Cliffhanger Murphy had overcome all of life’s trivialities as a young boy. His father always told him there was nothing more fulfilling than reaching one’s peak. And so he sought out to conquer mountains, it was a purpose he gave to the rest of his life. The youngling used to climb into class through the window by the time he was fifteen. Continue reading
Category Archives: Osman Naeem
Monkey by Osman Naeem
They came like Wall Street protesters, they took our food, they shat in our water tanks, they stomped on our hopes. Two weeks ago, Captain Smeagol called for shots to celebrate the success of Project Copper Ape’s launch. Two days ago, Captain Smeagol’s intestines were crocheted on the circuit boards of Charles’ banana dispenser. Continue reading
Blood by Osman Naeem
From Blood to Dust
30,000 men, 300,000 pints of blood, 1,000,000 pints of ale, charging towards each other with the fury of a war orphan, armed with war music, in a valley unnamed
25,000 men, hungry for a promised heaven, thirsty for revenge Continue reading
Superhero by Osman Naeem
My dear Destiny,
You and I both thought I would go after losing my body parts to a four footed fire farting falcon from far far away. It happened! But only in the last issue of that comic book spin off about me. But let me let you know, retirement homes are for the dead, they don’t let me listen to Motörhead here, they say it’s not good for my health. Continue reading
Cheap Thrills by Osman Naseem
All we did was breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out
Till our breaths were a mix of minty coal and dirty water, we exhaled zesty chalk outlines
Till our brains throbbed beneath our skull plates and our bowels shook like earthquakes Continue reading
Color by Osman Naeem
You feel like you met her the moment you were born, she is an open book to read and you are dyslexic
Her twitter bio says her favorite color is turquoise, her favorite number is six and she likes coffee bars
The skies are so bright and blue that even the sun is squinting, and you are holding a purple umbrella after you finally walk to her doorstep to face her Continue reading
Sciamachy by Osman Naeem
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
Waves by Osman Naeem
Here I was, at the barstool, I mean, what better way to kick start the weekend than by spending your pay on cheap vodka shots and deep philosophical thoughts with your cubicle friends, who are all alpha males with beta reasoning skills and gamma temperaments.
Ten minutes past midnight and we were already spewing wisdom like snake monks, unfortunately, thanks to Basheer, and his amazing tendency to stir random substances that altered brain waves into our drinks. These substances were either made in secret laboratories or secreted by various life forms, our dear friend Ranjish Patel Kumar Turbanfulk jr was now Scottish and took his pants off because he wanted to feel the air flow through his legs and feel the comfort of a kilt. It doesn’t end there, he proposed a toast to God and said “My friends, hunks, hunkarettes, the lady with the armpit stains, we are all vagabonds roaming through nothingness in a search for bliss, and along that path, we have our own bandwagon that we think belong to. What we do defines us, what we define does us, like that lady I’m taking home tonight, and the closer we get to bliss, the further it seems to be. Now that is very funny, because bliss is within, trapped, in your minds, hearts and scrotums. Hey let go of me I am a citizen of this country what are you doing yaar…..” swear words and curses echoed through the back room as the bouncers carried his voice away.
While that happened, I had somehow teleported to this couch at least two dance floors away from the barstool that I warmed. I was beside the cornerstone of sexy and the centerpiece of “so damn fine”, my heartbeat was cosmic waves on a Richter scale, which is probably why I was talking gibberish, we were as close as distant relatives after exchanging private information because it is totally safe to share the dimensions of your birthmarks and your secret teddy bear with a person you met exactly twelve minutes ago, and you don’t even know their name. But I didn’t care, I was finally going to break through the crest of my purity as we winked at each other like we were epileptic. It was as if I had successfully aimed at a peanut through a sniper rifle fitted with a kaleidoscope, from a kilometer away, I had finally scored!
