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Lost truths

The truth is not to be found
The truth is to be embraced

Have I been alive all these years?
Perhaps only the years I live should be carved onto my grave.

Or perhaps the years I died
What is life but a journey of decay

Do you not see, why my soul, my essence is not mine. 
It is but a star on your face
It is but a sparkle in your eyes
It is but the breath when you pray

When I was only I 
There was 
No moon shining behind the autumn clouds
No light came from darkness
No rain followed the drought

One night as I stood  at the doorstep of my home, the rain called me. It had a song it wanted me to ponder upon. I listened as I would everytime however, contrary to what I had anticipated. There was no music. 
Have you ever listened carefully to the sound of falling rain? Have you noticed that the revelations had never stopped? It was us who had stopped listening. It was us who killed the messiahs. But God never despaired, the hope of the hopeless and the love of the heartless never despairs. Everynight he makes visible the stars, or he covers them with the majesty of the origin of life. He does so to attract us to where the message is now being preached. On occasion he strips our scattered souls naked and manifests them in darkness and lightning, it is shocking how we prefer to walk in blinding light than in darkness, even though the light is not ours. Do we not reflect? Have we not been told that if we seek light from other than our own essence,  our eyes will surely be blinded?  
There was no music to be heard. I turned to my door intending to enter and be embraced by the warmth of my freezing house, but the rain pleaded and begged, it roared and protested, it struck with its lightning but I was not blinded. The thunder was no longer threatening me, it was singing to me. Thunder never sings, it was created with the intention to throw fear into the hearts of those blinded by the lightning. But this time the lightning was from within. The thunder accepted me as her brother, and she sang to me, she sang to me the notes of my death. She cried through her smile as she pointed to her stars, she hummed cheerful tunes as it lifted the eyelid off the moon and unveiled a bright shining sun. There were now two suns shining in the heavens. Their heat melted my eyes and their beams of light pierced new ones in my heart. They were majestic, bright and powerful but they did not overwhelm the stars thunder had serenaded. I was filled with pride and joy to think that all of these wonders were manifesting from my soul. As I entertained that thought, thunder lifted herself in anger and rage and with one strike of lightning she awakened my blind eyes and blinded those which could see. I was once more standing at my door listening to the silent rain, no song was to be heard.
For years the rain did not sing to me and thunder did not descend from her home on the clouds.

One day I saw a face I felt I had seen a million times. A face I remembered like it had been carved into my eyes. 
I noticed it’s eyes wielded enormous power, power it did not wish to hide. They were bright and embracing yet sharp like blades, they brought me both comfort and pierced my heart time and time again. They left me to bleed in a bed of their warmth. They looked at me with every intention to kill and I looked at them completely content. I gladly sacrificed the love bleeding from my heart for the Glory of the manifestation of The Beloveds Beauty.


Paradox of The Well

A well, prosperity and desperation. As the traveler struggles through the desert dying of thirst they find a well, at that moment this well to them is both the peak of hope and the peak of desperation simultaneously. It is their only hope yet what are the odds of there being water in a well in the middle of the desert, so for the moments they are pacing up to the well they are thrilled by both happiness, hope, life and being slowly destroyed with anxiety, hopelessness, and the prospect of inevitable death. If the well contains the very force of life, water, he seemingly lives, if not he undoubtedly dies. Yet if he finds water in that well, and drinks, he may find comfort in this oasis of life, so much so that he fears to continue his journey, he fears to move from beside the well because the desert is vast and repetitive in imagery and even if he walks a small distance he might lose sight of it forever, so he sits there next to the source of his life in both happiness and anxiety   until he starves to death. So the well of life becomes the very reason he dies. Much like love after intense heartbreak. The person finds one that has god traits, eventually they fall in love with them, but their love is draining, it slowly destroys them because even though it provides them with the water of nourishment it cannot provide them with the strength brought by food, but they fear to journey to find someone who can provide both out of fear of previous heartbreak so they hold on their well of water as they slowly die in a fusion of happiness, content, and sadness and dissatisfaction



There is a room. The room contains objects. The objects can be seen, touched, smelt, heard, but they cannot be experienced. Not because they are not there, not because they do not have their own existence, but because there is nothing to experience them. The senses are present, the objects are present, but the sensor, the experiencing subject is not. Either that or the existent objects have no essence to reveal.

