On the Veranda

Rainbow clouds bathing under glamorous sunbeams,
Brisk of wind coating the shoulders as if a cold shawl,
Not paintings nor photos depicting a majestic scenery,
The body reacts with numerous involuntary shivers,
The colourful flowers, which were once petite buds,
Falling off bit by bit from this veranda; one-two-three,
It is the autumn’s destiny; an involuntary phenomenon,
Water was not scarce nor the glowing rays of the sun,
Not a lifecycle, but just descendents of one another,
Beings living a life similar to that of ours with ancestors,
Then comes the wind, blowing, picking those in need,
And I stand up and walk through the opened windows,
Seeking warmth and the mobile phone rings: “hello!”

Saturday, 18th of December 2010


Frozen Flesh

N-no, stay, why, stop it, oh stop it, s-stop weeping,
I feel cold, I am so afraid, I cannot, oh I cannot cry,
Nor can I shiver and remove these hazy emotions,
Alone in the dark with mud's the only companion,
No, my doings, the good and the bad, all of them,
I lie still, still as a statue, pausing, I am still alive,
Hearing the people's footsteps leaving me behind,
I am alive, but I need to catch a deep last breath.

Waiting, waiting, and w-

Frozen flesh

N-no, not yet, I am not, no, please I am not ready,
He is taking me, guys, come back, don- leave me,
I am gone, but give me a second, back, back I want,
It hurts, n-no, I mean y-yes, I am gone yet a-alive,
This is the proof, why, take it, that is the evidence,
Nooo! Stop talking, stop it, yes I did, but because-,
Guys, look at me, touch my flesh, hear my screams,
If only you knew, still, what would you have done?

Thursday, 28th of October 2010


Mani Yunke-lo

Micastu sumanitu taka,
Na wiyakapi leciya naju oskapa,
Miwicasa, mioyate,
Mihelti aka mimakoce,
Hehatu wakpa,
Kici tawicu na ciksi,
Na istime mahel wicoti ocoze.

Micastu nahahci sumanitu taka,
Na wiyakapi ile,
Miwicasa nahahci, mioyate,
Wana miakicita,
Le nahahci mimakoce,
Hehatu wakpa,
Mahel wicoti isna la.

Maoyuspe wahin kpe,
Maza su micante papala ape,
Miwe caku zugzuka,
Tka nahahci naji wakatu ya na haske,
Ska tatanka ihakab miye,
Na le okicize mikicizapi,
Mihukapi, mikicopi. Malakota!

Monday, 26th of April 2010


The Bottled Letter

Stretching out on the golden diminutive granules,
Opening the eyes resisting the sun's blazing beam,
Barefoot and toes dancing through the cold breeze,
Holding a 'bottled letter' on the right hand; relaxing.

Dozing then waking from a toddler's joyous laugh,
Sitting up still grasping the poorly shaped letter,
Finding it rather attractive but it spoke of tomorrow,
Days of reconciliation from the bitter yesterday.

The author named "I"; the date not far from today,
From an indefinite location but a language I speak,
Written from right-to-left starting with اللهم لك الحمد,
Saddened by the beauty of tears, yet, optimistic.

"I" spoke of the ancestral origins of the humans,
Of the morals and values shared by the individuals,
Of the pin-pointed differences referred by organs,
And of the true path sought for a better tomorrow.

There the calligraphy ended before a tiny full-stop,
Folding the 'bottled letter' in halves and once again,
This time round holding it on the left upper limb,
And to my astonishment I laid on my back; relaxing.

Tuesday, 31st of August 2010


A Leaf

Once upon
An autumn leaf
Dry and brown
A story told
Through the dance
Left and right
Kissed the ground
Stroked the sand
A tongue to speak
Language of
Sad and fear
I can hear
Loud and clear.

And I am once
Born to preach
Language of
Peace and love
Draw and paint
A thousand words
Feel my lips
Move apart
Hear my heart
Cry for just
But sure you know
The world you're in
Is but a show
That has an end
A happy one.