I insisted we leave and then decided to walk through the urban ghetto that this city had become, it was romantic, mostly, actually completely, because it gave us a chance to walk together through a cold night and I finally had the chance to cross out a line on my bucket list that included giving my coat to someone special to make them feel comfortable and cozy. We decided to dine in at Hummus Palace a block away from my apartment and ate the special “RegretMeNot” hummus, as we walked out while holding hands, a voice entered my left ear and told me I was going to have my first kiss in a really long time for dessert. Our lips crossed like shoelaces and then we brushed our cheeks together but I felt like I was rubbing my face against a porcupine. I now, had another reason to commit suicide by jumping into Tsunami waves, I had made out with the infamous queen of herpes.
I had made out with Ranjish. Patel. Kumar. Turbanfulk. jr.
Operation Smearoff by Osman Naeem and Ahmed AlRasheed
Base. 1300 hours:
The world around General Heisenberg was clashing, as he knew war was immanent. The General gathers his troops around the table for his briefing. “Soldiers!” As he looked at his fat Sergeant, Roethlisberger and his 1st Lieutenant, Fritz. “We are under attack and we need to act now!” Looking closely at them he decides to send them off first. “We shall send in a squad, you two should be in it. I have already sent in Sergeant Colace down for recon, but he has been missing for sometime now!” A huge rumble came as the enemies fired a warning shot.
The troops gather up to be deployed, waiting for General Heisenberg to give the final order.
Behind Enemy Lines. 2 hours ago:
“Sergeant Colace, I need you to go down there and be my eyes and ears.” General Heisenberg stated, “The enemy are rattling the cages and we need to put a termination to it, only setback is we need help reckoning where they are.” “Forget about the pawns, I say we go straight for the king,” said sergeant Colace, who the army nicknamed The Exorcist. “We enter the caves of Kabaz that leads us directly to our destination, and then make our way through the Valley of Manhood which joins with the ocean from there the navy takes over” The General nods to the Black Operation and affirmed, “If you get wedged, you know we will be there to get you out, good luck Sergeant!”
Sergeant Colace salutes his General as he marched out to get ready for his mission. Sgt. Colace got into his scuba gear and dives into the waterfall, as he knows he should be careful, as he has entered enemy lines.
Operation Smearoff. 1400 hours:
The troops are ready to be deployed as the world around them clashed, war has began. Sgt. Berger and Lt. Fritz were to lead the troops to a fight they may not come back from, but it was for the better cause. The cause to free the world of agonizing pain and hunger and return it to what it was before, peaceful and calm.
“Operation Smearoff begins, this fight may be your last, or your first. In the past, you may have been wimps, cowards, thieves or dishonest men, but today you prove everybody wrong! Prove to yourself you are worthy of such task and that you shall free this world from the devil within! The enemies shall not have mercy, so DON’T show them any! Unless, you’re taking them out, TO DINE IN HELL!” The troops yell and cheer as they praise their General’s speech. Before, these men were from happy families that had meals together everyday and simply enjoyed the humble life of amity and prosperity. Now, these men will commence the most brutal attack on their enemies. Stepping off home soil to protect the world from the Axis of Evil. They knew they were taking all of humanity’s demons to hell with them; these men were called The Reapers.
Hope. 1700 hours:
Twenty planes in a sonic boom transformed to a few hundred paratroopers, the enemy grew tenfold, as the abandoned island of now seemed to run out of ground to stand on. The Reapers were weakened and they were tired, but they never gave up. They fought for independence, they had a cause. “tsht, this is Hotel calling all troops do you copy? over tsht” General Heisenberg reported on the walkie talkie. “tsht, THIS IS ROMEO, tsht, WE ARE SURROUNDED AND WE NEED BACK UP! OVER tsht” screamed Sgt. Berger as him and his troops were in a standoff between hundreds of enemies.
The numbers were in no ones favor as nature lost grip of its temper and rapid thunder sounded the coming of a hurricane, with strong winds and cold wrath, as the rain now joined forces with mother earth and muddied and bloodied humanity’s boots. This merciless force had consumed all but a few. The Reapers took cover in the woods that opened into the valley of Manhood. They ran towards the warmth of the dense forest that was slowly dying from the horrors of mustard gas.
