Disappear.

Disappear.

Woke up again,
in the same desultory life,
to drag myself through yet another day
of fake smiles and fake words.

I need a break from existing,
a break from this black and white predicament,
going on and on,
without an end in sight.

I feel nothing but lassitude,
and a blinding desire to disappear.
Exhausted by the repeats and redos,
of what has become my enemy.

I try to write it all away,
to infuse it all,
into ink and paper,
but that’s not how it works.

-Saif.

 

 

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His Ecstasy

His Ecstasy

Lamps lay broken,
chairs upside down,
empty bottles,
torn clothes,
as if the world had shook.

Her nails digging in his flesh,
red, like the velvet she lays on.
Her taste in his mouth,
mixed with wine and cigarettes.
His ecstasy,
his morphine.

Time is a ghost,
bare and unmasked,
they are one,
they are alive.

-Saif.

The last time, for the thousandth time.

 

The last time, for the thousandth time.

Once again I think about the little yellow bottle hidden away in my drawer.
Once again I tell myself this will be the last time I give in.
I can fight this,
I can be strong,
just not right now.
It weighs too much,
this plethora of feelings I’m buried under.
I wish I had learned to swim so I wouldn’t drown in myself.
One pill left,
‘I don’t need you.’ I tell it
but I shouldn’t turn away my only friend should I?
‘Untangle me from this Gordian knot I’ve become.’
I beg as I swallow in one gulp.
The water feels dry.
One more empty little yellow bottle for the bin filled with all the other empty little yellow bottles.
I could never throw them away.
How could I?
They were my savior after all.
‘The last time.’ I tell myself.
The last time, for the thousandth time.

-Saif.

My Sanctuary.

My Sanctuary.

He remembers as a kid,
when he used to wear a mask and roam around the neighbourhood
scaring people.
He remembers and he smiles at his ephemeral felicity,
because somehow, somewhere,
he wore the mask and never took it off.
It’s the world that scares him now and the mask his sanctuary.

-Saif.

Would it be a world too bad?

Would it be a world too bad?

Would it be a world too bad,
if the sun smelled and the flowers shone,
if the fish flew and the birds swam,
if red was blue and blue was red,
if the mountains moved and the rivers stayed still?

Would it be a world too bad,
if she found me and I found her?

-Saif.

Lost.

Lost.

In this dark, sad alley, I walk,
or is it a river of blood?
Gunshots and screams, people killing people.

I watch men fight men because they’re a different color.
I watch as a man blows himself up for his god.
I watch men with guns kill children who forgot how to play.
I watch men step on men because their pockets are filled.
I watch men burn their sisters because they loved.

And in this twilight I keep walking,
looking for a heart that’s not dead.

My name is love and I’m lost.

-Saif.

Wings of glass.

Wings of glass.

On snow as white as light itself,
she lays battered and broken.

They point at her,
their fingers dripping red.

They laugh at her,
their voices dead as the masks they wear.

She was freedom,
they wore shackles.

In naivety she did a crime,
drank the elixir of life.

but all she ever wanted was
to reach the stars
on her wings of glass.

-Saif.

She said.

She said.

Let’s knit a story, she said.
Of a boy wooden, she said.
He falls in love, she said.
With a doll of flame, she said.

He burns and she breathes.
Each other, they feed.
She is light and he is crackle.
Weaving dreams of forever.

But the wood runs out, she said.
And the flame cools down, she said.
Like this the story ends,
She is smoke and he is ash, she said.

-Saif.

That could have been.

That could have been.

The strings are rusty and fingers numb,
but I sing for you my bewildered one,
with a heavy heart and a trembling voice,
under the shade of this starry night,

I sing for a world that could have been.

On the moonlit rooftop,
beneath the cloudy canvas,
I knit a river of words unspoken,
meanwhile passes a shooting star,

and I wish for a world that could have been.

-Saif.