So hear me say
One more time
A story told
A thousand words
Be sincere
And you will be
A charming leaf
Red and green
Full of life
Peace and love
Once upon
A Saturday.

Saturday, 24th of July 2010


Blessed are We

There is a time when the heavy rain,
Declines to face the atrocious sand,
And emerges on the horizon at dawn,
To fall from the sky above so high,
Onto the bricks and gates of a castle.

But deep down in his warm heart,
He wants to guide those who are lost,
He then cries out loud then he sighs,
And then the moon escapes the clouds,
Shining the light on the forlorn souls.

To be a part of this enormous castle,
To embed within its protective walls,
To evaporate into the clouds up high,
To become yet another heavy rain,
To drench tears from the souls of sands.

Tuesday, 08th of June 2010


Souls to Cure

The wolf cries towards the advancing monsoon,
You saw his mystical and formless silhouette,
Saddened by speechless dawns and sunsets,
Howling endlessly for a believer's approach,
Finding a cursed contour of a leafless tree,
Digging its roots through the glowing graves,
Igniting little fragments of a yearned soul,
Generating diamonds held in a safety vault.

Saturday, 22nd of May 2010


Dead or Alive?

What have I done? And damned this mentality,
Back then, a hell's curse poured out of my hands,
I promised to drop her off at the nearest park,
Father is wonderful or that is what she thought,
Until I excavated my entire soul and buried hers',
Crying silently with a faint but noticeable smile,
Rubbing the grains of sand off my chin and nose,
While hers I add and add and add and add and,
She never rose and screamed for a passerby's help,
But accepted her fate and this short life of hers,
What have I done? And damned this mentality,
I now grieve the day I erased her from this life,
It matters not if these cursed hands burn in hell,
I cannot bring her back to life to smile once more,
Replenishing my soul with the book of guidance,
Re-establishing the state of my mind and soul,
Seeking grace and mercy from the only One,
Guide me, love me, and forgive all of my sins.

Thursday, 13th of May 2010


A Cry From Hell

Written by Candle of Hope, 17-07-2003
Website: http://candle-of-hope.com/

A cry from hell woke me up at night,
Something gripped my heart so tight,
The cry of whom which I don't know,
Piercing through my ears so painfully and slow,
I thought it was satan or some demon,
Or a person who was filled with evilness and treason,
Here again, the cry could be heard,
It shut everyone up even the humming bird,
The cry from hell seemed like a hopeless cry,
Maybe it was a demon just passing by,
The cry from hell called out my name,
At that moment I knew that it was no game,
It scared me a lot in some way,
So I wore my hijab and started to pray,
The cry from hell started to fade away,
I started to observe my sins since that day.


Gone to Return

Deep within my pulsating crimson restful flesh,
I mourned the day I lost track of a dear entity,
Differences poisoning the mind with a shut gob,
But a believer of the One, the Most Merciful,
Not a close relative but a very precious brother,
Emotionless did he become as if a soulless object,
Crucial thoughts wonder in the middle of nowhere,
Mirage oases to follow ignoring the nutritious forest,
Diving into confusions of the chaotic black abyss,
Soon to forget the hanging rope and my existence,
Returning to Earth under the seven heavens above,
With a greeting from the unsolved puzzled face,
Writing within my pulsating crimson restful flesh.

Sunday, 2nd of May 2010


Life Cycle

The waters of life break and a cry for life is craved,
Wrinkled moist skin soon to become a cuddly cushion,
Miracles of existence begin with domestic delicate arms,
Complete dependence, a leech, a monster, a parasite,
All but selfish accusations put upon a defenceless creature,
Rather, it is a treasure require cleaving and girdling,
Then polishing to produce an independent shining sun,
Ready to perform the rituals of cycle of life once more.

Wednesday, 21st of April 2010



When a grain of sand is put on an exhaustive scale,
And when the fires of hell unwillingly swallow him.

