Category Archives: Poetry

Sense-A Poem

31 Monday Dec 2018

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Running in and out and away from the time in which I live

Contained in body but lost in sense

 

No sense, false sense, whatever happened to common-sense?

 

We don’t need the people to think and ask questions

No, now you’re talking non-sense

 

Can you speak to me in a language that makes sense?

 

You have vision but lack that business sense

The markets are open, so let the bidding comm-ence

 

Running back and forth through time and social con-sci-ence

 

The heavy weight of the price tag

That constant conflated, inflated, perpetual pre-tense

 

Pre-time, pre-war, pre-love, pre-life

Yes, scavenger bees must pollinate strife

 

 

© 2018

 

 

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Remembering

29 Thursday Nov 2018

Posted by in Culture, Poetry, Society

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And I heard them whisper, I’ve lost myself…I am like a dreammmm…I can’t remember

One that lingers throughout the day…and weighs heavy on the mind, but whose details are blurred and hazy….

And if I could remember the dream, then I would remember: myself….But perhaps you are not fully awake, I said

Perhaps you are in the world between worlds, where what seems real is actually fake, wherein we live while we are sleeping…and dream while we are awake….

What if life till now…has been but a waking dream–a game of hide and seek. In which we hid ourselves…from ourselves…so well…that we forgot…who we truly are?

And then history simply unfolded, like a collective amnesia….Confused and disoriented, we went looking for ourselves:

In science and technology; sky scrapers and stock markets; mass production and cable TV; cheeseburgers….shopping malls….and whisky….

It was progress with a capital “P”

But lost in the dreammmm…little did we realize…that we were progress-ing…towards no-thing

We had sacrificed the human race…for a…meaningless…endless…rat race….

But you see this rat race has no finish line, no medal, no grand prize….The rat race will never help us remember…it only further…closes…our eyes

For what if this man made civilization, is against…the natural…vibration? What if the path isssss the destination

And we have chosen to waste it…on mindless…accumulation?

What if the question is not just why am I alive, but how do I choose to live? What if the purpose is not to take, but has always been…to give?

To give yourself…and to share your gifts…with allll of life…and allll that exists

 

Can you remember….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Red Mountains ~ a short poem

29 Monday Oct 2018

Posted by in Poetry

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I asked the red mountains and I asked the great sea,
But they both ignored and turned away from me

 

And there in the splendour of what was and might be,
I forsook my dreams and my destiny

 

And alone in the darkness of what is and should be,
The earth opened whole and did away with me

 

 

 

© 2018

 

 

The Game

29 Saturday Sep 2018

Posted by in Current Events, Poetry, Society

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I know you feel it. I know you all feel it:
This world is broken; we are broken

 

We walk around and pretend, but our smiles are just tokens
Paper masks that hide a fear, too deep, to be spoken

 

A fear that life may pass us by while we play by this system’s rules
A fear that we failed to even try for fear of looking like damn fools

 

It’s a game, it’s a game; it’s all just a game
And this game is really fear, to use another name

 

Instead of being human and being open, we disconnect and play it cool
Instead of love and raw emotion, we stay divided and we act cruel

 

It’s a game, it’s a game; it’s all just a game.
And this game is just the system, to use another name

 

This system has us running around
Like. Empty. Human. Shells.

 

Too asleep to resist it
And buying everything it sells

 

But can’t you see the bigger picture
Don’t you see the wider trap?
It’s just a ruse to make us feel empty
So we’ll fill the void with material scraps

 

But material objects can’t fill the void
It’s just our money and soul they sap

 

For it’s a game, it’s a game; it’s all just a game
And this game is just the rat race, to use another name

 

It’s a race to the bottom
A race to the end

 

We’re isolated and we feel lonely
Despite a million Facebook friends

 

For it’s a game, it’s a game; it’s all just a game

 

“Modern man”, and modern worlds
Obsessed with modern gadgets
These “modern girls”

 

Why not simplify
This “modern world”

 

For it’s a game, it’s a game; it’s all just a game
And this game is social transformation, to use another name
And the result is human commodification, total enslavement; such a shame

 

We’re a humanity in crisis
A society in decline

 

But the crux of the crisis, is that the decline is by design

 

For it’s a game, it’s a game
And that’s the essence of the game

 

 

© 2018

 

 

 

 

The Minority

14 Tuesday Aug 2018

Posted by in Current Events, Poetry, Society

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This white man is not my enemy
No, this white man hasn’t done shit to me

Let’s talk about the E-C-O-N-O-M-Y
That’s the real issue here

Don’t. You. See.

It’s not just about race,
but economic d-i-s-p-a-r-i-t-y

Most white men today are suffering just like me

You see, the problem aint with the majority
But a tiny little minority:

The Uber Wealthy Authority
That enslave us through financial s-u-p-e-r-i-o-r-i-t-y

Black and brown do have it worse

But economic suffering is a global curse
Orchestrated by and for the globalists’ purse

And when we turn on each other
We. Make. The. Situation. Worse

For divide and conquer is an age old trick

It makes the majority weaker
And the rich more slick

Able to stop us from seeing our common plight
And prevent us from waging a common fight…

Against the ones with all the Authority:
That. Uber. Wealthy. Minority.

