corrupt
visually the pendulums must look so beautiful
flowing in rhythm, in time, on course
but what about the darkness which arises
and flows blissfully between them
what about the wretched colour that sits there
that sting of their tongues
with more than just one mouth that talks
they have eyes in the back of their heads
keen-fully looking onwards and backwards, never inwards
gossiping between the two ears,
chanting la illaha illalla
with scarves wrapping away the reality
bubbles they live in
bubbles which never will pop,
see, we see what is outside,
we see the reality,
this treacherous world
but they can’t see past the material
they only care of worldly matters.
and so for what they do have, which we have not
they possess, and hold so tightly,
as if we would steal it
as if we don’t know what is buried six foot under
as if we are not reminded of what that is buried under the soil
that this house is more than just a home
its a burial ground for all that was lost.
so they hold tightly what is theres,
and so meaning what theres is not ours,
they begin to stalk, to protect what is theres,
I just wish to assure you
we know what is ours
but wallahi, I know from the deepest of my heart
that if what yours wasn’t yours anymore
I would give you all of mine
I wouldn’t think twice of what was mine.
because what mine is yours,
but sadly what yours is not mine.
I just wished that you saw more than this bubble of yours
the world is filled miracles and magic, and the galaxies and the Quran
goes beyond just the text
there is Power, deeper than we can imagine
so in a way
everytime you spit words at my face
you are not damaging me,
but only hurting your own souls
my soul is on fire,
burning to live
yours died a long time ago.
corrupt.