A nearly non-existent particle climbs a mountain,
Sitting on a golden throne taking a peaceful nap,
With a sudden gush of wind the particle goes downhill,
And to his logic, the cause of his misfortune is the mountain.

An atomic grain hitches a ride with a chilly wind,
Dives back down then swirls ending with a somersault,
Hysterical euphoria invites this grain to insanity,
And to his logic, the cause of his misfortune is the wind.

A piece of sand granule fell upon a horse from the sky,
Galloping throughout the grassland jumping over fences,
With a sudden halt the granule lost his grip and fell,
And to his logic, the cause of his misfortune is the horse.

When a grain of sand is put on an exhaustive scale,
And when the fires of hell unwillingly swallow him,
The logic becomes illogic and heart and mind crumble,
Suffocating as the books of infinite deeds assemble,
Giving them another day or an hour to be thankful,
To believe in Him, to worship Him and to love Him,
But even a mere second given, nothing will ever change.

Saturday, 17th of April 2010


Youth Today

I have seen today's youth pursuing a desirable but far mirage,
To them, a tender and honey voice produces a sixty second glory.

I have heard today's youth living on a miserable but wide edge,
To them, sixty seconds per day each day is what makes a day a day.

I have felt a stinging surface separating the society into selfish sectors,
To them, lighting colourful unneeded matches switches both sides.

I have drank the water from the abyss's well at the uneven wide edge,
To them, I made a surprise invitation temporarily abolishing books.

I have sat down next to those who wished death and rot upon me,
To them, salvation is by murdering the truth to live those sixty seconds.

I have played sports with professional winners at losing championships,
To them, a sacrifice is needed to win each game and to win the society...
... a merrier sacrifice is predictably achieved.

None shall become one under an umbrella until the light of faith
Shines through the horizons onto the hearts of mindful traders.

Sunday, 11th of April 2010


Poetry in my Opinion

Being in love with poetry makes you challenge others,
With, you know, words never heard before,
Or even if they were, like diamonds and gold,
They would be used in such a way to never be understood,
And the funny thing is we wait and expect compliments,
From those pompous illiterates who cannot read nor write,
This story began when I once wrote a marvellous piece of writing,
Along comes a young adult shutting me completely up,
Then he says, "What a rubbish piece of writing!"
(Excuse me! I spent seven weeks on that!)
"By the way," and, oh my, I knew exactly what he was about to say,
Changing the subject was easy,
As you would always look for his, the wacky arrogant, favourites,
And in this case jewellery, like diamonds and gold,
Though, dissimilar to my diamonds and gold,
I must say, I should have sticked to simple language,
But, the thing is, what makes a poet a poet?
Erudition, if you ask me.

Tuesday, 2nd of March 2010



When I was a child I lived on
a very large farm next to the
slums of a global city. My father
took care of the cattle, and if
something happened to an animal
it was cut off from our food. The
reason of this did not matter, and
my father was always to blame.

I migrated to your well-known
city, this city, at the age of fifteen
seeking a fair life. I did not want
my beautiful children to be blamed
for everything. Unfortunately, I
can see things here are but the
same, everything is always our
fault. That is just how the world
is, and no one will blame you for
not changing. Though, sometimes
I ask myself: "when will things
amend? When will we dare to do
things differently? When will we
learn from our previous cruel
mistakes?" That is only my
opinion. I am nothing, no one.

Tuesday, 23rd of February 2010


Life of a Child

I only see the world from my little brown eyes,
I do not know what the future holds or when will I be set free,
Orphaned young never good at hi's and goodbye's,
Aunt gazes at the horizon in front of the blue sea,
Breathing deeply under the moon with silent cries,
She speaks of a mournful war where we had to flee,
Scary things were thrown by planes flying in the skies,
She speaks of its ending when the war yearned to beget me,
Am I a very lucky child? Am I a devil in disguise?
Have I stopped the war? Have I caused the debris?
Why kill my family? Why act on a mere surmise?
Should I change my colour or beg on my knee?
She looks at me smiling; all the pain she denies,
She opens a new page treating me as a marquis,
Going to the park sliding down sitting on her thighs,
Then playing hide-and-seek and I count to thirty three,
Embracing my mother's ghost through painful cries,
Enjoying my father's ghost's company in front of the TV,
I only see the world from my little brown eyes,
I do not know what the future holds or when will I be set free.

