Wasi has something to share

Somehow we faded like the blooms of the bunch you bought me the day you told me it was over and i felt something drain from me - maybe colour, maybe hope and my disbelief was a feeble wash of grey as their colours drowned, dripped, dropped from blossoms to mulch i drooped catching every ray as it passed through their vase sucking light and life desaturation to a severe degree head bowed you tilted, wilted trudged your way to the door in a moment of reanimation i rediscovered my true colours took up that vase and aimed your exit became explosive befitting, that crowning glory 'smashing', they all agreed

I need to take a little lie-down a bit of a time out, just a few decades or so to realign, re-assess, rejuvenate and return to myself; a while for the world to catch-up with itself, a pause from its eternal spinning into infinity and for me to adjust to my own insignificance within the universe. It’s probable it’ll take a little longer, centuries, perhaps even millennia to even come close to beginning to understand to get even iota of an inkling of what it all means, and who I suppose I am supposed to be. The why of it all does not even bear considering; this world will have frozen over, or maybe heated to cinders and beyond ash a thousand times over before any mere human could even come within harpooning distance of that particular truth. And if by some crazy miracle, some spectacular flaw in the passing of the seasons, the turning of the tides, and the order of the constellation. any mortal should stumble onto a glimmer of this conundrum, the ferocity of the light of such immense kno

Some days I like to try and defy time attempt to throw a spanner in the works or even tinker enough to turn it back, even if only a little Slip on that green jumper - you know, the one she knitted me with the crazy bobbles, and monkey-long sleeves struggling valiantly in the cupboard against feasting moths and out of it, on, hanging down to my knees. Make hot cordial in a mug so big I need two hands to hold it and it covers my nose as I drink. Wear giant woolen socks that pick up the fluff and sit back on the sofa watching Sam be baffled at every new leap or Fox telling Dana why she really should believe or maybe just dancing round the living room to Stevie and Michael and Lionel and Bob.

Insatiable this need-want-craving-obsession to get every thought, every idea, every movement and memory across to share, in flowing couplets, or stilted rhymes in reams, over pages, or just a line And yet the desire remains unmatched by the ability to relate So the fever of the passion felt remains just that - only experienced, unshared Every scribble, scrawl, printed or penned desperate to relay the intensity that pulls everything crashing together a million images at once impacting and exploding through every corner of my mind starbursts and sunsparks at the sight of a photo that recreates, not imitates or a turn of phrase that reaches in and twists me wrong-side out and upside down But how in the world to assimilate and convey exactly how each ignites inside beyond fathoms each sends me soaring, propelled by awe, suspended by the wonder How to make you know what I know, feel just what it all makes me feel, understand what I'm trying to tell you? Impossible.

each time I think I've reached resolution got to some sort of standing place in my head i realise, too late, those guiding lines I let go are still so very necessary so I'm left, dizzy and spinning in my attempts to go it alone, or perhaps in the aftermath of opening myself to too much newness all at once my heart sirges with each discovered twist every novel revelation or interpretation but my head - overloaded, this excitement fatal to rationale short-fusing the only to deal with this mass fusion, more, mass confusion floating, spent, back down to conformity but even so, still compelled to snatch at each shiny new idea on offer

--Slips & scribbles stuffed into diaries-- Take me up and away Let’s float high on ebullient inconsequence Make disregard our means to an end Escape our end to all meaningless Shutter take it down put it away shut it out anything to escape No night too dark no way too narrow Any shout let it out release or risk the explosion building up inside. Take it apart with your own two hands No one else will do it for you. Better accept it’s up to you, kiddo, no hero, no lone ranger to come riding out of the sunset, except perhaps to pick up his hat which he forgot in his haste to get out. Oh wot laughs! Shelter shimmering shameless nights. Altering alternate overview overclouded upbraided unnested from its comfort perch. Brought out and made to face th emusic Face up to its responsibilities Take it down a notch or two Pause - gasp for breath. Overwhelming overbearing incident accident subsume human thought devoid of warmth descants of fresh pain screaming in the silent night What tuneful de

(Sorry they're a little late...) ---Slip--- Melancholia grips Its favourite stance When it catches me unawares, Wavering. Goes in for the choke hold Somehow misses, Snatches only my resolution. Leaves me a pathetic apathetic Sole denizen of this nowhere place. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ~If we hadn't met~ The world would be an inordinately sadder place If it should have been that we had not met. Obviously, we'd have known nothing about it, Gone on with our lives, Spent them with others who wouldn't have been quite perfect for us, But, in the event, worked quite well enough. No, we'd have been pretty much unaware. But the universe would've felt the loss of what could've been; House-tumbling tremors at its mournful sighs. The angels, looking down, would've shaken their heads, Exchanged pitying glances as they shrugged wings, Solar eclipse gestures at the foolishness of Man. Lucky then, in our blissful ignorance, That we stumbled on each othe

---Driven, on impulse--- A burning, an itching a driving, a compulsion in my bones; a thirst, a twisting of the lights and of the tones. & I've got to get it down, get it down before it's flown, this impulse that is telling me to get a certain hold. A thought that twitches as it ferrets through my mind; a vision, a symphony so bright it leaves me blind. But it's burning to get out, to get out and leave behind the restraining order that's been placed upon it in my head, it's pounding, it's throbbing, begs my soul to set it free of thinking, of echoes, all this troubled poetry - set it down in black and white as I write into a prison on a page that's been constructed to hold my insanity.