In Being And Nothingness, Sartre says that the essence is not a property sunk into the cavity of the existent, it is the manifested. So what is it? Is it a matter of consciousness? Is the conscious being in this case faulty? It must be a matter of consciousness, the sensors are fine, the objects are without a doubt existent and manifest. Then what else could it be? This absence is a lacking in the consciousness itself. But what is the consciousness? I understand it as a force exerted outwards from the being, consciousness is not a receptacle rather it is aimed at something outside itself (Sartre). Consciousness is an act, taken upon by the existent being in its metaphysical state. Are they in the soul itself? 

Do I have a faulty soul? If so what does that tell me about the soul? Is it multifaceted? Is it independent of physical existence? Or is it a dimensional extension? If it is a duality then what binds me to this body? And on what account should I experience anything existent on the physical level? Rather maybe extensions of each other? All existent but like a light that dims as it travels, Maybe we are lights that dim travelling in nothingness. If so where am I in comparison to others? Am I on a level above them? This would make no sense since I am the entire light, as are they. So it is not a matter of being more existent it is a matter of being aware of myself on different levels of existence but if that were the case and I was more aware then I should 1. Be able to see what is beyond mere physical existence. 2. Be completely aware of the lower levels of my existence. It cannot be that. Then is it that I am less aware? That would fit all criteria except the fact that I understand more than others, yet they do not experience similar dispositions. Then it is not a matter of awareness of the self. It is a matter of awareness of what is external to the self. I suppose I am aware of myself or selves. In all their states, I just do not have authority at all times, awareness does not require authority and the opposite is true. So does acquiring authority require the being becoming aware of the surroundings?

هل كان لقلبي قبلك وجود
هل كنت ممن ذاقوا ذهول
طبيعة اشراقية شاء فيها ان اكون
صدرك مرادي و الارض لا.تحول
لقد أرداني الزمان قتيلا قبل موتي
فشربت من كأس ملأته ساقية كافور
فمشيت في سقر غير مبال لنار تلظى 
ورحت اناجي الرب بقلبي المكسور 
شئت ام ابيت قاومت او رضيت
قلبي لنفسك المقدسة بيت
عرشك في قلب عرش الرحمن قد بنيت
سميتك الجمال و نعم ما سميت


كفر العاشق

روحي تلاقيكم و نفسي ترهبني
الأسماء أعلام في حدودي تجاوبني
رسائل في كنه وجودي
لا تلتمس أعماق حدودي
عبير فجوري قسم لتوحيد سطوري
قصيدة يتذوقها السالك
لا يفهمها الا السفير في روحه

وديعة يتركها الشاعر
تنقش على تابوت ذنوبه
رأى الانسان يتبع
نظام سير كالأفلاك
يتفاوت ما يتوسط الجرم
بحسب نور المشكاة
رأى الجمال ينهزم و ينعدم لشدة ضبط الكلمات
اوصاف هدّت أركان الوجود و عاهرات فكر
حجبت عن العاشقين نور حب الاله

رؤى طفل, صرخة في العدم
اثار أشجار , فناء في الندم
وسوسة شيطان, في ليالي رمضان
كفر و عرفان, قيود و اسلام
جهل بما خلق, الكون, أعظم انسان
ولادة قصرية للأنوار من الظلمات
علمه نسبي جزع بين السبع الشداد
شمائلنا تسلّم الكتاب و الى اليمين العتاد
كفره بعيد كل البعد عن الالحاد
في سيرنا في طريقه أصنام تهدم
أفمن لا يُخلَقُ كمن يُخلَق؟
كفرنا اقصاء و توحيدنا زلفى
افكارنا مقاربات نتجهد بها
حتى يأتينا اليقين و في ذاته نفنى

Speak To Me

Speak to me,
Speak to me through the holes in the fabric,
I live off the mysteries you have provided.
Allow me to listen to your lessons from the mountains,
From the valleys where I first saw light emerge from darkness.

Teach me your splendor defeat me with brightness.
I see with my heart, my eyes are impaired at their finest.
Her eyes are a sign that creation must be an act of kindness,
Her soul is my heart it pumps revolution into my mind,
World is a symbol I need to decipher,
The numbers the codes all lead to His Highness

Who am I?
The essence is not its projection
The codes have been misread
The sheep have been mislead
Your honour I plead you consider my objection.
They have lied they have deceived
The waves are not the sea
The absence of light is not darkness
It is not the end when I bleed.
I am not my words, this is not me that you read.
I am what it makes you feel
I am the Suffi when he screams
Light is not abundance, God is not infinity
And I am not my anger, my mistakes nor what I achieve
If I cannot see the signs then it is I who does not exist
I breath the mercy of God this is certainty not belief

Kill me, be my murderer, my blood is yours to spill.
My heart is yours to torment, torture me at your will.
Haunt me through the night, keep my mind from sleeping.
Carve the ‘ayat into my eyelids, I will never stop searching for the meaning.
My body is my hell, I can hear the sinner screaming.
Kill me with your love, Lord, I yearn for our meeting


Where does it lead, this uncertain path?

