Write ’till you drop,
your pen from your hand.
Feel your heart has spoken,
Spell words wrong,
and forget the rules of grammar.
In your writing.
Describe, express, explore, and discover.
Write in any language,
as long as it’s your words.
Erasers teach bettter than pencils,
so make mistakes like you should.
Grab a scratch piece of paper
and put a pen in hand.
Make writing your haven,
Safe away from a world
where nobody listens
and seldom do they understand.
What’s the structure of language
When the words speak no truth.
I’ll break the parameter of Iambic.
Everyday, any day.
As long as I heal where it hurts.
Edit as you wish.
Change what you please.
But block out harsh critic’s attacks.
For if you wrote with the ink of your heart….
There is absolutely no reason to look back.
a scorching sun
My best friend
the blowing wind.
The Summer breeze.
Even as the sun sets,
my favorite companion
is the blowing wind.
Elementary school years always began,
With introducing ourselves.
“All About Me”
We would put our name.
All our favorites.
All our dislikes.
And what we want to be when we grow up.
Because growing up was an exciting thought.
“Grown-ups have all the answers and privileges,” we thought.
How many of us have now grown up
But still don’t know what we want to be.
The firefighter dream just didn’t work out,
And the astronaut never saw the moon.
The ballerina grew a bit too fat,
And the Chef just had no talent for food.
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I hear that is his game.
Searches the past for a story,
And lets it take him away.
Suddenly he is there,
And takes his sister along too.
In any era he chooses,
The details become vivid.
“And then we went…”
And then he is gone.
Remembering a memory not there.
Call it lies.
Call it insanity.
I call it imagination.
The gift to humanity.
Why not be swept away?
Ride on the wings of your dreams and soar…
You can always be there,
When here is a bore.
And he sure has things to remember…
In a dark, tiny, isolated room.
With naught but a bucket and faucet.
A pain-relieving pill is his pen.
He tallies the days in prison.
The days he’s been hidden away from the sun.
In a silence worse than beatings,
The sound of dripping water is his entertaiment.
“Waterfalls,” he says.
On the chair of truth and lies,
Hooked to wires and probes,
Outsmarts them with his wit,
Loosens the gadgets and cords.
Plays with the devices,
Acts as if he is unintelligent,
Clueless, and oblivious.
He is questioned,
But he questions back.
Leads the questioner astray,
With stories about hunting doves.
Asks about his children.
Until the questioner remembers,
“Who is asking the questions here?”
“I don’t know…what do you prefer?”
The paramount of sarcasm,
In such a dire situation.
They tried to drive him crazy-
Instead he drove them insane.
And the spies.
He acted indecisive.
As if it was a guessing game.
Tore the paper in the end.
Too smart to let them win.
Left the prison white as a ghost.
Locked away for 45 days.
Left the first day of Ramadan,
And his very first stop,
Was the barber’s shop.
Because he couldn’t greet his mother,
Without looking his absolute best.
He crept in and found her sitting after prayer,
His cold hands covered her eyes…
That day he gave his family a sweet surprise.
Forty-five days in prison didn’t break his soul.
Their torture methods he rose above.
There are wonders out there in the world…
People that amaze me.
They. Remember. When.
I miss blogging…I really really do…and I can’t wait to get back to it inshaAllah…