Not just because you were a hopeless coward… but also because he’ll find it weird if you liked his break-up post from 2009.

You have casual conversations with him in the gym

Never trying to prolong them or let them get personal

You catch him staring at you sometimes

He smiles awkwardly when you do…

You notice how he says goodbye to the whole group but singles you out with a direct “I’ll see you soon”

But you never think too much about these things.

These, for all you know, might all be in your head.

Even when he asked you if you were seeing someone when

He gave you a ride home last Friday.

He even asked if you are looking to date… but you never assume…

You never conclude… you just always hope that somewhere between his lines is a chance that this is mutual.

You would never dare confess, let alone ask if he felt the same.

Something in your gut confirms that there is a chance there.

But your gut, your booze-loving gut, had been wrong before.

He might just be the guy who is so irritatingly nice, sweet and friendly to everyone.

Or worse, the guy like the last one…

The guy who likes you, flirts with you and practically dates you but deep down knows he will never actually BE with you.

You rolled your eyes at the memory.

You’ve been around long enough to accept that not all men are gay

Not that you were ever confident enough to believe otherwise.

Life is not that complicated… if he wants you, he will let you know.

Unless he is as afraid of rejection as you are of course.

Unless he is as attached to his pride as you are to yours.

A round green thing appears beside his name indicating he was online.

Your heart beats a little faster.

You wrack your brains for something to say.

You refer to your last conversation.

You wanted to thank him again for the ride.

You wanted to ask him the same questions he asked you about seeing someone.

You type… in notepad, because even the slightest chance that he sees you typing is terrifying to you.

You make a draft.

And another.

You are pathetic like that.

And when you finally settle for the perfect message, “Hey”

You find that he had left… 4 minutes ago.

You exhale a sigh of disappointment and relief

You close your eyes and say “tomorrow”

You promise that tomorrow… this sciamachy will end

You convince yourself that tomorrow you will be braver.

Tomorrow you will win.

He Loves Me by Berlin and Taiba AlOtaibi

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He Loves Me

 

He loves me.

I know he loves me.

He told me.

Whispered it to me.

I felt it on my lips, down to my hips, reaching to the tips of my toes.

The way his hand slips against my waist whenever he walks by.

The way his lips curve upwards when he thinks I’m not looking.

A kiss goodbye, a kiss hello, and peppered with every gift he has given me.

 

I feel his eyes on me every morning before he gets ready for work,

Watching me.

Looking through me.

 

He loves me.

 

But…

 

He loves me                                                                          

 

He sees the hesitation in my eyes and wipes it away with excuses and promises and lies.                                

He pulls me close until all I could do is lay my head on his chest and surrender to his heartbeat.                         

Although I have so many things to say they always have to be said another day                                             

 

Because he is there and he feels good and he loves me.

 

He has to love me.

He told me.

Screamed it at me.

He always insisted that he loves me.

He works hard for me.

You don’t know him, you may think you do but you don’t.

You get one part of him,

His little rebellion.

His little escape.

His little drug.

 

I wiped his brow when he was sick,

I knelt by his side when he was crushed and raised him higher when he soared.

I was there from moonrise to sun down.

And yet….

He loves me.                                                                    

Why else would he keep coming back?                           

There will always be gaps in his life only I could fill.    

I handle the mess she couldn’t deal with.                       

I welcome the “him” she would never get to meet         

I fix his heartbreaks by filling the cracks with pieces of my own.                                                                                    

 

He was mine first!                                                            

My hands had held him for a longer time…                         

My lips tasted his before she even existed.                     

We had a whole life together.                                         

A whole story.                                                                 

 

And she might have invaded a few chapters but I was there in the beginning and he promised.

He swore I would be there ‘til the end because he loves me.              

 

No, he loves me.

But…you had his happiness.

Please don’t take him away…

He saved me.

No, you don’t understand, you may love him but he saved me!

He is my rock.

He is my escape.

He is my drug.

I would have been swept under the currents.

I would have been a tiger caged but he saved me and I will not let him go!

Please forget him. Please leave him to me. Please. Please. Please! Please stop.

 

You are breaking me.

 

With every moment you share with him you are ripping me apart.

 

I saw those little glances at his phone.

He inhales sharply at every ring.