---For your birthday--- I wanted this to be the best poem ever, one with lines that held tight like friendship bonds (never sever), endeavour to create something out of this world, something one in a million, from my mind unfurled. Astounding rhymes, pure sweetness curled On the tip of my tongue, waiting to amaze you. But Each time I tried to write, nothing would come, like somehow my huge intent had struck me dumb. Anticipated pride led to fall, my mind numb, scrabbling for those perfect lines, just searching for some tiny thing worth holding out to you to say ‘happy birthday’. So time ticked on, and I struggled in vain, wrote a load of old rubbish again and again til the whole world around me was feeling my pain (or rather, the horror of each awful refrain!) and begged me to stop torturing it, and my brain with this trash – so, I did. I hadn’t thought about it for a few weeks, and then tonight for some reason as I’m about to go to bed, and turn off the main light with some rooibos a

Understand - my ego is huge as the universe, but more fragile than egg shells and butterfly wings. So if you love me, tell it loud for me (and all the world) to hear. Declare it on each breath, as many times daily as your heart pumps it around your being, so I can take your words and weave a gossamer cloak of reassurance - a trembling shift, fine as mist but stronger than a knight's steel shell, made so because you spoke it. If you have affection, show me clear as my cat who, chest rumbling joyful at the sight of me, brushes love firm with her fur-fuelled greeting. Pads paws to toes, knees, face, and when I lay, assumes my back as her throne, lazes regal, from my shoulders to waist, her demonstration that she owns me just as well as I do her. If you love me, love, then testify.

I awoke, with my mouth dry from dreams I had writ as my waking mind slept and my sleeping mind, adept, created realities of worlds where clouds shone and trees wove shelters above us, as crimson skies wept. I awoke with my tongue swollen tight, heavy with the words I had uttered unaware; tales that I no longer recall, But that burned as they left their home in my heart. The memories, my own, merged with the world's, demanding an audience, compelling a teller. Ignorant upon waking, my tongue fell still. I awoke, beyond tired from the miles I had trudged in my bed. Travelled continents unchartered creating, in my own, a cartographer's dream; lands whose names inspire deserts and oceans and the flaws in smoky cystal-cut glass, each a glimpse of the Garden, perhaps. Melting on waking, as all proper dreamscapes must. I awoke and lay, prone, scratchy-eyed, waiting for the dreams to return.

---David--- I saw you stand tonight at a bus-stop, all nonchalant, so straight; not even proud, just natural, and the idea of a stick was laughable, that wheelchair some half-imagined nightmare no association with that faultless posture. I heard you speak tonight, not to me, but regaling some crowd of friends with your treatise on that album by the Arctic Monkeys (remember?). Languid, but by choice, your speech broken only by your laughter. I saw you write tonight, sat hunched at your machine, your brow a field of furrows - focused, not pained. And you produced reams, covered my landscape effortlessly, impatient for the space to fill with each new passage. I see you smile, not to chide, but gently mock my childish fancy. And maybe it is only fantasy, but I believe it real - I saw it tonight.

The week after the Poetic Pilgrimage gig, I was back at Rich Mix for another amazing night of music, poetry, and incredibly uplifting sharing. Mohammed Yahya and his band were the ones on stage this time, filling the venue with a sound only he has - Afro beat fusing with hip-hop, blues and spoken word. They were joined by an amazing line up of special guests, including Poetic Pilgrimage, Masikah, Muslim Belal, R U Kid, and the brilliant Ismael, from Mecca 2 Medina. Once again, if you haven't heard already, check out Mohammed's MySpace page .

The 4th day of July, and a night with Poetic Pilgrimage rocking the house, and showing what it really means to be independent - of narrow expectations, misconceptions, and any other obstacle that could potentially hold them back. It was a night of brilliance supreme - they blazed, truly. If you don't already know Poetic Pilgrimage, what's taken you so long?!  Check 'em out - they are amazing. >>Poetic Pilgrimage on MySpace<< (double click on pics for full size)

