Saturday, October 11, 2003

I write

I write to set you ablaze,
like I couldn’t do with my self.
I write to scorch the earth,
to set your world afire.
I write to make your gods shudder,
with disgust and with awe.
I write because my story has not been written.

I write and you shall read,
because you have a choice.
I write and you shall read,
because you have none.
You are spellbound,
and I am falling from grace.
I write because my tale needs to be told.

I write because my memories are fading,
and gelling,
and losing their taste.
I write because I fear dissipating with them.
I write because I need to,
not because I want to.
I write…

I write a tale of two souls,
of one soul,
of many souls,
of none.
I write of sepia,
and dawn-colored flesh,
and the fading image of the folds of skin around your mouth when it broke into a smile.
I write because it shall never be again.

I write because I am forgetting the smell of the aged skin of her bosom,
the taste of the lapel of her dress,
and the way his coarse hair felt against my cheek.
I write to capture life,
because I am losing it.
And I just found out I am not getting it again.

I write a swirl,
the swelling of a yearning waltz,
of the black dust underground,
the screech of a candle burning an unfaced wall.
I write of clichés that make up my life,
and a life that made the clichés.
I write of a realm beyond,
beyond the clichés,
beyond you,
and more so every passing day,
beyond me.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Another of the most beautiful poems I have ever read. Sensitive and patriciously fragile unlike many of your other “beautiful” poems that are beautiful because of their power.
-“To make your gods shudder… not been written” is especially beautiful.
-“A tale of two souls… shall never be again” is the best part of the poem for various reasons. “Of two souls… of none” because it is very Dalidish, “of sepia and dawn colored flesh” because it is pleasantly and tastefully ornate with words finely selected as you often do. “fading images… never be again” is the most beautiful of them all because of the choice of the image, triggering a very delicate and patriciously fragile collective memory. Beautiful.
- “I write because I am forgetting” is a beautiful sentence.
-“The black screech of a candle burning an unfaced concrete wall” is reminiscent of the same imagery in “The Stench” for those who can use your history to intertextualise.
- For once, the one of the pathetic little things that you insist on stuffing at the ends of your poems works here and is very powerful.
- Do not include with “Iodine” or “Tumble down from Grace” as those three echo each other.

Ton frère Ahmad