His fingers flex as he looks at it. Stares at it. Then glances back at me.

That’s when I first knew. And that’s how I have always known.

A tone, a gasp, a look and he was gone.

 

He loves me but I do not have the right to the emotions that loving him comes with.                                             

 

Security? Jealousy? Seriously?                                       

 

While I cry myself to sleep at night, he watches her dream in his arms.                                                           

While I wake up longing for him, they share breakfast in bed.                                                                               

While my days are spent wishing for nights, he is holding her hands watching sunrises and sunsets.                                                                            

 

I can never confront or question or demand.                   

This is what I signed up for.                                             

Why should I even ask when I know the answer will always be “her”?                                                              

 

She has the “I do”.                                                          

She has his name.                                                            

She has his birthdays and Christmases and New Year’s eves and all the days in between.                                     

 

All I have are random nights                                           

All I have is this room and the promise that these four   walls will be broken down eventually. 

                                     

He claims to love me.

With every breath he assures me.

But then…

He hides his phone, he leans over it when he checks it.

He always checks it.

I see your number, only digits, no name, no picture, no illicit sign of recognition.

Why? I wondered.

Until I called you.

Yes.

I called you.

I heard your breathless voice,

I could feel your excitement, your stark energy ripped through me,

Your voice,

Your unmistakable tenor voice.

That’s when I knew he was forever gone,

He would never be mine,

I could never be enough for him though I have tried,

Oh god how I have tried!

Still, he gives me his sweet words that mimics his sweet smile

Before he slips away to you.

 

He called me the other night.                                            

It had been a while since we actually spoke                    

I was overcome by excitement!                                       

How are you my love?                                                     

I miss you!                                                                       

When will I see you again?                                             

 

Silence was his reply before the line was cut.                

 

I wanted to call back to see what was wrong.                 

I almost forgot calling him was a luxury I was never provided with.                                                                  

I just waited for another call that never came.                

 

I don’t know when exactly I have allowed myself to be someone I used to pity and hate at the same time.          

Someone who only comes alive at the sight of a certain name flashing on the phone and dies at the sound of a    dead tone.                                                                        

 

I start to wonder which I do better…                               

Live for him or die for him…                                           

I’ve become such an expert at both that I can’t even tell which hurts less anymore.                                                                                                         

 

He loves me…

I know he does.

I love him too.

I will crawl on my hands and knees, kiss your feet and worship you just to have him.

Would.

I would have crawled.

He loves me; however…

There is always a however. Always a reason, always an excuse.

Long cold nights. Long empty days.

I am stuck

No more.

I am stuck no more.

I love him. I will always love him but his love for me is no longer enough.

I have to get up. Like the rising sun I have to pull forward.

I am my own.

 

He loves me                                                                        

He will fight for us.                                                         

He will leave her.                                                             

We’ll be happy.                                                                

That is our dream.                                                           

We spend a lot of time dreaming…  it’s one of the things we do great in bed.                                                

And although the fantasy of it all is beautiful and romantic and perfect…                                                   

I spend more of my time awake.                                      

And the reality I wake up to is not as pretty.                  

In reality, they are one…they even have papers to prove it.                                                                           

I’m just the outsider who wants in.                                  

In reality, I am just the bastard who is tearing a family apart.                                                                                

Throwing away a future for a past that should have been buried the moment they exchanged vows.             

In reality, I’m alone in fighting a battle I could never win.                                                                                        

 

I am done settling for so much less than I deserve!         

This dream will never come true!                                       

I am awake.                                                                      

I am hurt                                                                          

But I am awake.                                                                     

 

HE LOVES ME

But never more than half as he could,

Because the other half will always belong to someone else.

Yes, he loves me

But I am gone.

 

 

-Berlin & Taiba

Collaboration by Kamanha and Merriam AlFuhaid

By Posted in Collaborations, Kamanha, Merriam AlFuhaid, Poetry 3 Comments

Vicious Circle

Kamanha

Merriam

 

When I first got a glimpse

Of his dark, intense, eyes

His long, bohemian hair

Framing those dramatic lines falling from his lips

I thought to myself:

Wow.

What a weirdo.

 

I said, “Hello.

Nice to meet you.

Where are you from?”

