Tag Archives: poetry al-logaha Hand

Reflecting a State of Mind

Reflecting a state of mind

 

Night calls

It is a perspiring wasteland

The effervescent heat of this land

I feel within the heavy rains of floating dreams

It seems it lasts a lifetime to find one’s center

To be uplifted

To not let open wounds knock us into oblivion

It is a copacetic playground

Masterminding existence

Where do we drift?

Where do we belong?

Kids all grown

Love dying

Do we carry on?

Is a celibate marriage worth sacrificing your essence?

Blatant wrongs

Slapped

Thrown to the floor face first

Should I bleed?

Or go bloody mad?

Will the wily man win?

When will my redeemer arrive?

Save my soul from eternal destruction

I swivel in this chair

I don’t want to keep destroying my child’s eyes with these fights

Shall I eschew my mate?

I am lachrymose

I can’t breathe in any more pain

He is parsimonious with me

No lover can I call him

No friend

Maybe now a terrifying foe

All my ideas, my being is impugn to him

Down

Down

Down

I fall

Maybe I’ll write blazonry poems to him

Press his thighs with the heat of this night

No I recoil

I am mutinous

A stranger to myself

He says I am slothful

My heart is dangling on a string

Barely hanging on in this once blissful home

Maybe I’ll just become a pagan

A Buddhist or a Beatnik

Then hatred will surely be his snare

Better to walk outdoors

Start again

Begin again

Yet I linger on yesterday’s dreams

Unsure if my destiny will be any better than this

His ruse allowed me to say I do

To negate my hopes and dreams

To abandon my homeland

To live this stranger’s life

Surely one day I will ensue a new love if I ever recover from this

But for now I am caught in a maelstrom of confusion

Unsure if I can even breathe through the body of dungeons lost

Moonlight cafe in December

Moonlight cafe in December by Al-Logaha Hand

I.
Coffee and sandwhichs
a mirror of 10
red headband matches her neighbor’s beard
man of simplicity, hidden in thought, sleek features of subtle intent
his face so amorous, all the other men admire his mission in life-a sharp well-defined beauty.
Yes, there are two layers of me-crusted in that inkling of being-give 5 or 10 and I’ll begin again…
Old man savours his sandwhich, piece by piece, inch by meters, in front of me and them.
I wanted some.
It is December, a time of sharing. Remembering a ficticous Utopia, a precipice of a developed green hedge. Undoubtedly, something to think of.
Do I smell vanilla in the brew today or is it a hint of your perfume taking over my senses?
Let me sit back and ponder something utterly unpredictable and unbounded-a symbol of my current state of mind.
I have a penchant for remembering and longing for the careful movements of your long fingers across my back.

II.
Just then, her face appeared above the heart that was engraved upon that dress’s reflection. Much more intense than that red headband.
He stood between the trees and streets, looking at us all as one piece of entertainment.
His hat was turquois and white striped and stood as a flag for the rest of us to go ahead on by.
She might stay for awhile if the other woman in yellow doesn’t interfere with her passive fight to be what she always dreamed of (a singer).
Trees again.
This time with a tall man wearing that same flag of a hat but he did indeed wave in our direction.
There might still be light here in the darkness of winter.
Yet, I am see-through.
Like a ghost on a highway and there is light in fact as it shows between night and dawn.
Green and yellow balloon blooms through the holes, just below the feather leaves, pointing at you, me and them.
Maybe, I’ll pull one free and suck out its juice and become one with it.
A true vision quest.
No more darkness.
I shall step away no longer laden with fear.
This moon is remaining with me.
Please God don’t leave me or any of us alone even for a blink of an eye.
I need this mirrored light, it floats a blossom of my essential self.
I adhere to my reflection in it.
As I lay here, I imagine swimming in the waters of The Emirates for the pearls in my necklace.
Oh how soft we live our lives.
Without knowing its deepest treasures.
No need for magic when we can bark at the moon through song and no one signs the lunacy papers, locks us up and throws away the key…
No, we say no to such imprisonment!!
We are free tonight!!!
III.
In geometry, I find the appropiate response to your love.
Symetry clearly unmatched.
Colors placed perfectly and balanced like butterfly wings-the same on both sides.
The blue ones with black circles-my all-time favorites.
They make me remember the Blue Fairy of my childhood.
I sang to her once, my hands rolling circles enabled with a shrinking loneliness.
How can I give you something without restraint?
How can I control the desired emotional response?
Do you trust me to tell you the truth?
I have these burning hot questions which I hang on a righteous trivet for you.
I believe in your answers.
It is riddled expression-a mask in order to revisit your advice.
I ask tenderly that I receive notification that you’ll still be there when it’s all over.
The thickness of your emotion runs deep in my pores.
I am ready to take you in but please have mercy and give me one bit at a time so I don’t melt in seconds when the sun comes out.
The moon suits me best.
Her light is my namesake.
It is not a random designation but a special destination.
IV.
I wish I could find Goldilocks in the ‘real world’. She might be the right precipice for the change in the world that I am trying to be.
Or, at least, a new shining illumination to lean upon.
Perhaps, it would be an inspiration to try something new instead of getting vaguely disapproving attitudes from ‘the Other’, like most do who don’t know me well.
I did not expect to feel this way…
Again, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps a new proposition is in order.
No, I’ll have to think it over.
There is a mission in this life but I’ll need a white flag to show my enemies.
I like vanilla in my coffee and on my skin, did I already say that?
Yes, in- deed, repetition is my for-te in this life.
It seems to serve me well.
Perhaps, you too.
OOPs, maybe you as well dear.
Even the twilight is too bright today-it is time for the moon’s song I suppose.
I genuflect before The Creator, as your eager audience and as the night-light’s receptacle…