Categories
Poems

Beauty

Abundant
It fills our streets
Blown around by the wind
Or splashed by fast cars

Don’t blink
It’s in the brief moments
Before and during
The familiar or the strange
Greet each other
You might miss it

It’s in the gleam of knowing eyes
In the air that fills lungs
Inhaled for life
And then expelled
Back into the ether

It weaves its way
In and around
Filling spaces of
Intentions and actions
Of the moving and the still
Of the enduring
And the eroding

As equally sought after
As it is misclassified
Misattributed
And overlooked
Eternally demanded
And damned

Noticing beauty
Takes a keen mind
Sharing it
Takes love
And creating it…
That takes courage

Categories
Poems

Untitled

Eyes first meeting
Enchanted voice
Beauty and chaos
Delightful layers
Just a hint of tired
Well-hidden under a smile
Reaching out to soothe
What doesn’t appear to need it.

Not aware of depths
Counting breaths
How deep could they go?
Vanishing colours

The clouds passed
Resuscitation
And the sunshine
Sun-shone those depths
Unbalanced chaotic
Hurt with every stroke

They remember without connecting
At a standstill
A story ends
Without an ending

Categories
Poems

“To my friends…”

I know you, friend,
I recognize my self in you,
Your countenance a canvas of your heart,
Or a parchment with ink bright red,
I’ve never met you,
But I see the part of you,
That would stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me,
Respect, dignity, and solidarity our shared language,
You have my gratitude.

It is so difficult to find you,
A necessity,
If it was so easy,
Then they would find us,
With their language of conformity and violence,
Copy-cats of blind majority,
Bent on propagating and steering,
We recognize the steps of their dance,
From a mile away,
We try to steer clear,
But sometimes our shared language,
Calls on us to act.

To the scoundrels,
I know you,
I recognize my self in you,
But that was an old self,
I left it behind long ago,
A fossil,
I’ve never met you,
But I see the part of you,
That would hurt me,
For entertainment,
Or derived righteousness,
Humanity’s parroting scoundrel.

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Author’s note: I dedicate this poem to Sarah Hegazi (Rest in Power), a queer feminist activist from Egypt who recently passed away while seeking asylum here, in Canada, and to all who are navigating and surviving cruelness and systemic injustice.

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Categories
thoughts

Writing poetry

Creating art, for me, is almost always an act of catharsis. Poetry is an interesting form of expression: when I am writing it, I am usually in a heightened state of lucidity.

A first step feels like all of my mental faculties are working simultaneously on extracting a lived experience.

A second step is more challenging: translation. Taking the language of memories, emotions, thoughts, sensations, et cetera, and finding words and phrases that validate them.

In that way, art (in this case, poetry), is like a vessel that contains more than just its author’s creativity, time, and literacy. It is like a vessel that contains a microcosmic view of the author’s particular experience of their world.

Unfortunately, poetry is not as readily accessible to an audience as, for example, a song, especially in the way that the author intended it to be received.

Insomuch as that may be the case, is it not a beauty of poetry that it elicits different interpretations from different people? All of whom are reading the same work, but each of whom connects with the poem as per their own lived experiences?