Just to be polite

But to my surprise the freak replied:

 

Haven’t you ever wondered where things went when they say, “Things went south?” That’s where I come from

The landfill filled with mannequins, inadequate hard shells synonymous with the living dead and hazardous unchastened ones

And must I add that myriad suns shine on us there but we –the aghast souls- do dare bask in the darkest masquerade of mesonoxian cries

There we are fueled with adversity encompassed by and married to misery and curse he who tries to defy the sleepless eye of the covenant of lies

You may call where I come from “The Dispenser of Distaste” or “The Disposal of Repose”

“The Broken Memory of a Place That Once Was” or whatever unacceptable name you’d so substantially oppose

I had so many fingers pointed at me in vindication of fought wars and revocation of so-called concord

So what if I got one more of those gnaws and what if I am thought of as every story’s villain? Or perhaps this conversation’s moron?

 

And that’s when I realized

Speaking and making sense

Have nothing in common.

I’m an understanding, open-minded kind of girl

But this…

Well, my motto is love thy neighbor

And because I believe in consistency

If you bought the house next door to me

I’d move.

That’s what I thought to myself

But what I said was:

“I’ve never heard of it,

But it sounds like a lovely place to grow up.”

 

Lovely? Did you even hear me? In case you are serious then maybe I should take an easier approach than the one I took.

Look…I came from a land where I used to gallivant in demand of someone who would understand where I stand before it all 

Started by the slaps of my mother’s hand after which I realized the amount of innocence drained from me

In the reflection of my pathological mirror, I saw and still can see what I lost to sophistry and what I have yet to lose

Impoverished of sentiment and abused by the vicissitudes of this bruise

A scar-to-be–at that time–and it indeed came to be inevitably, I’m the one awful friend your parents told you not to see

A permanent imprint of a hand on my face has sycophantically sealed my fate for me

I was given a hand to be a failed prototype of what I was going to but never got to be

If all this constitutes “lovely” maybe you shouldn’t start a family

You’re not going to be so motherly, as I can clearly see.

 

I’m not going to be so motherly?

How dare you judge me

Like you know me

Like you know one thing about me

You’re the one who fled and failed

To walk along adulthood’s trail

Rejecting any discipline

Doled out from your parents’ hands

Instead you cling to weak excuses

Tell tall tales of past abuses

Act like you were doomed to lose

Since you were spanked once in your youth.

This pain—

What pain?

The pain I’m trying to contain while my spirit remains bloodied massacred and in chains

Don’t complain about chains when you’ve cast them all away

But scars still stay the same

Would it still be a scar if it had a different name?

So, I’m melodramatic YOU viciously claim?

The question is, why aren’t you ashamed?

Am I to be blamed? Would you put on my shoes and go to the place from which I came?

You don’t know what I’m talking about so don’t act like you know anything about my impalpable bane.

Don’t act like I cannot relate

When I wouldn’t be myself today

If I had not been raised the exact same way.

Then you might remember when you were looking up to the same figure’s hand that connected with your face

Undressed of your utopia of a vouchsafing parent, on sabbatical waste of shame and pieces of broken trust misplaced

Figments of your pride aligned on your surface and formed a mask of askance as in how to smile politely instead of talking back

Fades to black every hope you had in having a right to sulk and ask why you were attacked and why would you deserve such an impact

 

Me and you…we are two pieces of nice and neat laces on tiny filthy shoes

Once attained this uloid bruise, we are tied too tight on adulthood’s feet all confused

Your parents slowly lose grip of you and they have no clue that you have been awakened from your childhood snooze

And now you’re cut loose and dragged across those trails you speak of but you refuse to admit that it all made a misused fabric out of you

 

You’re no better than me, and if you had a son or daughter don’t make this the future he or she will have to meet

This vicious circle is way too wide but who’s to say that you can’t sever it from right here?

I want to be the place my children can call home not someone they stay on the streets to avoid seeing

I know you’ve cried many tears and I’m sorry. But, do you really want the same cataract to be paved on your child’s cheek?

 

And then I felt words I couldn’t quite say

That yes, there were days when his rage

Was a little bit louder

And his slaps were a little bit stronger

And I couldn’t help but wonder

If sewing is for women like they always say

Then why is there a patchwork quilt across my face?

 

I cannot pretend I never cried.