1900 hours:
“tsht, This is Hotel do you copy? Over tsht” General Heisenberg has not heard from his troops for sometime. Communications was lost when the tsunami hit. “tsht, This is Hotel does anyone read me? Over tsht.”
What was left behind these enemy lines were corpses scattered everywhere, organs and limbs had become a part of the debris that is smeared everywhere. The place now looked like the aftermath of a torture chamber. Nature washed away its sins with a tsunami like no other, and there was no evidence of the loss suffered by the alliance and the axis. In the end, a white flag was raised, signifying the restoration of peace, and the exile of evil that plagued humanity.
General Heisenberg knew he won the battle, with the cost of losing his Reapers, which saddened him. He stood up, turned around and reached for the flush. He flushed down the enemies as he walked out of the McDonald’s bathroom with victory by his side.
Noah by Osman Naeem
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 Her” by Osman Naeem
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
Smoke by Osman Naeem
On the sidewalk that I walk on with a walkman on
The smell of the rain, the vapors from this cup of tea coating the walls of my oesophagus
With my head low, I see the remains of what left some high before on the floor below
And took a few to another dimension but closed many doors
Uneven pulse rates causing frequent visits to Dr.Stethoscope
I pick up this blunt off the ground and reach for my lighter as curiosity provokes
And with the roll of my thumb, I hear a man whisper into my mind
It gets colder as the sun sets, and my breath forms a face infront of my eyes
This voice said things to me, who knows, maybe it was just a schizophrenic’s mental tendency
“Don’t walk away, I am you, but unlike you I’m not your enemy”
Even though my lips and lungs turn black, from the painful Asthma attacks
I lust for more with every puff, the smoke lets my demons escape into the ash tray
The smokeless flame inside me desires more for this smoke
As my heartbeat elevates and my soul levitates
The THC medicates with inner peace for all the seven days
As I cease to be separate with the whole world, I’m beyond the second base
With a vision blurred by the rose tinted ink from the purple haze
A dozen different Rorschach patterns appear, everytime I blink
Looking in the mirror before I leave as an epitome of despicable
I see a rebel on a different level plane, downtrodden but upbeat
Overlooking the underlying issues walking down this puddled street
This Marijuana smog makes me feel like a misguided ghost
A recluse let loose with internal flesh wounds
Walking out of this through the society of sobriety
On the psycho-path, trying to heal by inhaling this nicotine
But this will be my one last cigarette
I’m tired of dying over and over again
I don’t need to suffer, there’s much better things to gain
Nothing hurts as much as the pain of staying the same
Remember, when it’s all done, there’s no one but yourself left to blame
That’s what it said to me before I tripped on my own shoelaces
With my head high, looking into the grey sky
I snap this cynical little cylinder into two
Shades of brown and green powder ricochet off the floor below
And as I step past the past, the rain becomes a better metronome
Revolution by Osman Naeem
By Osman Naeem
They say a picture is worth a thousand words
Then I guess a poem paints a vivid picture
So I consider every word I see the part of a holy scripture
Now if I need to find a balance, I need to discard
All that I’ve held on to, the pharamaceutical prescriptions
The fear of being wrong that made me sleepwalk into the system
The grudges in my heart and even the reasons
For all that I have and haven’t been through
Even the paper thin air that fills my lungs, and the pen that I breathe into
The totitpotency of life and the totem poles I draw on duodecimoes
And not a fraction of this is about me or my frictious ego
Not a freefall into freedom, or a monologue from the graves of prehistoric heathens
These are words from the diary of a brain dead rockstar irrespecticve of the sequence
Neatened by the teachings of the children of the proletariat and precarious Aryans
Who rode the nefarious chariot with delirious ferrymen
Who rose from the ashes as white flags ended wars mourning euthanized masses
Fire fighters walking the streets that look like veins coming from the heart of a mutiny
Raising torches fueled by adrenaline to blaze the sky and feed their foes some scrutiny
But even our enemies worship effigies of godly entities with the same energy
It’s hard to accept what’s aberrant and absolute from an apparent perception
Why do they call them freedom fighters in the first place?
