Slowly breaking the blockade

Dear friends, 

It’s been a year since I last wrote poetry or articles and shared them on my blog. I see many of you haven’t lost faith in visiting my blog hoping to find anything new that would spark interest. Thanks for your interest and I apologize for my slackness. In March 2011, I moved to Washington, DC on a fellowship program to serve in the nonprofit world in the US. You can imagine transitions are not always smooth and inspiring.  I can’t believe its been over 13 months now away from my beloved Cairo and away from blogging. Anyway, I only wanted to pass by and say I will be back soon inshaAllah. Stay tuned for more creative stuff.

Salam,

May

 

The Day I Raged

I woke up to a burning sunlight

Silenced howling fear within me

Stood tall before you

Driven by the monster of your creation in me

Your power outweighs mine

But my passion for this blessed land can flood gold mines

You confuse patience with humiliation

I know I had to correct you

Teaching you the hard way about re-exploring me

Is what you taught me all through our history

Too late when I lived years licking your stinky shoes

Kicked my pride across corners of your corrupt capital

Wore my heart on my sleeve

Dived into my brothers waves of anger

Wouldn’t care less if my neck is what your mad dogs chase after

No, its not their revolution

It is their revolution, plus my revolution and our bloody anger

Waited longer than camels in Sahara without water

Maybe I am a speaking animal but my thirst won’t stand any longer

Because of you I am a walking encyclopedia of human mockery

They laugh at me, beat me, crucify me, kill me and turn my ashes into their wine pottery

Haven’t you had enough of this insanity?

I feel sorry for the day you and I stand before Him

We’d both negotiate mercy

The one that seemed like rain in the desert on one of your drought days

I trust there would be no bleaker than a tyrant’s destiny

You should know

One true death awaits me

Don’t care if my raging shakes our fake complacency

I shall die – pride is my best ally

Promise kneeling no more before the false deity

May Kosba

That Day I Raged – Onislam.net (Fine Arts)

Kianga Ellis reading



Tenth Man Down by NightWish - and V for Vandetta Clip

Hearts on Her Socks

It hails outside a window in her freezing house

Warmness in her heart ceases to reach her cold feet

It is a cold night indeed

Escapes the cold under thick blankets

Locks herself up in a room

Never been so darkened

Unaware of what had sent the glooms under her rainbowish ceilings

Her cold body slips under the covers

Fading beneath the layers

An attempt to hide a prideful desire in flames

It is a lonely night she feels

Finally seeks refuge

In eaten fantasies and memories

Eaten by time, pain, pride or fear

Fear of sin

Sin begets sin

And so on

Feeding off the bits and pieces of good old memories

Is the least she can achieve of happiness

Perhaps send itches of desire to a calm retreat

The least of sins are thoughtful ones

A marble body lies on her cold bed

Unturned gem

Only not in the dirt

Even in the wildest moments of time

Roars down her throat she swallows

Lying there like a mummy

History exposed in a museum of painful endings

She remains unturned

You must envy her perseverance

She masters the wait

Never compete with a woman keen to preserve her slate

Seduction at this hour

A hazard to her Godly pact

Though this Oceanus chaos versus reason

There are facts

Skin aches to touch

Lips long to part

Flower impatient to blossom

Unyielding yearning

For a season so far apart

Blue with suppression

One of her excellent skills

Bury it all inside

She smiles “what a beautiful coffin!”

And what a cold coffin!

Sleep is the best solution

Before some fool ignites a revolution

Lit up the fire in her holly devotion

Prayers are her favorite of soul lotions

Rouses – ablutes – prays – then back

Bidding sleep a warm welcome

Soon retrieves the previous situation

This is a curse or worse

Cold feet electrocute her blinks

Pursued cold all over her body down to the end

Astounded at the sight of her pair of socks

Red hearts blaze with envy on it

Stole all warmth once coated her naked veins.

 May K.

Better enjoy reading this while listening to this amazing sensual arabic tune by Wael Kfoury

CRY

Love’s tears drip on his skin

Countless failures in destiny wait his will out

I watch his weakness glare down on my fate

Each drop is a falling brick out of the wall

In my heart they fall

Building impossibilities

Conspiracies in disguise

I linger in this moment of perfect silence

Amid the nearness of our distance

Shielding his fading faith in survival

Making my way through his shattered walls of protection

While he cultivates a past perfect future

Commemorating my forfeiture

He cries out – I cry inside

An empire in ruins sleeps in my heart and his conscience

I am his knightess in shining armor

Who came for their promise to salvage

 I wipe the tears of the crocodile

They pour unto my lips unending turmoil

Taste so bitter on my truthful tongue

Hurricane blowing behind his eyes fail to meet my Nile

Succumbing to will-bending lies so versatile

I am defeated on my own land

My kingdom he overstands

Cried me a river of pain

Submerged all chances of survival

Ignorant to the book of pain

Of which I’ve become an avid disciple

 May K.