 

But I didn’t breathe a word of this to him.

I simply said goodbye.

 

Now I stand by the bathroom door

A powder mesh holding back my flush

Wondering, can I bear to take my makeup off?

Or will my fingertips rip my skin

Will my blood pour out in poison trails

Staining me a hypocrite

If I dare to look within?

 

Will I do it again?

 

Or will this be the one and only time

I went too far?

Can I clip my claws before my hands are trapped as instruments of harm

Stuck strumming chords of pain 

In endless repetition

In blind composition of misery and shame?

 

I look down at my son’s face

At the blackened place where I slapped him earlier today.

 

I know my sanity has been eroded by denial

That to others my promises must weigh less

Than the sullied air I exhale

But if excuses are my currency

Then bankruptcy is my new reality

Leaving me with just a sense of urgency

Compelling me

To swear to God and cross my heart

That this bruise will never, ever

Become a scar.

 

Collaboration by Farah Al-Sultan and Shayma’a Ahmed

By Posted in Collaborations, Farah Al-Sultan, Poetry, Shayma'a Ahmed Leave a comment

Liminal.

Living a full life

Unbound

Abiding by the rules of none

I’m my own boss

And I answer to

No one

 

Difference surrounds me,

Avoiding to affect others.

I try to survive with it,

But like always

I search for a way

To live without it.

I drift from your world

To my world

To their world

Like a white cloud

Floating in the sky

On a spring morn

 

When in between

Belongingness,

Fulfillment,

Happiness,

Settlement,

Are thing you live without.

Oh but what wouldn’t I give?

What wouldn’t I do?

To belong with you

With them

With anyone

 

I’ve been on the fringes of worlds

For far too long

It left me feeling empty

A void

Boring through my soul

 

In a state of in-between,

Some gain the lack of objects.

But now I’m ready

Yes, I’m ready

To sate that emptiness

 

Black white,

Landing in grey.

Summer winter,

Landing in spring.

Another problem,

Is to learn and land in one.

Is there a glimmer of hope for me?

Noah by Kamanha

By Posted in Kamanha, Noah, Poetry Leave a comment

In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

In my birth certificate…they never mentioned what it takes

To get an interview for a job of misery and higher stakes

Speaking of stakes…I wonder what that beefy bitch is doing today

“the worst leech”? Bitch, please…ease…let’s rewind and replay

Hi all I’m Noah and fuck you, by the way

I don’t mean to insult you but it’s just what my family never taught me not to like to say

Let me walk you through, you see, I’m a strip club emcee

And being 43, accused of murder of the 3rd degree, with no son or daughter don’t mean shit to me

My wife left me because I’m a pathetic idiot

To think it was a good idea to cheat on her on her period

But it’s only because I wanted to change the club’s name to “the ark”, but I couldn’t convince the owner

So I seduced his wife…I played catch with the bitch, I threw her a boner

Just to be called “Noah of the ARK” an idea done when I’m drunk and thought of when I was sober

I must be sick…And an ambulance just pulled me over

Don’t blame a man who works at a place where everyone’s got an IQ of a retarded squirrel tricked by monopoly dollars

Damn, I see zombies dancing and racing for money, I call them Pole Walkers

So, I’m not sure why my wife got mad when I said she’s just a “hole”…I dig her

I need a shrink because, you know, I don’t want it to get any bigger

I always stand corrected and then I usually sit angered and irritated

Throughout my life, I kept wondering… What if I got well-educated things would’ve surely been alternated

My inaniloquence would’ve been blemished, no encumbrance to stay up through the Twelfth Night

And grandiloquently quote Macbeth

I wonder if my life would’ve been an opalescent and to put it pauciloquently flee the truculent

oubliette of my living death

Maybe I could’ve written a surreal poem for my wife and with originality and delightful verbal freshness draw asunder

the curtains hiding my disdained sordid tears

Or appeased to be an oculist and have children in a cleaner sty. Or maybe write an embellished panegyric as the

best man to eradicate my best friend’s -that I could’ve had by the way- fears

Or maybe a megalomaniacal and a maladroit control-freak, the worst critique of the antique land of the derelict

and the vociferous

Would I have been deleterious or innocuous? Would I gnathonize the devil in distress

or instead, admonish the empyrean for his bliss

But then again, I’m not sure who I would’ve been, either way; it’s not my place to meddle

