Catharsis

It soothed my worries,
its drip providing me with a brief reprieve
All the stresses of the world flowed down my cheek
like tears of relief

The street stars shone, in a scintillating backdrop
I looked to my right, a shop sign read "imagination"
It was too surreal to be true, just in case it was
I staggered home slower to take it all in

eyes closed and neck arched
I insisted the heavens shower down more,
As my jeans grew heavier
I stood still, wishing the moment would too.

its swirling patterns were like a flock of birds
searching for warmer plains,
taking care in its landing
easing pain wherever it travels

This was not the normal, harsh pitter patter,
not concerned with hurting
not the kind the common man has disdain for
Just saintly, soundless drops of hope

That night I dreamt,
I wanted to rise like puddles under the sun
But the reflection scarred me
I wished to magnanimously watch the world in the clouds

it dawned on me,
man's erratic nature mirrors the skies misgivings,
acid rain eroded into the Earths crust
until I changed my core

I awoke knowing, my state and weather were one
the choices I made determined whether,
I sailed softly back home filled with love,
Or hit the ground fuelled with hatred.

"The Idea that moisture, which has risen from the ocean, resided in a cloud and then consolidated itself into a raindrop will return to the ocean, where it may lose itself completely to the immense waters.  This was most mystics hoped for: a return to the original unity.  To become one with the primordial sea."  

And life it is life
The sun will not always survive
The sky does not suffice
I tangled my embrace to some sky
Having clouds lost in their own cry

And moved by day
With all left in stagnant stay
The grounds smashed in break 
In beats still awake

And me? You know me
We all saw what we see
Lost in moments by the air
Shadows embrace me in their care
And in moments I was there
Alive

Iced in the silence of many words
That’s me
For now the fear will suffice
No thanks be to their sacrifice
Just for a gone remain
In a depth to scar or stain

Your words fall heavy and raise water
The water falls to its own slaughter
Let words fall and be gone

By Walaa Quisay

why do trees exist?

Laid bare like skeletons with non-existent closets,
bony structures of wood,

exposed, without cover
branches stretch over each other
shielding each other like lovers

their secrets scattered on empty streets,
yellow from exhaustion,
brown from exuberance,
all shades of truth on display

before they're whisked away by the wind
into other dimensions
because truth is the battery of the breeze

Leaving the tree to grow truth once again
Carry the burden once more,
and shed it all again

The junkie and the banker


Waiting till the intoxication subsides,
drunk slurs aside, each tear was a symbol of a salty sigh.
Each needle was a bitter sweet cry,
help, was the call, wallowing at the sight of her fall,
But she was too high to care

Pain needed to be blurred.
She wanted to make life a smoke screen.
Her teeth gnawed at the prospect of past,
Present shattered by mental scars.
she gasped for divine intervention



Staring upwards, neck craned


53rd floor, looking down, "I'm above you"
In more ways than one he pondered.
Smirking at the hollow reflection,
Smiles were always a smoke-screen,

But something irked his suave demeanour,
Injected in his veins was a competitive edge,
A mission to never be below another,
vie for the top even if you must crush your brother,

Today he hoped for the final promotion,

His blood began to boil at the sight of rejection.

It all became too much, the toil, the saturated spoils, the infatuations satiated and  the royal self- servancy.  
He took that deliciously degenerate aphrodisiac for the last time and Died

Crack, cocaine or crystal meth wasn't the cause, it was Pride



Self-Pity, Self Importance
Pills and Position
See beyond the suit,
See beyond the ragged clothes.


"The intoxication of headlessness and arrogance takes longer to regain consciousness from than the intoxication of wines." Imam Ali


By Mohamed-Zain Dada

Society's Show Trial

No words can ever be undone,
No pitches high or low can ever be unsung
and Her words stung
Like a bee, I was left for dead caressing my very being.

The Chinese whispers first pierced the peripheries of my ears
It preyed upon my most guilty fears
Solemn in the knowledge that I was better
I hailed the fictional public stoning and I joined in the thunderous applause
But when it was all said and done I could not pinpoint the cause.

I scoured the contours of my mind's landscape
For reasoning to offer my rage some escape
Earth shattering insecurities enveloped me instead
I was at sea, drowning, left for dead caressing my being

At first, I could not believe what I was seeing
The verdict would be guilty in my court of hate,
I blurred the lines of slander and libel,
scriptures and bible taken out of context
To prove to myself that this was the case

When the winds of change ended its reign on man,
I begun searching for the truth amongst the greys
the silent hums, hues and tried to put together dismembered clues.
I was puzzled, left for dead caressing my very being,

"Your reputation precedes you," - Her last words
I mused "Your judgement proceeds the One."
I took no bother and felt free.
because judgement had been passed
and reputations had indeed been destroyed
What concerned me the most, was the judgement threatening my soul.

The Unseen Bruises

The Unseen Bruises

Today's cloudless blue sky hid her pain,

she displayed a sunny disposition but her eyes hid the rain,

Pathetic fallacy is rendered meaningless.


Demeaning stares, but she triumphantly smiles to hide the bleakness,
Not wanting to depict her emotion - a sign of weakness,
A hollow victory nonetheless.

Emotional blackmail kept her at bay,
"Beggars can't be Choosers" is what they used to say,
So she's Waking up to an abyss.


There was a life-scarring storm before an everlasting calm,
Day-dreams brought about thoughts of self-harm,
Sharp words & internal bleeding.

The Sleeping beauty tormented by her dreams,
Nightmares trapped her intermittent screams,
Even Escapism offered her no exit.

Pregnancy was her respite,
A short prelude to the rest biting
Back to emotional agony.

The blessing of a new life,
The metamorphosis from wife to mother,
But the Butterflies colour was temporary.

The first adopted the wrong genes, showing her disdain,
Confused by the betrayal, she struggled to stay sane,
Torn apart to shreds but not one bruise.

She craved the silver lining to her cloud,
surrounded by a crowd but she never felt more alone,
some suffer in silence, some suffer out-loud.

Suffering patiently hoping for an end.
Enough was enough. Too tired to Pretend,

The Naked eye simply saw the body,

"No bruises" - perplexed onlookers pondered.

The Post Mortem never detected her broken soul.

Me, My Ego and I

You pierce the esteemed I.
With your disapproving gaze
You damage my insecurity proof vest
and leave me torturing myself in various ways.


But I'm still in awe of You.
My sycophantic rants should not stress you,
don't think my self-hating speak is formed to berate you
I simply seek an outlet for Us.


Some seek betterment,
but you simply think you're better than, me.
Why assume a higher position?
Leaving me on the death bed seeking a spiritual physician?

You always seem to build yourself up
sky-high, you've probably seen the stars
but not the space,
(a)voiding the fact that you're obsessed with Uranus

You shrug at the lack of light
but the birds eye view you occupy
gave you the lofty perspectives of the grim night
And what is the truth to a brilliant lie?

nothing, You are
even dwarfing yourself,
even Self is astounded by the fact
that you scarcely see nothing else

The inner me wants more
but your insatiable desire
makes me think "What For?"
I choose victory in perpetual war

I almost made peace with me
I hope The One witnesses this,
but You convinced me This was bliss,
and I'm left bewildered with you.

As I look in the reflection
The warts of my soul are evident
my gnostic body suffers infection
I look at you and all I see is arrogant decadence

This mustn't be you
This can't be me.
But as a great poet once said:
"Between the mirror and the heart
is this single difference:
the heart conceals secrets,
while the mirror does not."