|Wallah this is it|
I never left.
In this cage, waiting for the body to die, it was only an advice.
A voided speak, a moment when the doors stretched.
Yes, I chose to open it, but this was his cage.
This is his cage.
covered in rain dust I drew you crazy crossbreeds,
clever way to market death.
I’m a slave, back in the days when it was okay.
I’m unattended for the moment.
eating a round giant watermelon.
covered with watermelon juice and seeds.
and the sun is on my face.
the sun is my face,
my eyes see the Universe.
In less than a point, a quark per say, there is a whole theory of life?
Where did all the time go mamma bear?
You would say things like:
So beyond maybe and Inshallah
you are my certain Allah. . .
snazzy codes from the big-bang of consciences, eh…
in love with how right you feel,
eyes closed for blasphemy,
ready to receive things, that we could have said.
We would eat it all up, with a side of smiles.
No worries I’m bigger than him.
I’m the words that you fell in love with.
I’m the thoughts that survive suicide.
and you, the story that made up our language,
you pepper me with soft ya allah,
and sarcastic, smallah,
and all what I see becomes real.
you were right BTW. you are right.
We should’ve never stayed in this glass house,
We don’t have the stomach to tolerate all this shit that we see.
People like us need a beach and banana trees in our backyards.
(comment on this poem)