In this hoosegow where our integrity sells for so little

Birds cry and flowers wizen suns fly and a chance for darkness is given

Words lost, destinies forgotten and eyes shut, no visage of the world I live in

And from within the depth I hear a crescendo of a lonesome clown’s laughter

haha somewhere deep down here, there could be a cure for cancer

But, too bad, Noah. Your ark sunk you so deep, sailor. Wished you can see what I can see

But tonight I, your “would’ve and could’ve been”, will sleep and tomorrow you’ll wake up to go on being

The horny people’s filthy MC.

Noah by Taiba Al-Otaibi

By Posted in Noah, Poetry, Taiba AlOtaibi Leave a comment

In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

I wear a red bandana, play a cool pianna In a honky-tonk, down in Mexico I wear a purple sash, and a black mustache In a honky-tonk, down in Mexico (The Coasters – Down in Mexico)

First born unicorn Hard core, soft porn Dreaming of Californication (Red Hot Chili Peppers – Californication)

(The Heavy – Short Change Hero)

And they’re thinking: A beautiful face And a wicked way And I’m paying for her Beautiful face every day All that work

Over so much time If I think too hard I might lose my mind (The Black Keys – Next Girl)

‘Cause she’s a super freak, super freaky. (Rick James – Superfreak) Her body singing ‘Let me entertain you’ (Robbie Williams – Let Me Entertain You)

Ain’t nothin’ wrong with this chemistry Ain’t nothin’ wrong with this blasphemy (The Heavy – What Makes A Good Man)

With the lights out, it’s less dangerous So here we are now, entertain us (Nirvana – Smells like Teen Spirit)

Now she’s naked, nothing but an animal But can she fake it, for just one more show? (Smashing Pumpkins – Bullet with Butterfly Wings)

‘Every demon wants his pound of flesh But I like to keep some things to myself I like to keep my issues drawn It’s always darkest before the dawn.

So she…shakes it out, shakes it out, shakes it out, shakes it out.’ (Florence + Machines – Shake it Out) Waitin’, watchin’ the clock, it’s four o’clock, it’s got to stop. (Pearl Jam – Better Man)

Don’t call her daughter, not fit to be. The picture kept will remind me. Don’t call her daughter, Don’t call her…

The shades go down The shades go down (Pearl Jam – Daughter)

And I’m stuck (The Heavy – Stuck)

This ain’t no place for no hero

This ain’t no place for no better man

And ‘doin’ things just to please her crowd’

(The Heavy – Short Change Hero)

Noah by Berlin

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In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

“Not in this lifetime” she told him.
Middle-aged and struggling is not her type.
He smiled and told her gently “Forty five is all the hype”

She thought she told him clearly and that he would finally stop
She didn’t know that Noah was not someone who gives up.

Each night he fell deeper as he quietly watched her dance
He wondered what he can do to finally get his chance

He faked a smile every time he introduced her to the crowd
How, he wondered, could he say these things out loud?
The words printed on his cards are not what he would’ve chosen
He would never dare refer to her as a bleeping sexy vixen.

A stripping goddess she was known as, but that’s not what he wanted.
All he needed from her was to be a different kind of naked

The kind where all defenses are dropped.
Where pretending she is strong can finally be stopped.
He wanted to take care of her, make her feel secure.
Let her know that money is not always the cure.

He continued treating her special, did everything to make her laugh.
He figured all the affection will eventually be enough.

Time went by and she started to see
The man he was and wanted to be.
She saw him in a different light and decided it was time to make it right

“I have something to tell you” she whispered in his ear.
He had to check twice if he heard it clear.
She kissed him and told him to meet her after the show.
He could not be mistaken she had that certain glow.

He walked around all night gleaming with pride.
That was until she screamed and cried.
A man had a little too much to drink.
Crossed the line and forgot to think.

He slapped her when she said no.
Threw money at her and called her a ho.
Noah grabbed and punched the man
That was when he drew his gun

He pointed it at Noah whose arms went up.
But the man was possessed by the devil’s cup.
He pulled the trigger without any hesitation.
While everyone flew the perilous commotion.

