Along the Wind

along_the_windAlong the wind,

I bend and I sway.

Time is slipping by.

The ground beneath me

is all I see.

The poison in the pain

is the illusion of hope.

It’s all lines; It’s all lies,

drawn with an artist’s brush,

beautifying and simplifying

the irregular rythmes of

the strokes that once

portrayed the truth.

The truth that is now so tainted

that compelled me to write these words.

Impromptu Write 03/May/2017 © Wassim Cherif

I miss writing poetry (I wouldn’t call the one above true poetry). Sometimes I get urges to scribble down some ideas so I do so without a filter and that’s what my impromptu poems are. I keep them untouched and unedited because they represent a state of mind at a certain time. It’d be interesting to go back to them years later and see myself through them.

 

Mesteerean Solitude

This is my second WPC Solitude Post. For my first post click here

Solitude is a very rare state of mind. I only find it in very few places and in doing very small and simple things.

Actually, there is only one place, Mesteer (the place this blog is named after). The moment I am there, I am plucked away from everything else.

I won’t be meditating or anything like that. Sometimes I keep doing what I’ve been doing but my mind is just so clear and light that all the same things feel different, better.

Although, there is one thing I can only do there which is to stand as close as I can to the sea and watch its waves live and die endlessly. I also listen to music while I watch (sometimes even heavy metal)!

It’s not about calmness and relaxation, it’s about what I perceive in my mind, in that moment and in that place. everything else is irrelevent. That’s my solitude.

I also enjoy reading books there a lot more than anywhere else.

 

Impromptu Poem 17/01/2017

The Greatest Wall in the World

There is this wall somewhere in my mind,

everywhere in the world and it is the greatest.

This wall is invisible and is visible to all.

Anyone can reach it, effortlessly, just like breathing.

Most times, it is what we want to be.

A wall of reflection and projection.

A birthplace of great ideas

that pushed us far into our journey in this world

but it is a shame that now we might consider

anything other than Imagination being the greatest

because once we do, the wall will turn into a ceiling.

 

© Waseem Sherif | 17/01/2017 

Impromptu post for Weekly Discover Challenge

 

 

[Journal]Impromptu Poem 23/09/2016

It’s been months since the last time I have posted poetry here. and It’s been even longer since the last time I’ve written poetry seriously; as in poetry for poetry not poetry for self-therapy!

We all have issues and each of us deals with them on their own way. mine was writing, even though i was never good at it. It’s not a problem for me, I’m even fine with writing ungrammatically as long as I transfer something to paper. But there are also times when I become a sort of a perfectionist. That’s when it takes at least a week for me to finish up a poem! and I haven’t done that in a long time. I guess I got distracted by whatever life’s throwing at me which between us is a whole lot of nothing. Perhaps that’s exactly why! It’s the nothingness, the utter plainness of routine and total detachment from the time-flow. In fact, it’s more like a nothingness that’s extremely busy! It’s somewhere and somewhen you get lost in pallid tones of life.

I gotta tell you it’s a pretty bad time and space to exist in! Well, at least I’m not alone there. I have my words and I have my people (and coffee too!) That makes it bearable.

This poem’s taken from my Impromptu Poetry notebook. Now that I’m reading it after a few months it actually doesn’t make sense. Whatever! I’m sure it made perfect sense back when I wrote it.

 

Memories lost in misty veils of grey

Fading into darkness elegantly

Leaving only poignant pain

oscillating in a hollow heart

moments I can no longer name,

carried with them a person

the person I used to be

feelings are now a fringe frontier

I’m in a transition into a dominion of

Processed poetry and unknown knowns

What remains is a distorted face

That doesn’t remember its features.

 

Wassim Cherif © Impromptu Poetry 2016

 

Impromptu Poem 06/08/2016

My image is fading from my innate vision.

I am a silhouette cracked by

naked tree branches like dry veins.

I crumble to a pile of defeated dignity.

An air of insecurity looms over my living remains.

The world denies my mantras and

I fail to comprehend the logic behind its beliefs.

Perhaps it is rejection rather than incomprehension.

 

Waseem Sherif 06/08/2016

another impromptu write on the phone.

I Run; I Disappear

I run.
a life of fruitless choices chase
after me as I run towards an
alternate path
but only in my mind.

I run.
the ghosts of things I cling to
walk in my shadow until the darkness of
eclipse devours them
and they disappear…

Words I left behind make up
the nonsense that would read like
fake ancient murals telling
the end of worlds.
Eventually they’d be eaten away by time
and become a testament to nothing.

Some voices push me to the edge
by their rejecting and hateful screams.
Some voices cushion me just by
the echoes of their soft whispers
yet I disappear
for deep inside, I want to…

 

Waseem Sherif © 03/08/2016