Crazy Dream

She arises the dyeing bright beauties of the sun, in the cold solemn serenity of the moon. Longing the company of the stars the wind shies away. But she just smiles and carries on. Hooded in black she smells of a rose ashen in the furnace of time. As a silent foot rises to warm mother earth, there is a rising of sand following the tread. They pass the desert in search of something, leaving their dead behind and carrying their souls. The thirst dries away like the many garments of life. The glamour of foolishness was buried long ago; the tombstone on it is the world you all live in. They know there is no difference between shame and glory, they know the dwellers of Byblos and the many lovers of Tamouz, they know the threads that wrap an infant’s memory and the reasons behind such bloody stars of history, and they walk following a white dove in the darkest of nights. The spitefully dancing flames of lust were dozed by the blood of passion. They walk on, on and alone into the eternity of the unknown. The hood never lifted yet I know not how she smiled, I guess a part of me walks along.

THE LOST TRUTH- Forgiveness

From the warmth of the womb,

till the silence of the grave

there's an ad lib voice begging forgiveness

It seems like your euphonic

world has evanescent our souls,

leaving us too gauche too live

Under the Georgette we are too nude to face thyself

Trying to understand thy non nonpareil, stern powers

we have been bashed and pulverized by thy angels

Atop the mountains and hills

the fearful banshee cries

Down in the valleys our barbarity asks for mercy.

O thy ever merciful

consider not our bleeding eyes to be madder

for the obsequies of our loves had made us so obfuscate.

Listen to the cries of the starving young

see the regret in thy fallacy followers

have mercy on thy free prisoners.

Forgive us O Lord almighty

for the womb is now bleeding dry

and the genii are rising from their graves.

The Funeral

Its time to gather the rose petals again ,

was yet another clean tragedy

its time to bathe someone in jasmine again

time to celebrate yet another funeral.

its time to submerge the cadaver

in the lake of the glittering stars

Its time to place the withered rose atop the coffin,

and dig the earth of its ageless severity.

Its time to harvest this season

the season of a clamorous solitude

Let this be a day of extravagant merry making

cause its the end of yet another recalcitrant life.

Razed by the ravenous mysteries of life

and satiated by the phantoms of death, its the end.

let the cadaver be lowered,

Scraped off its soul, it still hears the thud.

Collect all sots , lets drink tonight,

splutter the grief to the mirrors on the wall.

Mewed by the world, he is free today.

Today, is the funeral of the hermit.

RANDOM PART 2

For once at least break all idols in memory of Muhammad, all and let none be left even in the desires of Rumi. Be a mu’mim at last, then stand towards Mecca and call for Him. With all the nafs gone shout out to the prophet and listen if he answers. The wait may be eternity but there won’t be an answer. “And we did not send you except as a mercy to (all) peoples”. We work in slavery to the one we can’t trust. He never came himself, because he is bigger than us. I know not but I have seen infant life on ageless trees. The beliefs of a kafir may have been taught to us by a kafir, we may never know who the real shataan was. It could have been Muhammad or the scent of the air we breathe. So leave all desires of the mercy of Thee, let the Sama begin and let the music flow into the depths of our soul...

Scriptless Demons - Random Part 1

It’s funny the way we live with the ability to make the future though sometimes go numb at the sight of it. It’s when the fragrance of good is carried by the air of evil, when the thoughts of loss go round and round in your head, then come straight to pass through your heart. When the ability to fight is a burden you can no longer carry on the bruised shoulders. Its then that you realise that it’s a world of hounds and angels, the angels eat our souls and the hounds, what remains.

The dreams we have are promises made to us by life. So, is it fair to vague a war against the world and what’s left of you when they are not kept? Some say the best war was the one which was never fought. When men are not fighting for gain, they fight for honour. We have not any honour nor any thing to gain, but still there is a good enough reason for us to keep on going, to keep on fighting till the last drop. This war is the war for passion, where passion is the idea of war, where heaven is in the tearing of flesh, the breaking of bones and the treachery of the screams. The people who fight such wars aren’t maniacs, they aren’t the stone heart dictators cause all they want to do is loose , loose every chain that ties them to the lies of life. So that they can dig out the heart of the world and set it on fire. The beauty of love, the joys of life and the sweetness of pain are just ravenous gods we feed. The only truth is the rawness of the animal inside of us.

I’ve spent many days seeing the spirit of life in terms of good or bad. Ignored it today. We can believe good with as much confidence as the evil and vice-a-versa.

Is everything caused by something, compulsion? Maybe, maybe not. But if force is caused by the product of mass and acceleration, is it possible that it may not be caused by mass and acceleration? If an apple falls, is it possible that it may never fall? Why can’t things be understood without comparing it with something else? Why can’t good be good without being compared to evil? There must be some kind of connection making opposites similar? So does that actually mean the good is bad n bad is good? Should the shataan be prayed to instead of Allah? It’s outrageous but think about it. We may just have spent ages fighting the wrong ills.

Two goods opposing each other is evil, buh two evils opposing each other is good. Two similar passions opposing each other is evil and its ecstasy.