She ran to Noah and cradled him in her arm.
“Maybe next lifetime?” He asked with all his charm.
He smiled and closed his eyes.
That was when she realized.

“Don’t you dare Noah!
Don’t you dare let go!
This is not how it ends
There’s still something you should know!

I love you Noah
How could you leave me now?
I chose you Noah
Tonight was my last bow”

She held his lifeless body for a moment longer.
Enumerated the ways she could have made it better.
The longer she stayed at the spot where he was slain,
the more she was convinced she would never dance again.

Noah by Osman Naeem

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In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

The contents in a plate composed of a decomposing mashed potato hallucinogenic salad and carcinogenic beer stains that had soaked the velvet sheet which slipped off the bed onto the carpet
Oozed through the spaces between Noah’s toes as he took a step and walked butt naked with a limp towards the shower
Drunk on deep space dilemmas and the intense scent of lingerie that lingered through his nostrils and made its way to his brain
As a twist of the tap sent rusty water gushing down to replace the dirt he tried to scrub off from between the wrinkles on his face
He closed his eyes and held his breath as consciousness began to squeeze in alongside alcohol and nostalgia, it was his fortieth birthday
And drops of water met the redness that clotted inside the crack on the marble below, distorting the sound of the radio playing Bohemian Rhapsody
He pulled out a fragment of glass that he’d stepped on and blood rushed from a flooded head to the tip of his pinky toe
With every breath of air that he took in, he exhaled life and stared at his hands that now felt older as they began to melt

Well renowned for leaving his audience spell bound with just a click of the fingers at the speed of sound
Reliving each and every day that got him this far, unsure if he was witnessing his life flash before his eyes
Reminiscing the times he spent sleeping on abandoned hardwood floors with a jar of fireflies, being  a vagabond, being spat out and being all alone without a home
The struggles, the troubles, till his life was no longer monochrome and his guardian angel quit singing in a monotone
They said he was possessed and had to be exorcised, the deacon said his demons grew fat because they never exercised
So he eloped with the devil and the ones who raised him now hoped to hear him declared dead
He began dwelling in neon caves, calling out lioness cubs for applause and a loaf of meat to eat, in a place he called home territory just like a lion in the Serengeti
He made friends with the seven deadly sins, but they gave his life a purpose and gave him bigger wings
They rusted his cheek bones but made him smile and destined him to bigger things
To be seated on the throne of the forbidden kingdom, but etched on the heart, it was more than a symptom
How could being here be right? With all these pink thongs a dollar bill upsurge
To be in love with no one, and no reason to soul search
To have nothing to lose, and no reason to feel cornered
To be unsure of life being perfectly normal, and no fear of being bipolar
But as he stepped out to grab a towel no longer did he feel any older, he was all sober and the guilt trip was now over

“But Daddy I Love Him” by Kamanha

By Posted in ButDaddyILoveHim, Kamanha, Poetry Leave a comment

I walked the dirty road I formed since my shameful birth

I kept losing bits and pieces of who I am until I completely lost myself

And if I wasn’t deaf I’d live on listening to the destiny’s wind’s wisp

It has a lisp because the wind’s tongue is so hot burning me to crisp

I detest the fact that I’m messed cursed and blessed when I lost what I bargained

An enlightened clever boy running a fool’s errand stricken by a deadend beyond blackened

Burdened by the devil’s well-worded wicked harangue and lyrically beckoned

Livin in a world, a whirlwind of mass massacres sheltered by fear, frown upon and frightened

That evil force was poured in a newborn that took form of a twin-horned man in black

With a voice similar to my own he said “So you’re the vessel and my home. We haven’t met since way back”

What the hell am I seeing? Who the hell is he and is my head still in tact?

He said “I’m the true you and we grew blue with every view we review from the past and in fact…

I’ll tell no lies I’m not the guy who drives your hand when it writes on a page

But, I’m the words that fathom and rise when you decide to fight the lonely cold nights of your age

I’m the rage you cage, the mage that hates to be defeated in the internal wars you wage

The rampage that gets your pain assuaged and your head deranged while you’re engaged to stay disengaged”

Then I thought to myself “I gave up to hate. It was too late to close that gate” so I made my mind

I willingly took the bait, he turned his face and walked away “Hey wait” I said “Let’s rewind

And go back in time where your hate was mine and my fate was yours”…He replied “I decline”

The farther he went the more weight I detest to placed on my chest… He smiled and led me to places no soul can find

And then another voice whispers “Don’t follow him, son… I’m here to save you!”

