Fire in the Void

When you look, just beyond the edge of reason

Friction in your conscious logic,

This world has painted your vision grey,

Why won't the ignorant turn to listen, quite amusing

When you see the knees with calluses,

from praying in a river of tears. 

Then you will cut the rock as if it's your spirit,

Amidst the confusion and fear

Write a letter to your future doom,

Killing the insignificant roles one life plays out here.

Gaze at the river with longing,

As if its stream of your blood-seeking the cold embrace.

I'm standing along with my cards laid bare

Willingly cutting open the veins of pain,

And let it drip, drop by drop

Fresh as a coined scar, face ashen with zen,

I'm the lottery of your incompetence

Fishing for a lie, in a sea barren of lifeless truths

Smite my face for a permanent greet

Become what I feared to become

In disgrace and self-hate,

Fighting for a place at the end of the line

Kinetic Soul

Motor highway veins of poison, more than you wanted

Asked for an escape into,

There lived a pessimist holed up on a mountain cliff,

It's worse than any abyss.

It's the last place you will seek, some call it freedom but others;

Loneliness. You call it a hermit's tomb.

Smoke wooden fires, they glow and burn.

They make you suffocate with the freedom around you.

Chillums are alit and called the ashram like masked men,

Always masked men. They will wait with a bowl. Until you call.

Dogs are getting better meat than you,

A banker turned baba, a fake serpent with his fangs inside his robes.

Your women were used and abused and refused,

while you slept your ignorant slumber.

Should you know the truth and suffer?

Should I hide you from the wombs pain and keep you happy,

like a babe in his cot; stupid till age takes his toll

On you. On me. On everyone. Time is the all-in winner.

Today. Tomorrow you will still be a hypocrite.

S.T.F.U

They wanted me to bind my arms, bind my legs.

They wanted me to cover my ears, blindfold my eyes.

Now they want me to tie my tongue.

As if that would obliterate my mind.

For the words of a soul is forever endearing.

As the Book bears witness to this simple cry.

A sleeping slave would always dream.

As the words of Gibran once said.

And once he awakes and opens his eyes.

Comprehending freedom in a world gone mad.

The tyrant's hand of suppression reveals.

The truth it tries to hide, in desperation so sad.

Pondering in the Clown shop

When is introspection truly possible? What is this Nirvana or Enlightenment we hear about? What is the true message behind the Holy Quran and the other scriptures? What did Prophet Muhamed (Sallahlaahi Alai Wassallum), The Buhdha, Christ and all the other harbingers of the message of love and compassion know that we did not?
Introspection happens within. When we pray. When we meditate or do yoga. Or when we just simply breathe deeply, being in the hear and now. And the truth is simple. It’s love. God is love. We all felt it more than once in our lives, yet did not believe or realize.
Spending even five minutes on your own each day, simply breathing and emptying your mind, without resisting any thought, just relaxing can be a first step. Or a Muslim could do our prayers, a Hindu could do the same, whatever speaks to your soul. Because it is the same voice, it is the same higher power. It is the same love we all share.