Though the lord has drawn it, did he,

With his mercy or was it with his wrath?

Who throws the stones at this humbled peasant?

Why is he shunned from wherever man is present?

Stranger to his cult, people of the crescent

Why is it, that only nature accepts him?

Animals, trees his siblings and the stars their parents

Crushed by the weight on his spineless back

Eternally damned yet yearning for heaven


Where is he to seek shelter if his body is a raging storm?

Confined to the dark dungeons of space and time

Afraid to look through the cracks in the wall

Though clearly He guides him by unveiling the signs

His mind tortures him with the formation of every thought

Confused, is this redemption or punishment for his crimes?

Vivid are the lies in all the ‘wisdom’ he was taught

No longer able to forcefully swim against the tides


Where is this truth? And why is it that he inquires?

He could not answer those question to save his own life

Every explanation only makes him feel like a liar

Never true to himself even when he writes

Baffled by this image of salvation from Hell fire

Is it really about the rules will they lead us to paradise?

And what about the mercy of this lord you speak of?

Is he Him if to a few chosen ones the truth he confines?


 Finally, exhausted he falls and he cries

Pleading and begging for the story to end

The story of the men

Who defied the advice.

And asked the Question

What is the meaning of life?

Harmonious Chaos

When one treads ill with sorrow

Another dies, this hill’s so hollow

Morning doves no longer make the sky rain

The Great has allowed the death of the braves

Hyades tears have dried

Hyas banished from their preoccupied minds

Our mother is near her demise

Leshy’s garments have been washed by Nigh

Ahiku feast almost every night

The Katanas have been disgraced by samurais

Apollyon on his throne, confident he believes

That he has beat God for his aim he has achieved 

Ordog’s cauldron will soon be overflowing

Sin has made us ignore the  All Knowing

Face to face with the end of time

We never existed but we are blind

Jesus has been crucified 

Now twice we have denied Christ

Ali’s wisdom in a blood pond

Send Salams to the Prophet

Can’t hear him respond

We failed to keep our promise to God

and deviated from the oneness that bonds

Man and nature when we made Mother our slave

Made mountains into plains and destroyed the caves

That were once our shelter our lives they saved

Murderers destroying His creation in His name


Sapphire Mystic/ Consumed By The Light

Pride has a shrine in their home

Skeptical minds certain of the truth that they know

Cold like the sky made of stone

Tsukiyomi shines on her own

Amaterasu mighty as he is 

Does not object to her need  to glow

Alone she can never survive 

But a Queen never leaves her throne


Dim is the beacon Hymns for her treason

Sung like a tragedy remembered as an odyssey 

Revered as her majesty undefeated by calamity

Though death was her fate and failure was her legacy

She was the sign of the times she was her own Mahdi

She will pay for the crimes of her lives

Like Cato cast into the realm of insanity


He still remembers her tortured cries

When she died, shed her light, darkest night

As he  wept he could not help but to smile

At her courage that he so longed for and admired

No One Knows Him

Where is the law hold a man to his word
Knees are bleeding dismantle the herds
Cost of your life is the roar of the cursed
If you die and they rise leave your flesh for the birds
And the eyes and the tears when they write off your life
I am only bleeding for her..Mother where are you?
Brother whats your name
Written on your grave
Freed from the chains
But what is a slave,
If the colours are sharpened by
The edge of a blade
Rebel of the mind in mine
My friend, you will remain
Your throne is my heart
And when i’m left in the dark
You are my lantern
And my passion is the spark
We create light
Revolution is our craft
Even after death did us part
You are the rebel
And I am your vessel
Speak through me your wisdom
People will listen
When they see you reflected in my eyes
Every tear is a poem that I don’t need to write
They speak for themselves shed like
My skin when you taught me to fight
With my pen and my mind
And when need be paint your face let the wind be your guide
Make them bleed and then pray for their sight
To be restored the moment right before they die

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