This is for you, Umm Junayd.  Travel safe, and make sure you come back! ---journey home--- t read soft, sweet pilgrim, soft, but sure follow your intentions to the place they lead let them be your map to that sacred place you only needed come so far from home to find the love within your soul to reveal that love that makes you whole you came to seek His Love how beautiful you are, dear sister humbled and awed, a child once more among a family you have always known but never before seen on such a scale your tears trail,  unheeded as the dust they displace travel apparent on your face leaves a trace that is rendered as nothing by the light that shines through your joy emanates, pure, inevitable, true how could you know what your soul had forgotten?  memory stolen, but in mercy -  the only way you could leave the perfection of that garden where we all began His Love - such Love bathing each white robe, each beard, each shawl the bond so strong will you ever b

tonight the stars fell from the sky rained down, terrified, tails ablaze liquid fire, studding the smouldering earth   could not withstand the gravitational pull of the planet Newton’s discovery made potent by the world’s misery combined   and as the final drop of hope dried to a grain of despair the heavens were overwhelmed   some say they did not fall – they jumped; dove head-first to their extinction ancient witnesses grown weary of all they saw seeking only to find a way to end their nightly visions

all i want is a room somewhere in which to sit accompanied only by the silence of the dark

Sunset approach, full window view cobalt, steel, and cotton sky. Leaves shiver and spring, teasing songs form the wind as it rifles through, chilling their veins, every hair stood taut, micro-shocks at this intrusion. KOL and Karima both play with my head where Robeson and Jackson have already planted rich, deep kisses of melody and bass. Awake before the sun even considered, a day of toil - effectively shirked in favour of musical re-education - sweet soul, gospel, folk and blues (awe the default) every note, pure captivation. Must stop that. Start this. Focus.

I don't know how not to let infatuation obfuscate my vision, misted from the first moment you pressed your hand into mine (so soft) and smiled Hands Lips Eyes I lay open this wager to anyone claiming rationality: that should they, just for some short seconds, become me (no, really) see you as right now I see, would find themselves no longer free to claim refuge with reason. Fingers pricked, bleeding, would turn, leave this Zuleikha to her fallacy. My will lies fathoms deep no chance of breath. Patient (almost) unto death. Faith forming bubbles of hope drifting to the surface.

The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them-words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear. Stephen King - The Body

My love, how careless you are with my heart, accepting with such disregard affection I can’t help but send your way. Not uncaring, but so unaware how you play me for a fool with no intention, no idea. Creating chaos with a glance, devastation in one soft sigh. And when we touch, in your innocent arms I am lost, sparking on sunbursts and iridescence, thrust into a fantasy of requital. And for an instant my world shimmers. Then reality returns, wicked intrusion, daydream dispelled, and somehow it slips away and we go back to being just good friends..

Hikmah walks in sporting a straw hat: Hikmah - See my hat - I'm Black Man! Me - You're Black Man? H - Yes I am.  I have one noses, a black and white belly, and two legs! Well, I guess those are all important features in fighting crime...especially the belly.

but nevertheless ----You'll catch your death--- Sitting out in the snow that night wasn't as crazy as you think when you consider it was so beautiful my heart ached my throat got tight my head felt sure it might explode from trying to contain all the thoughts and memories metaphors and similes imaginings and fantasies evoked by the sight of shadow clouds racing across that smooth crisp plane. The moon gasped, a full 'oh' of delight appreciation at the  wonder of all it illuminated that night. Even in that freezing cold in my flimsy jacket, never meant to share in the splendour of such a sight, even as I sat there, back against the stone cold wall backside downside on grass frozen white, I felt cocooned, lulled by the hush and rush of snow-stifled wind whispers, wrapping me tight. And even if I had caught my death of cold that night unaware of the passing of time forgetting myself sheltered by the dark from the far too bright inquisitive intrusion of indoor light, perhap

I haven't quite  gotten round to going to bed yet tonight (last night...),  My head is beginning to feel it right about now, so off soon for a few hours. I just heard the bells of a local church tolling, though, and it reminded me of some years back, when I was up around this time.  I'd stayed up to finish reading 'Chocolat', and heard those same bells.  The whole thing resulted in the poem below. Peau D'Orange -------------oOo---------------- Somehow sad and bittersweet Like memories of holidays spent with relatives long since vacated A crystallite-nostalgia, fey-like in the heat Fragile and frayed memory of childhood days Clear as the haze on holiday-packed tarmac Ice-cream hands and sugar-sweet stains Traipsing it all back home again To the sound of crying in the rain -----------------oOo---------------- Irrational fear of what just may be Constant craving for what never was Elaborate fantasy replayed to perfection Touched and tempered by cruel in

It was a beautiful day...

----1st try---- i struggle to recreate me, transform, inhabit a different she one closer to the ideal that he, in my mind, would rather see but to become another for the sake of one other who is, in fact, yet to discover that i wish he could be lover, brother, child, and mother there is no way on God’s good earth that, not with child, i can give birth to a new me that is somehow worth what i have deemed to be his dearth and so i set aside pretension,  re-evaluate intention, accept futile re-invention will no way stem apprehension at the truth I’m still too scared to mention or yet accept - somehow, someway, the way I am right now, today, the me I see, trembling at he, is the only she I’ll ever be