Dad? Is that you? Aren’t you the one who threw mom out when she was pregnant with me. So, save who???

Dad, you do realize that mom stayed on the streets while the merciless cold wind blew?

The truth, I was a cursed pot of blame for something I didn’t do, it was because of you and you died 21 years ago…so don’t speak, you have no right to

And grow up, dad. Because with or without you I grew

I was born broken-hearted and was handed a shit deal, but screw!

That man I follow is the hallow of my downfall. He’s my devil, I knew

But, daddy I love him… And god forbids… He loves me too.

“But Daddy I Love Him” by Dee

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But Daddy I love him

And so

The morning star

Fell to earth

For a sin

With more peril than Pride

Because free will

Was not in The Father’s plan

And the Other was not made

For him to love

For that inspires too much

And so

They were both driven out

One for wanting a forbidden fruit

The other for tasting it

And so

His hope lives on

In us

And so

He whispers

To us

To follow his path

Follow our hearts

To our detriment

“But Daddy I Love Him” by Hawra’a Khalfan

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She looks up at the Grey skies and wishes upon a cloud.

Her mind shuffles through memories of her throughout the years wishing upon multiple stars, she had wished on those spheres of fire with such belief that they would somehow align and help one of her dreams come true. But now she has retired from these useless fire breathing rocks- she knows better than to repeat that series of mistakes again. It took years for her to give up on those stars, and now the clouds are her allies.

The clouds will make her dreams come true. All she wants to do is speak to him one last time.

I miss him- she told the depressingly dark water vapor which seemed to be hovering over her everywhere she went. I wish he hadn’t gone. I wish he was here. I want him to be here. I want to feel his skin. Raincloud, do you hear me? I know it isn’t possible to bring back the remnants of him. Is he nearby? To her utter astonishment the clouds responded instantly and cried with her. They wept and wept and the droplets that seeped from the skies hugged every surface on her body. She felt the warmth of a mothers embrace oozing through her pores. He is nearby, isn’t he? I can feel his presence, the timeless satisfactory tyranny of his very being near mine. The darkness bleeds one raindrop of hope at a time for her, and every drop is bliss. This cloud, is he above? Is he touching me through this rain? Or am I trapped within an illusion of his exquisite downpour?

 

She sat as still as a statue, mourning the death of them. The unrealistic notion of what they would have been.

She looked up at her new group of faint supporters.

I would have fought for us.

I saw us

Years from now

I saw our life

I thought we would be.

I thought we would live

side by side.

I would have fought for us.

Run miles

Climbed mountains

and all those other ridiculous

love struck promises.

I would have fought for us

I would have had that ridiculous

“But daddy I love him” fight

for you.

I would have singled out my family

I would have given it all

to you

unconditionally.

I miss you.

“But Daddy I Love Her” by Haseeb Sange

By Posted in ButDaddyILoveHer, Haseeb Sange, Poetry 2 Comments

I stood there crying, tears rolling down my eyes,

waiting beyond the silence, to sever all ties,
The pen was down and the chairs were being pulled,
The court had made it’s decision, the opposition over ruled,
We were not to see each other again, not anymore,
Nothing was ever going to be like before,
But daddy I love her, said I out loud,
while he sweeped me off the room with watery eyes, through the crowd,
And that was the last time I ever saw her, crying in the distance,
my very own mother, about to face the guns…

“But Daddy I Love Her” by Osman Naeem

By Posted in ButDaddyILoveHer, Osman Naeem, Poetry 1 Comment

How can you be so sure? You loved another yesterday

You walked away when she suffered and watched her suffocate

How can I let you make the same mistake once again?
When this young heart of yours bears no battle scars and doesn’t know the pain
of being left behind as an option trying to chase the last train
Oh it felt like the right track? I think you were on the wrong lane

But daddy, I know it’s her that I desire
Do you really need her like you need air to respire?
The wounds you left behind don’t heal with a bandage
Are you trying to compete with Genghis Khan on a rampage?
For how long will you carry on causing these heartaches?
All your wisdom was earned from others’ mistakes
doesn’t really make you selfless does it?