Tuesday, 23rd of February 2010


Archives to Reopen

Please read the previous poem entitled 'Filed in Archives' before this one.

Gasping deprived souls,
On the floor,
Staring so aimlessly,
Against their wills,
In this hell,
Captivated, tortured, butchered,
Few last long,
All inevitably expire,
Except this one,
Since carelessness arose,
Ignored for seconds,
Screaming for power,
Gigantic emotions rush,
Joints rapidly restructure,
Releasing the chains,
Ostentatious deep inhalations,
Reviving once more,
Archives to reopen,
Recollections of old-times,
Needing unwanted souls,
Pure, gullible, frail,
Failure never returned,
Hands supporting body,
Standing on legs,
Souls comforting others,
Reflections of torture,
Dark clouds form,
Raining to cleanse,
Evolving white habits,
Reacting with walls,
Of this abyss,
Dissolving to bits,
Removal of confusion,
Steps to walk,
Stairs to climb,
Energising the soul,
Surviving once more,
In this life,
A chemical world.

Monday, 15th of February 2010


Filed in Archives

A deprived soul,
Found another one,
Just as empty,
In the abyss,
With locked chains,
Ferocious cries silenced,
By hellish whips,
Files to forget,
Archiving unwanted souls,
Pure, gullible, frail,
Breaking their wings,
Neck restrains applied,
Handcuffed by force,
Crawling in fear,
Hammering cracked bones,
Skulls wide open,
Fighting against them,
Abducting itself away,
Failure creeps again,
Cursed black habits,
Reappear amidst conflicts,
Wounds so insecure,
Awaiting their decay,
Nails holding souls,
Eyes to stab,
Never to see,
Tongues to iron,
Never to speak,
Throats to slaughter,
Never to breathe,
Drinking their blood,
None to rescue,
Continuous physical abuse,
Joints distinctly misshapen,
Risk of recovery,
Very very low.

Monday, 15th of February 2010


A Hurtful Departure (collaborative work) (edited)

Words from Um 3eesa's blog
Choice and compilation by Bu Thyab

If these were written by hand,
The ink would have smudged,
Beyond recognition,
Mixing with my ...

My insides are eroding,
My heart has turned black,
After burning for so long,
My heart bled ...

It is worse than having someone,
Make an incision in your chest,
With a hot, blunt metal object,
Dipped in acid, then rip your heart ...

My throat,
Has gone,
Very sore,
And my eyes ...

Friend-less when you came into my life,
Heedless and confused,
Friend-less I am once again,
But, I waste no efforts trying to fit in ...

Wednesday, 10th February 2010


The Sightly Blind (edited)

I have always felt your gentle presence at my street,
Emerging from its corners as a dainty little child,
Singing merrily as if a nightingale found its freedom,
Dancing randomly like a butterfly under my moonlight,
Blind as I am, though I cannot keep my eyes off you,
Wearing a yellow coat over my blue well-ironed shirt,
Fitting well with my nineteen-year-old black jeans,
Tried to polish my pair of old worn out black boots,
Groomed my hair, cut my nails, and tidied my beard,
Grabbing my stick and shoving my hat onto the floor,
My meeting starts as I say: "hello there! Care to help?"
Soon afterwards she walks me to my other streets,
As she departs smiling I return it my way and enquire,
"Will you be there when the first falling snow appears?"

