Impromptu Poem 19/07/2017

I wander in but one form

without a truth and into the trees.

My eyes rise.

the blinding sunlight is stifled

by a mess of branches that

only leaves regret at my own

entanglement

with life, with minds, with hearts…

 

I keep walking

clad in a mosaic of shades.

With each step I take,

It gives me a new form –

but only of darkness.

 

It’s been a long time since I wrote poetry. One of the things I regret: not sticking to poetry. It’s been very therapeutic for me.

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 post 12/01/17

Back to wordpress after a long absence.

I’m sort of lost in finding my way through both the material world and the virtual. I have lost sight of what’s outside the walls. I can only see the ghosts of things now and their fleeting interval of existence.

I indulge myself in my arts feeding off of this negative state. Trying to determine the path through color tones and language nuances even if most of the time they betray me.

I end up fading into a self I never knew before.

Future

I see his figure, ghastly and appalling.
He stands tall and sharp like an obelisk.
His face pallid, only hollow eyes distinguished
as if they carry the core of gravity
eyes like endless tunnels, I can’t find the light.

Like the gloomy days of a cold winter,
he trudges his way to me.

He stretches his arm, an invitation to days unlived.
“Take my hand” he says,
a voice as destructive as an earthquake.
shaking, I rest my palm on his.
An arcane cold takes home my hollowed chest.

 

26/02/2016 © Waseem Sherif

Untitled Impromptu 06/04/2016

I sit on soil savoring my rest.
butterflies hover around my shoulders.
I open my chest to the breeze,
content with a piece of bread in my hand,
and the sight of a sleeping sea
etched in my eyes.
once in a while, a lonely primrose reels them in.

I watch her sway gently in her frail way.
and I wonder if she sees me too.
does she want me to get closer?
in her eyes, how do I look?
what does she think I am?

my eyes return to myself,
watching nothing but the blur of my being,
the sleeping sea that never moves,
and seagulls stuck in a stationary frame.