10 Steps Towards the poet's Awakening

Desclaimer: Everything the poet does is a poor attempt of composing a poem in which he finds peace. 1.The poet wakes up, before he opens his eyes he tries to Find out which world is it this time, The poet is experienced with worlds, he can tell by the feel of the pillow beneath his head, Is it mattress, pavement, grass or a hospital bed? the movement of air in the room, the sounds of chants, the purpose that chose to take his heart hostage this time. The poet collects these deductions and adds them to his courage, puts his pieces together, then opens his eyes. in just the right pace. Because in case makes the mistake of opening them too fast, his pieces fall apart. does he open them too slow, his pieces fall apart. and sometimes, even when he opens them perfectly, his pieces fall apart, still. the poet is rather fragile, vulnerable, He is easily breakable, decombosed, redefined, transferred, torn apart, And Easily flammable, sometimes, the world sets him on fire, most times, he burns himself. Yet, he is here, Still, falling apart, still Or standing still, Still, The poet does everything, Sometimes right, sometimes wrong, But he does it eitherway, one step at a time, one chaos at a time. one blow at a time... he survives. one crash at a time, he heals. one maze at a time, he finds a way out... And when he finds a way out: 2.The poet leaves the house, takes his steps slowly... His feet explore the grounds before they touch the ground, they inspect for mines, avoid to step on barricades, they're wary of corpses and remains, His feet forget that the pavement unlike him, does not hold on to memories. The poet sometimes gets the urge to use the wings on his shoulders to fly off the ground, but the phantom of chains around his feet keeps him down. Neither the wings, nor the chains are real. 3.The poet looks at his watch, and sometimes, his clock tells him the time wrong, the date is all messed up, the hours are rigged, so he blinks twice, takes a deep breath, and tries to change his watch's mind. sometimes, he succeeds, sometimes, He watches as the watch changes his mind. The poet grows thin, Feels like too little butter spread over too many bread crumbs. The poet grows tired Goes where his home is, Then the poet sleeps. http://6.In his journey from a world to another, The poet stumbles around looking for muses, He chases dragons and confusions, He inspects damages and bruises, He watches the healings and moniters the growth of roses. Listens to the whistles of the air and feels the vibrations of bird chirps, The poet... Looks for metaphors within heavens and warzones, Realizes that there are wars in heaven And fragmented heavens hidden in warzones Sometimes, bullets miss the poet, But the metaphors shoot through him. 7.When the poet wakes up He feels guilty, When the poet's mother looks at him, As if he was something precious, That she wouldn't bear losing him, The poet seeks a metaphor for what he feels. But his tongue breaks. 8. Cringe aside. The poet writes for himself, But he also writes to another, In poor attempts of expression he tells her: "When god first decided to make you, He also created love, Then he had to teach man language, So that when we collide this many millions years later, There'd be a way I could try to let you know how I feel. And in the most complex miracle You'll understand, And feel it too." ... The poet has a lover, he thinks she is the answer sheet to all the unansweable questions. Believes that all the reasonings to the question "why?" And Every methodolgy of "how?" reside within her, Metaphorically, His lover Is the one place that every question "where?" leads to Is the being that every "what?" tells him is, She's every "when?" or "who?" That which they're ever answered with. 9.The poet collects poetry in his throat until he is on stage, Refers to himself in third person, Tells himself it might help him put his emotions into words if he uses another person's tongue since his is broken. The poet wants to say everything at once, He wants to cough away the poem stuck in his throat, he wants to speak of the essence of life, He wants to mourn the painful irony of death And how futile it is for one to not fight for their breath, He wants to put the knowledge of the worlds into words, To speak life into man To manifest healing into poetry, To chant freedom into the space, Speak the truth through poetry, Dodge bullets through poetry, Build barricades using poetry, Cast broken bones... with poetry, Resurrect the dead, with poetry, 10.the poet wakes up, Sits down to write, Shoots his shot, And misses all the points.