  

In the Grip of a Gypsy

 

In his mind she is the unmelting iceberg ~ the unconquerable highland ~ insanity wrapped in a cloak of a doomed fate ~ the arrow unleashed into his heart ~ she’s a woman ~ even in the wildest of his fantasies impenetrable ~ untraceable ~ untouchable ~ unlovable. He is alone in his strife ~ can’t help but fill the vacuum of his infatuation bubble ~ he is in love. True or false ~ this he fails to prove ~ yet he waits and waits and waits. Wait is time ~ time is patience ~ and what do you know about patience or time or wait ~ only words may fill up the vacuum and suck out the life of boredom ~ the man is always honored to seek martyrdom ~ in a love he sees a sacred mission ~ she is not holy ~ yet her holiness has a differing definition. In his heart she is a desert rose ~ a desert storm ~ she must belong in the land of chonic drought ~ yet her chastity quenches his doubt. She is a gypsy ~ stole his heart on a shiny morning ~ danced with bare feet in his heart ~ unplanted his heart away from its veins ~ wrapped in a blazing fear of losing in the sweetest yet sacred of warfares ~ she is still colder than cold ~ her resistance rages like a cold wind blows on a northern land. In her heart he is a man of words ~ his passion draws a lustrous flicker on her virgin walls ~ vanilla smells sinful on her skin ~ derails her unblinking resistence ~ yet his love she defies ~ singed beyond repair ~ brutalized in a not so distant past ~ recreated a cell of well-engineered bars of doubt ~ erasing pathways to where her land is sought by lovers and thieves of a heart so sad and tired. There’s a lump in her throat ~ her bitterness revives her wounds ~ she is a loner ~ lonesome brings her the brightest chirps ~ yet he vows to mend her quirks ~ bring  joy to her smirks ~ feed her drought with his unwavering faith in her city’s stingy skirts.  

May K.

Symphonic Sin

Stripping amid the chaos in the journey leading to reason

No questioning where grace had fallen

Grace or faith – beware multiple thoughts induce confusion

Stars in the skies shall erase the glooms of illusions

My heart’s unrest temporarily sedated

Bidden welcome by my beloved music

Reminds me of Him albeit the ancient promise of delusions

A believer could not wander around with faith so delusive

Fragmented between devotion and music

Could music really steal away devotion?

Devotion is parentless in a poor assessment

You are either a devoted believer in worshipping God or His music

I am a worshipper of God – music lies among my rituals

Would I be a hypocrite to give in to the enchantment of his creation?

I am a creature in love with another creature

Together we prostrate sublimely to our Creator

A Sufi combines no love of any creature with the Most Gracious

Music is one way to mercy which He offers ardently spacious

My heart is a wonderland in a human box

You’d see midgets and giants racing or in harmony

Constantly rides a carousel of emotions and careless whispers

Don’t chuckle at my strife – yours next I see coming from a short distance

Violin stick plays upon my heart thousand melodies of pain

You may hear them from a distance shedding mayhems

Don’t be fooled by my grizzly chanting

Humming is what plays in the background

Affirming failure or perhaps handing a tourniquet to the bleeding poet  

Humming sounds like drumming of warfare waits to breakout

Alien troops marching to the land long peace-deprived

No … No … No

Cast out those monstrous fears – soon to eat your conscience alive

Dance along with the wolves in the pitch darkness of your nights

Clutch at a straw when the waves of the crazy ocean reach their highs

Float in space with your music until your soul lands peacefully in the Most Gracious’s skies

May K.

P.S. preferably read while listening to this tune

Water

If I had the liberty to choose prior to my creation – I would be water – the liquid, the term, the definition, the force and the feebleness.

I would be abundant and scarce – steep and deep –  rain, hail and overwhelm, contain – never contained, rush and sweep - shallow and deceptive - enliven and kill - freeze - melt and boil.

Only time controls me – temperature never withhold me.

I would run in the fields racing against the wind – challenging the heat of the sun to hurry immerse the lands before it dry up and ruin the tired man’s harvest.

I would drown the traitor and float the believer.

There will be times I am pure and times I stink. There will be times I am smooth as silk and times my roars frighten the king of the jungle.

There will be times I’ll be greater than any other creation on earth, even the giants of mountains I bear them in my boundless belly and eat them, slowly.

Man knows its only a matter of time.

I’ll be the intruder, the earth’s indispensible partner.

I’ll be the world’s hooker quench whoever pays fat and better.

I will fail to live up to my end of the bargain, I dry, I disappear – they shed their blood over me and I keep vanishing,  as much as I will flood far beyond man’s capacity.

I rush – keep rushing to where those thinking creatures can’t trace me or detain me or drink me or bottle me or pollute me.

I am free and shall remain that. The only reason I can’t satisfy them is I’m bloodless, soulless.

I am only water…

May