Monday, 08th of February 2010


Born to Roar

'Born to Roar' is my newest poem, the longest, and my masterpiece. It took me about a month and a half to finish, and I am going to publish it online sharing it with the public, and without further ado, I present you with 'Born to Roar':

A glimpse into my ancient genes illustrate a remarkable era,
Lords after lords placing footprints with everlasting camels,
Travelling as tribal silhouettes creating a basic mapped arc,
Arriving as one of three hands upon the shore's only castle,
Strangling salted tears whilst scales suffer collateral damage,
Deterioration never occurred; rather Time had a blissful face,
Aye, bee, cee with successful hits and the hunted triumph,
Ceasing when the half DNAs caused the flamed symbol,
Praising the gloomy face of Time awaiting drastic mutations,
In a period where chains of downhill-streets is a one-way,
Except, the pearl grew ever wise, strong, beautiful, and pure,
Knocking down the belittled pulps of the fake bars of gold,
Then to beget diamonds from collisions of mystical energies.

A freshly ripened fruit sent by the emerald back to earth,
Its cushions were flat showing no mercy to natural wells,
Soon afterwards clang to the tree trying to regrow its stalk,
Alone and befouled if not taken by the delicacy of the pearl,
As water and Time accumulate this fruit welcomed many,
Except to its selfish eff as it becomes an echoic background,
Never lonely, stood by its side the other two 2-carat diamonds,
Initiating the operation brothers-in-arms king of the hill,
As if three musketeers aiming for the canopy of this tree,
Thus, Time on the sundial displays an alphanumeric mark,
Indicating the necessity in generating exponential growths,
Still in the process facing challenges and solving issues,
Trying to befriend with whom have books, platforms, notes,
Pretty regrettable in this era to behave the way I do not.

Twenty four, a flourishing and shining ambitious age,
Yet, the purest living person on Earth decides otherwise,
Cleaving and girdling the wildest forms of gemstones,
Then polishing them preparing for infamous galleries,
Asking Allah for the Hereafter's reward and why not?
Shoulder to shoulder with our beloved prophet's, amen!
Marrying Khaled Ibn Al-Waleed, with Allah's Will,
The pearl, a glowing star omitting optimistic aurora,
A smart engine driven by the sweetest honey and milk,
Blessed with the most delicate flesh yet unbreakable,
Lub-dupp lub-dupp beating for this nation's future,
If only Angels were to be seen, to be heard, to be felt,
Then this pearl would be mistaken for such a creation,
In the meantime, I kiss her hands and forehead thankfully,
My pearl, my pure, my angel, my friend, my future, my love.

Covalent bonds between three isotopic carbons,
Forming non-metallic transparent relationships,
As for stability, radioactivity of 14C has taken place,
Living half-a-life of over fifty-odd centuries,
Growing perfumes then grazing for dust industry,
Outsourcing to gain priceless benefits and profits,
Re-read to know if my tongue is placed onto sarcasm,
And then what? That is it; seriously, that is it,
Hence, pin-pointing them out whilst still admiring,
So, I ask you for opportunities such as these, any?
Rare, if none, and reason made this bond ever closer,
Similarly, another carbon I owe many adventures to,
Open-complex-minded, yet simple weird hearted,
Licks new individuals with sharp poisonous thorns,
Senseless person? Rather, too genius for me to write,
So, I accept you as my first double covalent bond,
And I agree to invite any flesh of fruits to bond with.

Cerulean gems endeavour along this invaluable crust,
Smiling whites then holding hands then hugging,
Their stalk illustrate different conformation,
Though, trusting the branch to grasp the same tree,
Eradicating aging differences, to support to protect,
Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, all in all,
To them I return from outsider's ruthless cave,
Rehabilitation is what I seek regrowing my vivid hair,
Kissing these gems planting them next to my flesh,
Keys to the agonised entities dispersing colourful flora.

