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.

 

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[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

 

The Last Species on Earth

Street lanterns flicker as you trudge with your ivory feet.
Your wretched and writhing halo contorted pure lilies.
The very core of darkness makes home your lifeless eyes.
Your body creaks hauling itself to your primordial vice.

You sink your teeth in raw meat of the ancestral sage.
Sour blood drips as you lavishly gulp your days.
Language dies in shame uttered by your sinister tongue.
Dreams fade out to nightmares and the world becomes undone.

 

27/01/2016 © Waseem Sherif.