But daddy, I promise, I swear
No, you’ll never know because you never cared
The last time, you numbed her up and struck her heart with a spear
She struck the surface with a smile while you just stood there
Another surgical experiment of yours
That you sedated with sweet words which ran vertically through your cervical pipe with poisonous synonyms and air

But daddy, I’ve changed now
If you’ve changed now then you’ll change once more over and over
You broke a vow when you were sober
Why should  I trust you with all the weight on your shoulders
You seek  warmth but leave the world a little colder

But daddy, I love her, just like the way you love my mother
I won’t leave her torn and bruised, walk away just because I can choose
And I won’t refuse to let go when the ends start to get loose
But daddy, why does it hurt when it’s supposed to revive?
It’s because that’s how you learn to fly high up in the sky
When you find someone whose soul sings you a lullaby
And their hand melts in yours, makes you realize and feel alive
So you can trust them to blindfold you and handle a knife
Son, you don’t know your way back home
You’re just too young to make that little sacrifice

“But Daddy I Love Him” by Wil

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David paused. James had just asked him if he wanted to go fishing Saturday afternoon, a regular thing they’d been doing for a few years. David realized he was going to have to tell James at one point or another that he had found a new girl. He’d known James since they kept tadpoles as pets. Since their mothers arranged birthdays for all the neighbourhood kids and the present of their dreams was a caterpillar tracked remote controlled car rumoured to be capable of 80km/h. They had played under 12, then under 16, then senior cricket for their hometown together, David batting 5th and a fairly average fielder, James a wicketkeeper who batted third, on after the first wicket. They had fought over a simultaneous crush as 10 year olds, their friendship untouched only because both were rejected. Fishing was the salve of their souls, the centre of the week even though it was on a weekend. It didn’t need to be a huge adventure, it just needed to be a simple short boat trip followed by a lot of drifting on the water. The occasional shout across to another bunch of mates doing the same thing. The occasional whir of line chasing a fooled fish. The occasional shark stealing the catch, uncaring at their curses.

“Yeah see you 4 o’clock”, he said.

Simin flipped through her book with a sigh. She usually loved Gabriel García Márquez but Chronicles of a Death Foretold was just a bit too violent at the end. What was with the depressing, desperate string of love letters mentioned then too, she thought. Nothing in the story beforehand really supported such a display of devotion. Simin had grown up in Shiraz, Iran and moved to Australia last year. No one knew about Iran here, except that they were trying to bomb Israel. And that her hometown has the same name as a wine grape, something they all thought rather funny because Muslims can’t drink.

She and David had met, of all places, in a drive in cinema. She had learnt that these were very popular when researching Western culture before emigrating but on arriving found that they were very rare now. He was the manager of Salisbury Heights Drive In and handed over her and her friends’ tickets to the first Hunger Games movie. He had paused giving them to her, like a lot of Western men tended to briefly halt their activities when she was close, a look of curiosity flashing across his face. “If you wait 5 minutes, can I show you something?”, he ventured, playfully withholding the tickets. She noticed his broad hands. He was wearing Old Spice, a quaint choice. His intent was completely clear but, somehow to her on that night, probably because she’d never been propositioned so hilariously straightforwardly and also because she found herself sinking involuntarily into his green eyes, this one seemed less than half obnoxious. Explaining to her friends soon after they’d found a place to park in front of the screen that she needed to find the bathroom, she made her way back to the ticket office, where they watched the movie for a few moments from the projection room, which comically enough had a poster of Ingleurious Basterds on the wall.

She got up off the couch and unplugged her phone from the charger, wondering what David was up to.

“Simin,” muttered her father from the other side of the living room. She turned her phone so it wasn’t visible from his direction. “Mmm?” she asked, on Whatsapp with David at the same time seeing what he was up to tomorrow. “You seem different lately azizam” he went on, this time lowering the paper so she could see his face. This also meant he could see her attending to her beloved smartphone. “If it’s another one of those disgusting, beer swilling, foul mouthed Aussie blokes with one of those loud cars you know what I’m going to say.” Simin rolled her eyes and went on typing to David. “But daddy, I love him!” she cynically retorted, walking into the kitchen to fix some coffee.