The pulps of fake bars of gold act as rotten candies,
Fighting rebellious along the smirking half DNAs,
Vandalising every centimetre of this branched twig,
A once beautifully-carved well-maintained stem,
Yet, as selfish miners, exported fake bars of gold,
Some of them eat some of them as wild dogs do,
The pulps know but the snakes keep their distances,
Detesting such branches as we regrow ours back,
Lecturing us to stand by their side along half DNAs,
Welding the boring rusty iron-made cyclic chains,
We arise opposite to their frontier facing a clear-cut path,
To them I turn away and to them I keep my distance,
To them I give advice and to them I warn my rage.

I roar from the old white pillar; weeks, months, and years,
Resting on its shelter alongside another but to lease,
Having to state the facts and truths yet 300 kay stolen,
Never mind that but eyes upon eyes keen on its loss,
Yet, a new pillar obtained whilst the loss never reached,
I painted the first, wanting the second, but the third is alright,
Striving to gain the already-set goals; still to pit-stop,
Here and there; I, for once, spin around to foresee,
"I, forever, roar upon dusts that scar my beloved fruits,"
That is what I have foreseen, and here I blood my wrist,
For reason that the pillars are weeping on the monsoons.

Embedding the ech exx kay on this magical fountain pen,
The absence of the ess was noticed and I walk the steps,
There I saw a bunch of little marbles gathering around me,
Their chief progressed asking me about the gender benders,
Rather peculiar, speaking what he wants listening,
Joining his forces with unspeakable elicited guidelines,
Though, forced acceptance, and bait to those benders,
Negotiating policies between soft suffocating parties,
"I here declare that I succeeded and leaving grade three",
Then, surfing away on the threaded keys to obtain a hair,
Doing original funked-up rituals by the wells and the limbs,
A lady with an umbrella casting her wells onto decorative hats,
Lurky, yet the blueness of the mood cast enigmatic shadows,
Reincarnating Weimar after the brutal bloodsheds of the lords,
Half-truths of Aye Ech, Double You Cee, Jay Ess, rightly discounted,
And if failure was preordained; worry not for "history is in the past",
Cumulonimbus mammatus to suckle and precipitation of sweat glands,
Emphasise yourself by "I am science", thus, orange to digest,
And classes to stand, smile stand smirk stand, "headmaster!"
While enjoying pink sheets, 5 x 2 and 1st, then I vote green,
Danny the champion, Curley the swindler, Lenny the &#*$%,
Perceiving French Adiposity as Mrs. Frisby to Dragon,
I, for once, continued banana doodling to Krill's castle,
All in all for the love of my rollercoaster's electric shock,
Curled up in midair exhibiting psychic powers to preach,
Observatory's victorious reports plotting events down under,
Settling in, although such differences shall never be overlooked.

Behold, the desires of mankind opened its G-locked doors,
Mounting mysterious and ever so perplexing granite tiles,
Strolling along naively imitating those of the unfortunate,
Banging on the drums encircled by sneaky snaky figurines,
Then kneeling to the inner beauty of an already-taught entity,
Reciting to the drums rebooting its qualitative journeys,
To the rollercoaster reprogramming its engineered systems,
To the wells digging their dried bases; taken by surprise,
To the beaches constricting the invasion of risky waves,
And to the only fruit recollecting wasted energy drinks,
All together, this universe's cosmos bow to the Unseen,
Vow to bow and bow to vow for I, believing in Him, prostrate,
And the pearl's manual straightens this entity tying its knot,
Qualifying few examinations tested by emm cee que's.

The straight line is this fruit's offensive and defensive tactic,
Not even free first class e-tickets can alter this line's shape,
Though twelve is an appealing digit both left and right,
Anti-curvature devices installed onto this entity's fruit,
Preaching to believe and work for the Gracious One,
I, therefore, ROAR and ROAR and ROAR and ROAR,
"Is there not among you a single right-minded man?"
Qura'an, Muhammad, solid proofs upon solid proofs,
But talking to the deaf, displaying to the blind,
Explaining to the dumb; "Allah, guide us to this line",
Thus, hugging the seabed's mirror of the Arabian Gulf,
Walking on Mulu then prostrating in its largest cave,
Strolling along Kuching's National Park kissing its paper,
I, with Allah's Might, will forever march along this line,
Roaring onto those who demonstrate twelve to be appealed.