Suddenly, (In Giyada)

within the right circumstances,
if ever you were born into the right timeline,
went through the perfect constellations,
lingered within the halls of eternity for enough.
You would have witnessed it:

a familiar song of strangers running into each other in an ever running ground.
a stranger tone in familiar grounds.
a song of strangers that left nothing but familiar strangers dancing around
to familiar melodies with nothing but familiar fantasies to fantasize about.

and I wonder if all the atoms were this ecstacic when they were one before the bigbang,
I wonder if this is how god felt when he first took a look at the finished product of earth.

I wonder, and I wander,
and I steal joyful moments from time,
and victorious laughter I plunder.

suddenly,
غني يا خرطوم غني...
you're a love song to Khartoum,
the lyrics khartoum would sing
if it were to sing.

You're a wave crashing into two lovers' legs,
suddenly,
you're a joint passed around groups of friends,
you're a guitar tone,
a whisper,
you tender touch,
you forbidden ritual,
You godwritten poetry,

is this the kingdom of heaven,
god has promised us?

Suddenly,
you're rebellion,
you're a million voices
making harmonious noises.

you're the turbulent nile,
the sensation of chills it sent on the winds,  across your spine
the first night you spent on its bank,
you're that edge of quaking earth on which the agigtated water crashed on.

You're all the songs your parents made you listen to
on that pentatonic scale,
Your ears haven't yet gotten familiar to.

you're all the Curses your mothers muttered as they pushed you out of their bodie,
into this body
of 6een ba7ar soil.
youre siblings of sidir,
climbers of neem,
bubbles of dioxide climbing up a bottle of steem.

you're the جنى habboba meant to summon when she lullabied you as a child,

often times unapologetic, seldom afraid,
Sometimes shaky, yet usually loud,
could get a little bit tired, but always proud.

Suddenly, we're individually lost in conformity,
Suddenly the letter I falls from its space,
as you fall into spaces of the collective mind's embraces,
anything beneath is to be bequeathed,
this bee hive is only made for the worker bee queens.
Suddenly,
we're in a state of euphoria.
dreaming dreams the universe tailored specially for you,
we're the colors spread across walls we weren't supposed to paint on,
we're the footprints left on grass we weren't supposed to lay on,
we're...

soldiers,
on battle zones we weren't supposed to be on.
fighting for our own utopia,
and before that.

I didn't know that there were battles to fight even in heaven,
there were barricades to defend,
and die on.

even in paradise,
satan's off spring lingered on trees at nights,
spat venom on our knights,
and asked for sacrifice

even in peaceful evenings,
they sent their hails from hell,
and fired reversed shooting stars into our skies,
that fell upwards,
just to take our wishes away.

And suddenly,
Hell is empty and all the devils jinjaweed,
Who shot fire when they were joyous
Shot fire when they were scared,
Shot fire when someone held on to the weed

And suddenly,
we're flammable tires, 
and brick walls,
and burnt roads.
we're war chants,
and defensive formations.

armed with friends on our arms,
with pieces of peace signs,
covered in fireflies,
fire in our eyes,
bandages on scars,
wishes hung on stars.

Suddenly,
you're death,
you're a human shield for your lover,
and loved ones,
suddenly,

You're a pagan monk,
praying in long nights,
To all the gods and goddesses,
perhaps one of them would listen.


Suddenly,
You're joy,
suddenly,
you're despair,
Suddenly,
You're laughter,
you're high,
you're here,
you're there,
You've been one too many things,
and this is the most complicated game of make belief you've ever played,
You're a hero,
or so goes the pretence
You're a menance,
sinning in innocence.
you're frequency
consistently seeking a resonance.

Eventually,
You're tired, but can't lay down,
You're fired at, but can't walk anywhere but towards the bullet.
can't be scared of bullets when you're a scarier bullet.

once a poet,
resurrected a sphinx,
a night guard,
stronger than almighty thor of asgard.

once a monk,
resurrected a dancer,
a painter,
a builder,
a soldier.

Once a raindrop,
Resurrected a rainstorm,
a martyr,
a color.

once a lost boy,
resurrected,
a lost boy, with a compass,
with purpose,
with comrades.