 

 

© 2018

Author’s Note: The white man I refer to in this poem is the everyday man on the street. The working class (or unemployed) man that is struggling to pay his bills and survive. While he may not be racially profiled while driving or shopping, he is not privileged in my mind—since privilege is tied to wealth.

 

 

 

 

 

Darkness~ a poem

30 Monday Jul 2018

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I walk through darkness
Or does she walk through me

 

Through time and space
She follows me

 

And I can’t erase
The memory

 

Of a dream not dreamt
And what could not be

 

I walk through darkness
Or does she walk through me

 

Not drink, nor sleep
Can set me free

 

And is death an escape
Or an eternity…

 

To walk through darkness
As she walks through me

 

 

 

© 2018

 

Beauty Weeps ~ A Short Poem

22 Sunday Apr 2018

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Beauty sits. She waits for me

She spreads her legs across the sea

And in between: Eternity, what could have been and what might be

Beauty turns, away from me. And pours her blood into the sea

It flows like wine, such ecstasy

As beauty fades, and calls to me…

 

 

 

 

 

© 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Natural Mystic ~ A Poem

27 Tuesday Feb 2018

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It is said we fell from grace, prophets and clerics declare it
But what if our fall was not a fall at all
But rather a departure from the cosmic pace
From a natural rhythm that permeates all space
And the natural laws that govern the human race

 

It is said we are Masters of the earth, science and governments proclaim it
But what if the earth still holds a deeper mystery
And what if science has been the lock and not the key?
What if its answers have kept us farther from the truth?
What if its methods are the veil and not the proof?

 

It is said that humanity is flawed; History and Laws maintain it
But what if the flaw is not with Man but the Law…
What if its justice is not blind for us all?
What if its rules serve the few over the majority?
And what if real justice is not synonymous with authority?

 

And it is said there is much to fear; pundits and media exclaim it
But what if these fears are only chains of a different kind?
What if being free begins with taking back our mind?
What if we could discover more from our intuition and inner might.
And what if the truth is simply hiding in plain sight?

 

 

© 2018

The Man (with a plan)~A Poem

27 Saturday Jan 2018

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And how will we stop them from stopping us?
Asked the man of his henchman

The solution is easy you see,
We just have to distract them;
Keep their eyes and minds off of you and me…

For starters, we have this wonderful thing called the TV
Get them hooked on celebrity, and they won’t have time for us
They wont have time to ask questions or make any kind of fuss

But what about those that don’t watch TV?

Hmm, we could always take them on a shopping odyssey
A lifelong journey through an endless shopping spree
Sell them toys and distractions, and they’ll be as happy as can be

No need to live a meaningful life,
To care about war or corruption or economic strife
It’s rather simple, don’t you see

But surely they’ll grow tired of watching TV
And what could be the purpose of an endless shopping spree?

Not if you convince them that it’s their only reason to be
And that buying shiny things will let them keep good company

But what if they awaken from this blatant fallacy?
Or feel a sense of isolation in this inauthentic reality?

We’ll simply tell them the problem comes from within, not from without
And use their sense of despair to strengthen our own financial clout

We’ll get them lost in diagnoses and create an entire industry…
That funnels money from their pockets straight to our pharmacies
The pills will also keep them docile; it’s a win win, can’t you see!

Well, it’s a lofty idea, but surely such a thing could never be
For would they actually let us rob them of their own humanity?

Well, let’s see…….

© 2018

Words for My Father

23 Monday May 2016

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I don’t usually post poetry here because I have another site for that. Today is an exception, in honour of my dear late father.

I.

You started life a refugee, torn from your land and your olive trees

You started life a refugee, not a slave and yet not free

And as a child, much misery, high in the hills of Tripoli

Where you started life a refugee, and became a man too young, you see…

To help support your family, you did men’s work to earn a fee

And to serve the cause of liberty, you fought and bled in Tripoli…

But through the years, your destiny, whispered tales of what would come to be

For he who began a refugee, would soon find love and plant a tree

II.

With babes in hand, you crossed the sea. And traded bread for your dignity

You sacrificed with humility, and sold your sweat to grow your tree

And though still a child, my eyes could see, that you never lost your integrity…

You toiled hard, with serenity; your childhood dreams…just a memory

A winding path; that proved to be, full of love and pain, and family

A father’s love filled with sympathy, and the warrior spirit you imbued in me

A more kindred spirit there could never be, and then you disappeared so suddenly…

III.

Now I wake at night and, tragically, remember that you’re gone from me

And in the dark, my memory, plays with my mind and toys with me

For in my room, I swear I see, your loving eyes staring back at me

And if it’s a dream that lets this be, then don’t you dare awaken me…

Father, the loss of you has shaken me; and longing has not forsaken me

For my love for you, mistakenly, caused all my will to flee from me

While life’s perverse profanity, takes all that’s left of sanity…

IV.

But you did not die in vain, you see. For I will never forget what you gave to me

In my heart and soul lives a refugee that will wield a pen till all people are free

Through my blood and my ink, flows your legacy…and with these words, I honour thee:

For you are forever unmatched in your nobility. And forever loved by your family

And with the stroke of this pen, your memory, is etched into… eternity

 

~In Loving Memory of Maher Chehade: April 29 1953 – May 23 2013

baba-3