The scribbling coils itself unless it tastes marbles,
Manufactured by copious colourful companies,
Mingling with the majority, but few were persistent,
Crying after misplacing a bloody orange marble,
Teaching the other six words before going to bed,
A marble protested then the six words came into play,
Trying to recover them for around two decades,
Not just one, but a handful; rare spheres indeed,
The 4/3πr3 amplified as transformations commenced,
Subsequently meeting a large light blue opal,
A slightly configured pattern from an old dimension,
Holding it within my palm all through the storms,
Another opal lived, though pale yellow, very trivial,
And for untold reasons, large volcanic red opal shows up,
Patrolling the bananas of the marble-filled palm,
I wait on the day where I grasp that sizzling opal,
Farewell, for now, and I will to you, still seek.

I applaud as I flip my rollercoaster's piled boxes of files,
Finding a rhomboid-margined shiny surface of printed events,
My idol with an elite slogan: "well manners come first",
Arriving at the seasonal auction for this eff to buy,
Insecurity enveloped my flesh but giving it another go,
Belremaithah hit upon this tiny fruit to further nourish,
Then bouncing marbles pouring across soapy squares,
Punishing circular clothes for points to score,
Acupuncturing rectangles by pulses of short and high limbs,
White to yellow, then jumping onto blue halting on a red,
Blooding fruits behind bars holding something triumphal,
Hunting swords equipping their fashions for the coronation,
Watering the sails for another without a fisherman's approval,
Gaseous liquids gather around the cove writing a death note,
At the end of the day modestly reciting flawless Words.

Telescoping Sydney's visual dots riding my rollercoaster,
Burning them into a rewritable digital versatile disk,
Sorting them out into seven or so sovereign sectors,
Five of which I incessantly enjoy their companionship,
First comes first, bewildered by a fruit from aye dee,
No reason, under the sobbing sky, I call upon this fruit,
The knight in shining armour adopts me into salvation,
From whom I bump into many Emirati-flagged marbles,
To you from my entity to my fruit via my flesh I salute,
Now, opening speeches sending invitations all across,
After quite some time reading for a ceremonial chief,
Assiduous fruits from the facility approve the message,
Holding upper limbs to fracture stiff locked entrances,
Jumping off their facility denouncing mistreatment,
Enduring it all commemorating their rejoice and reunion,
A very old marble standing on shelves of the society,
Gazing at their blueprints and footsteps to account,
Hanging some whilst to others forming red carpets,
Kept a note marking the 'three-times as old as myself',
An absolute gentleman, and a mathematician I might add,
Though the likes of aye to zed appeared on Sydney's shores,
Inflicting constant conspiracies between yellow yolks,
Moralities diminished joining without a second thought,
Calling the logics of the rollercoaster against the extremes,
Despite the fact that eye ess owe cee smile at mirages,
A political and an artist advisor I shall be converted into,
The owe pee queue arr and ess penetrated my circle,
Singing with these marbles during dusk and daylight,
Doubting doubting doubting to never even question,
Perhaps that sort is typically called an innovative bond,
Stepping aside as Time conquers this era's dimensions,
Misguiding those of the unfortunate, the likes of jay et al,
Concluding on whose marbles glow from Arabic script,
Shining white onto the refreshed minty green background,
Awakening separate dots of the entity repairing its devices,
Aiding those in need and a sacred pillar to resurrect,
With much appreciation I honour them a calligraphy.