I believe destiny isn’t solid but I don’t think we’ll ever see, even as runner ups incase
Beyond the illusion of freedom where lies the peace and harmony
MLK or MKG, whoever the leader may be, never asked you
To be impaled by the urge to get lip locking with death
just for the sake of democracy in the shallowest depths
Even Napoleon Bonaparte had his heart torn apart
looking at all the bodybags that had piled up in his shopping cart
At the check out, as he paid for a guilty conscience with second thoughts
Revolutions change worlds but dismantle settlements
As revolutinaries seat us in a cinema rolling the reel of illusions
We watch with paranoid senses, scared of the nothingness
So we shackle ourselves to the seats and replace faith with belief change never comes
Not even late, or even prematurely like the way we think
With a million neurons and an ego that succumbs bitter tastes
And justifies the reasons to the mistakes we make to numb fate
Then it becomes hard trying to overcome what we create
We then debate with apathy over love and hate
I guess that’s why they say ignorance is bliss
Some of us might be drones, while some heat seekers
Look into the eyes of the man in the mirror, unless your Medusa
I found the struggles reside inside the more that I dug deeper
Last halloween, when I shook hands with the grim reaper
Who took me down the birth route, planets revolve too but in imperfect circles
There’s a difference between letting the lion in your heart eat the frog in your throat
And a lion roaring with a sore throat promoting cutthroat pseudo-sacrifices
Revolution is change and change begins from within.
Glass by Osman Naeem
By Osman Naeem
What constitutes the word glass?
I’m not going back to secrets or scratches
I’m here to light your candles without a box of safety matches
Talking about Newton splitting light with prisms in the attic
bulletproof windshields, dreams and even a little magic
Bending them makes existence vivid
Take a look through a pair of eyeglasses
Take a look at the sands of time inside an hourglass
What’s now in your sight incites anxiousness in spite of the fact
That what was once solid ground is now a quicksand
As the shapeless ghost of pain
confined by glass in a memory encased by an old leather frame
Stares through the raindrops racing down the window pane
Wishing that the summer came, delving into restlessness
Take a look from the pupils of a soldier walking on debris
Shattered glass, flooding the ground
trapping the battle cries and screams beneath
We’ve got five senses but an infinite spectrum to see
There’s no world, just a few billion understandings of it
A glass is made of shades that we can’t perceive
Yet we claim to know all and judge blindly
Now that’s a shade of irony
Moving on, we too bend and reflect and refract
Because these words are a medium for minds to interact
Make eye contact with eyes shut and even for those with Cataract
Be it a piece of silicon dioxide or an ancient artifact
This is the truth through my vision as clear as glass in the fist of a Nihilist
Possessions inevitably cease to last
as they eventually disintegrate and fade away
Into the realm of blissful yesterdays
Life is meant for you to live, not just exist.
Secret by Osman Naeem
By Osman Naeem
Secrets, out the deep dark blue
The voices outside my head seep through
As I unwillingly break a dozen promises
Unaware of the captives that it’s held over time
Feels like walking in air and swimming in ice
The cycle continues until a friend says goodbye
This is a typical approach to a whisper, or a candy coated lie
Listen closely because I need your attention
But I’ll be wise so I have no names left to mention
We all have them like a mercenary does
A bulletproof vest on to protect himself
From government officials, income tax and debts
It’s what brought a tear to the eyes of an adopted son
When his mother swore on Virgin Mary that she was secretly a nun
The truth behind a man being forced to steal a bun from the bakery
It’s what got Adam bullied for being gay,
After it spilled out from his best friend’s buccal cavity yesterday
The existence of MI7, Area 51, and democracy
The answer to why sometimes confessions aren’t holy
Oh, and from another point of view
A secret is a hole in the membrane that blurs truth
A scratch on the mask people put on to fit in since birth
Hiding mistakes, scars and unknown aliases
The shortcuts in life and hidden pathways
The keys that we pass on in hopes of leaving behind a legacy
You can’t deny the fact that we all disguise
Our dirty little secrets and the location of our treasures
The names of our high school crushes, and struggles through peer pressure
Buried beneath the second degree of desperate measures
Kuwait Writing Club 