Bull’s Eyes

 

Fingers and feet don’t know what to do with themselves

When you have to be a stone

Waiting for the rain to turn you into a flower

Waiting for rain with open lips and hands

Sometimes the fidgeting turns into a dance

To loosen the limbs, the head and the heart

And endless swirling into the pulse of one’s heart

Sometimes lying flat and throbbing

Your iron will throws at the phlegmatic sky your own virgin blood

Instead of rolling down the hills to seek pleasure

By striking the rock for water to come out

Or you could be a black and white photo

An immortal gaze watching time zip by

A teardrop falling into a black hole

While ears wait and sweat

To hear the sound of contact

They wait for the rain and put life and death on hold

To make sure your eyes are on the ball

Following the ball

Moving with the ball at all times

Old People Are Garbage Good for Gardening

You don’t know how good you are

Until you are good and dead

And by then the question as to how good you are

Is superseded by how dead you are

“This has to make sense”

We tell ourselves while munching on a good chicken wing

We exchange loud salamu alaykum to check if we are all good and alive

It’s not easy to take people’words at face value nowadays

Because you are trying to get words to have arms and legs

So they can do all the kissing for you

But what’s the cost of a bitter life nowadays?

We keep sweets in our pockets like charms against the bitterness of life

And hope they will keep us sweet enough

To be remember with a smile

When we are garbage only good for gardening

Maybe, Maybe Not

People are never where they say they are

They are sitting across you

But you don’t know that you are staring at a shell

While the host has left the building

But you are quick to leave also

And all that’s left are two unreal people trying to be real

You remember too well the loneliness of Real meets Fake

You ended up talking, eating, walking, making love

Only with yourself

She just happened to be there

But the key to her box was lost

And never sought after anymore

She couldn’t take anyone chasing after her anymore

All about her, her kinky hair, her loose clothes and bathroom slippers

Spelled contentment in who she ended up being

Pleasant and pleasing herself without anyone say so

So you went ahead and did the foolishness of loving her even more

Because you hate not having

And when she finally gave

A lazy “I love you too”

Heavens should have come for you

But it barely brushed past your “Maybe tomorrow she will love me”

She ended marrying you

Gave you children

Lived blissfully

But your happiness had never made a come back

Your eyes still thinking and saying:

“Maybe tomorrow she will love me”