The rubbish remnants were compliantly passed over,
This applies to any entity rejecting charity foundations,
Or enslave themselves for false banners to piercingly hail,
Or cheaply sell every inch of their fruits to thirsty wells,
Or eliminate their self existence accepting a new lineage,
Or stamp trademarks on naïve fruits for selfish deals,
Or squeak lowly to bank just as to befall supercilious,
Or unjustly desking fruits from their black phonebooks,
Or raising sails over the wells while nothing to possess,
Or utilise the snake to fib and fib for any pathetic reason,
Or hold onto the book when wants and let go if wants,
Or limbs rejecting the wavelengths exiting the cove,
Or unleash warm alphabetic letters with deep sorrow,
Or seek scavenging vultures to laugh over mausoleums,
Or gently demean the precious stones I shelve elegantly,
I heart my fruit and entity and I heart who hearts me.

The flamed symbol granted its followers a ruinous wish,
Banished into the caverns of this humongous one tree,
Entrapment of our past stung its needle onto our necks,
Eye-dropping and drooling as alien stems advance ahead,
This tree then leant on its left listening to unworthy mumbles,
Living wills to write or seeking advice for advanced directives,
Sleeping in graves walking on a boulevard of broken dreams,
Though its DNA sustained it, watering the unstable roots,
Six others exist to preserve the steadiness of this forest,
And my eff is the founder of such a lovely nutritious soil,
Wishing world's scientists clone him thousand times,
Hoping for the restoration of our life, security, right,
Freedom, environment, family, culture and pride,
Hoping for the abolition of our corruption, discrimination,
Classed system, dependency, and lack of knowledge,
To the deepest valleys of hell with the foxes' formalities,
Obliterating bonds then respect to forcefully confiscate,
Open ............................................. minded,
Infecting the detrimental youth allowing Nido to wear,
Later, flour to fry faces into the fearless framed flocks,
Befalling upon brainless passersby as drunken phantasms,
To top it with spices, gents then grow garaged gardens,
Harvesting the seasonal lice for false banners to praise,
Nonetheless, finding fresh bright fruits bow in pillars,
Calling others to success and to practice sacredness,
Therefore, this vast forest shows a fantastic future,
Behold, advice your limbs, then your snake, and then your flesh.

A different species of tree coexisted in this poor fruit's life,
Peeling away its rich-in-nutrients outermost fleshy layer,
Carving yet another masterpiece though without a shadow,
Going back and forth allowing baptism and purification,
Holding back the bulk of agony suffocating all alone,
Slowly dusting off rusty weathered fruit's cranium,
Their lectured 'freedom' displaying it all without dignity,
Following the principles of our books yet no flesh to agree,
Corruption is handcuffed whilst honesty is bailed out,
Wireless network connection established for its persons,
Narrowing the gap with censorship devices to dismantle,
A few forgotten customary concerning crippled elderly,
Wearing through as plastic bags to firmly luggage,
Suburban grandsons arrive at the joyful anniversary,
Then deliberately forgetting the genes and its stalk,
Seeking twelve o'clock parties to binge and sniff,
Ordering menus from Maccas, the two o'clock culture,
Deserting the once child-suckling mother of sons,
No outer space to entertain except in gambling to wane,
Barely growling at the darker-than-black side of Time,
Muttering hysterically as Time imitate Grim's scythe,
Then a doctor administering morphine for palliative care,
Imperfect trees exist since the book is believed treacherous.

I roar whilst few squeal, meow, or disgustingly howl,
Indeed what lies under this life's crust is death of fruits,
Whilst entities utilise tickets of life buying valuable tools,
If appraised by the long sails of fruits then how to cuddle,
Better for the entity to reside within this six-walled area,
Worshiping Allah than becoming a stinking garbage,
Sins hunt us as Time lags since tee comes after ess,
Then comes U, me, and them with sins twisting our arms,
Ups and downs; where downs are sharp barb-wired fences,
Where ups are voices of wisdom impersonating Malcolm X,
Zealously following this straight line inviting the rest of you,
I roar when asleep as Dust particles create me into anew human race,
Roar to born the books for entities to read, understand, and work.

Monday, 18th of January 2010