Wasi has something to share

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

My little brother came home this weekend.  He played me a Wiley sample, and rapped over it.  He's inspired me to attempt to write something that rhymes, for the first time in about 10 years.  And I'm contemplating whether to carry on attempting to create this thing, in a way that it won't sound like a nursery rhyme; baking a loaf of bread; or just switching on i-player til Fajr time... It's one of those 'is that really the time?!' nights.

Steel kisses trace the lines of pulsing veins; soft, firm, incisive, part this tired canvas; trails of crimson bloom, ebb, and flow in the wake of their sharp cold love.

----Basta--- Do you remember that time in El Corte Inglés I crumpled, coiled around sudden shock waves of nausea radiating from each mini-crest of pain. You took me home sent me to sleep; single matress, cool, in your dark room. You worried, when I woke, that I shouldn't hear 'volare' from the street in case it should remind me too much of him. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  ------Woken------ Shattered Dashed & I can feel me already doing that thing where I draw back and close off and shut down and pretend I didn't even care                        I didn't even hope                        I didn't even just die                                                         a little                                                             tonight. Just. One. Line. Enough to read                      a whole life or rather,                  two. Neither mine.

Today, bright sparkling, suntastically disposed, Twinkling all over, head to toe dazzling, Radiate the magnificence of my mood. And all is excellent, fantastic, amazingly sublime. Crazy feeling, love and affection Bubbling over to bursting point, Beaming on through forbidden grin. But all the while, As this good feeling glows, As it skitters, and scatters, threatens to explode A mass of endorphins; too buzzed to contain Shooting fireworks of fancy out of my brain, A part of me waits for that fuzzy feeling to fizzle out, The part that knows how all silver linings come with a catch. Prediction, even through this glittering, glorious, sun-drenched dance, Of the storm fast approaching my personal joyville. These light tapping feet will drag to despondency In the murk of the gloom that is bound. And it promises dense, that feeling; It will crumple and crush as I reach That dip at the end of this rollercoaster.

I should work - I have to work - but right now, I just need to sing. Is it normal to be so delighted by the sound of one's own voice?