Monthly Archives: March 2012

The Queen

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The ruins of Algiers
And the salty air of the coast
Were more seductive
Than this brunette

The idea of her
Was a novelty
After our vows
Had been laid down upon the bed and comforter.

The idea of her
Became your mistress
The idea of her
Became your escape 

And I remember
I played house
For a while
With an unwilling suitor

My youth and innocence
Covered me with marriage’s warm blanket
Which slowly slipped off in the middle of the night
To reveal the sheets of denial.

I tugged at the corners
To return to the comforter
Before morning
To cover what I chose not to see

The contagious air
Of newlyweds
Never infected your heart,
I never infected your heart

As each morning passed
Just after fajr and subh
Was coming in
I looked into the mirror.

I looked in the mirror
To find the blushing bride
But my eyes, still hazel
And my hair, still dark.

My skin still pale
And freckled 
I began to no longer
See me as your wife.

I looked in the mirror
For the first in a long time
I looked in the mirror
For a while.

I caught myself
Occasionally recognizing
The beauty you may
Have fallen for. 

But the ruins of Algiers
And the sweet, salty air
Became more seductive
Than I could ever be.

And she lied in that bed
Swaddled in sheets
I left her for as long as I could
So she would be neglected, stifled and belligerent.

I waited for you to
Come through the door
To see what I had done
To see that I had attempted to kill her. 

But slowly the anticipation
Drew the pink from my cheeks
And out…
Threw my toes. 

Those same toes
Curled while supplicating
Asking Him to relieve me
Of this position, to fix me.

My lips moved whispering
The prayers the Prophet said worked
My lips moved
Wishing yours could find them selves near to mine. 

I continued my supplication:

I promise I was simple to love,
I promise I did what I could,
I promise I tried to be her.

Layers and Lines

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The pen and the paint
Become extensions of thoughts
And thoughts; actions
Actions; to whispers that grip the pen.

The callouses peel
Where the pen rests
Paint stains
Where the hand smudges

Leaving tracks on the page;
The most human of trails, check points
In the snow
resembling red, flesh sacrifices in the name of creativity.

Dragging forward, up and right
Down and to the left
Pick up, point; cross over
And lead.

These are not my
Words, my people
My creatures,
Or my stories.

They are from the extensions
Of the pen and of the paint
Where the whispers grip the medium
And tickling thoughts become squirming actions.

Where my pencil hits the page
My ink curves to and fro
In the attempt to bring us and then
You and I back together.

The greatest love affair began
So early
And we grew into each other and cut off each other
In the roots of darkness and branches of sunlight

We met
And departed
But we confronted once more
For me to realize where my efforts lie.

Where my pencil hits the page
The only place that is between
Me and you exists, marking the territory
And communicating in a morse of lovers symbols.

I have become the
Mistress and to your cause
I remained wide eyed and spread legged,
Perched for your arrival.

The paint smudges
Linking this world I wait from
To yours.
One of delicately drawn lines.