Verbaliser

verbaliser

I realise it’s not fair to always write in english when my first language is french.
Voila donc mon premier essai de poesie en français, j’espere que vous apprecierez.

Se voir, se regarder, s’observer
Vouloir, pouvoir, reflechir, se desister
Essayer, balbucier, parler, s’apprecier
Apprecier, proposer, s’echanger, s’appeler
S’inviter, discuter, se lire, se comprendre
Se revoir, echanger,se seduire, s’inquieter
Hesiter, resister, ceder, s’enlacer, 
s’embracer, aimer, recommencer, remercier les dieux
Se rapprocher, s’engager, accepter, se mettre à deux
Rire, sourire, respirer, sentir
Sauter, dancer, se reinventer, revivre
S’abandonner, s’organiser, planifier, s’imaginer
Se toucher, se caresser, y penser, renoncer
Insister, être tenté, y repenser, se laisser faire
Introduire, ressentir, aller et venir
Jouir de l’instant, Gemir, orgasmer, devenir un.
Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq mois passés
S’habituer, se lasser, s’ennuyer, remettre en cause
Remarquer, espionner, verifer, s’aperçevoir
Changé? transformé? degoutée, realiser
Regretter, se convaincre, lutter, abandonner
Discuter, se disputer, decider, se separer
Se negliger, se desinteresser, s’isoler, pleurer
Deprimer,  fléchir, s’enthousiasmer, puis se relever
Repartir a zero, reprendre sa vie en main, vivre
Puis un jour, se revoir, se regarder, s’observer
Vouloir, pouvoir, reflechir, continuer son chemin.

You’re just not there.

Come_Back_To_Me_1600x1050_by_Dmaghar

I have so much to tell you, But you’re just not there.
And I realize that you’re not coming back.
I try to convince myself, But I can’t find the words.

I wanna tell you I finally did it, I accepted myself.
I made peace with all the demons that I emprisoned in my head.
Everyday I’m excited for all these changes in my life.
I wanna share everything with you, but you’re just not there.

I wanna tell you I got this contract we both talked about.
They opened their arms to me and welcomed me like a brother.
It’s incredible how people just want me to  speak my mind.
I want you to live that with me, but you’re just not there.

I wanna tell you my hands started shaking again
And when they shake follow smiles and tears; people feel my writings.
But, would you even bother? You’re just not there.
Therefore I try to convince myself, But I can’t find the words.

My friends expect me to be stronger, but they don’t know.
They don’t know how sad and desperate I am for losing you.
I’ve been looking for myself so long, that finally someone found me; It was you.
You took me to an emotional lift; There, and back again.

Maybe that’s why I see you everywhere, you’re everywhere.
I see you in Van Gogh’s paintings, in Beethoven’s Für Elise.
It’s funny but I actually counted the number of short haired girls in town.
But the situation don’t allow me to see you, I hate separations.

I wanna tell you that my eyes can’t see without yours looking at me.
I wanna tell you that my heart beat is deranged without you next to me.
I am just a silly poet; “Look at it, touch it, eat it but don’t swallow it.”
I realize that you’re not coming back, but it’s so hard to turn the page.

I have so much to tell you, but you’re just not there.
And even if I can’t find the words to explain why you left so brutally.
I leave my door wide open, in case you ever come back.

Can we get back what we lost?

A story and a poem. A story in a poem.

Aicha is an eleven years old girl,
whose smile in the morning makes everyone happy.
She has brothers and sisters that she loves a lot.
She has a dad who is really proud of her.
She is the major provider of the family,
Despite the fact that she has much elder brothers.
“You’re doing the right thing”. 
That’s what her dad told her
The day she to had to marry a fifty years old man.
A man that is five times her age.
A man that would come back home drunk,
And would belabore her if the food wasn’t ready.
“You’re doing this for the family”
That’s what her sister fatima told her.
Because he’s also the man that brings food to her dad’s house.
Every day she has to Prepare her children in law for school,
And stay home to clean the house and make love to her husband.
Aicha is an eleven years old girl,
Whose cries at night, only reach her mum in her grave.
Will Aicha ever get back her happiness?

Mariam is a seventeen years old girl,
She ran away from the hell of her house and joined a shelter
She left to have a chance to get a life
 In order to take her younger sister out of her misery.
She refused to listen to her friends who told her to join their brothel
“I prefer to earn crumbs than to sell my body, 
My God does not permit that”
So Mariam works hard; Her life depends on it.
Thinking about her poor little sister, she works harder.
Every morning before five she walks to a small village out of town
Where she buys a huge bucket of oranges
That she tries to sell in the market
Before she goes downtown in the afternoon 
Clean up three houses, where she’s a part-time maid.
And then goes baby-sit a nurse’s son who comes back at ten.
It’s while going back home one night that she has been grabbed by a man.
He was more powerful and was putting her to the ground.
She couldn’t see his face, he was wearing a hoodie and sun-glasses.
No matter how much she cried, he wouln’t stop.
God himself came down, and  said nothing; she felt the pain.
Rape is proper to humans. 
Which other animal can make love with hatred.
A man has been arrested for this crime,
But Mariam cannot find peace in the mind; judged as “the raped girl”
Will Mariam ever get back her dignity?

Malik is a twenty two years old young man,
He is what we can call sociologically correct.
He doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink, doesn’t even watch violent movies.
He is always there for everyone in the neighborhood.
They call him their angel.
But Malik’s only problem is his dad.
He hates him since the day he lost his mother.
His dad was his shame, a burden he had to carry all his life.
Having a drunkard and paedophiliac as a father
Doesn’t make you want to stay home a lot.
This night Malik takes his hoodie and sun-glasses and goes for a walk
One step after the other he forgets everything, all that sorrow.
Suddenly he hears people running, looks back
They’re running after him, afraid he starts running too.
You run fast when your life is the gage.
But they’re faster than him, and catch him.
When Malik sees their police armband, he asks what he’s done wrong.
They call him a rapist before he gets  beat up like a dog.
The next week his face is all over the news being called a psychopath.
Malik is devastated, victim of his people, victim of his world.
In the trial court, he looks at the “raped girl” and cries.
She is so young, but her life has been removed from her body.
However behind these marks  is hidden a face that he recognizes
He tries to get closer but the chains don’t allow him.
So he looks harder, and harder before saying “Mariam, is that you?”
He then looks around and sees them, they are all there. And now he realizes.
The irony, accused of raping The elder sister of his father’s eleven years old wife Aicha.
No one believes  him, they all see the devil in him. All, except the jury.
Not Guilty was the verdict. That’s what he was, not guilty.
But Guilty to everyone’s eyes. Even to those who called him their angel.
Malik is a twenty two years old young man
Coming back from jail, at the border of madness, blaming the system, blaming the society.
Will Malik ever get back his innocence?

Every day we lose things and say it’s nothing.
We lose people and say they’ll be fine where they are. 
We all have the ability to accomodate with loss.
We believe that as long as we don’t think about our loss we’ll just be fine.
But when we lose unfairly the only thing we cling to
We lose more, we lose hope, we lose ourselves (my case).
In a desperate manner we ask ourselves “can we get back what we lost?”

Thought 7. Do Something.

eeseul24

Image

 

Do something, anything except live in apathy.

 

Love someone. Love something. If you cant feel for anythinng strongly enough to love, just Like something. Do it over and over again cause it makes you happy, satisfied, content.

 

Don’t feel it yet? Do something for someone else. Let someone else experience what you cannot. Let someone else feel/ believe in something/ someone. Facilitate their experience/ feeling/ belief. Just don’t live you life here passively. 

 

Just cannot feel positive? Hate someone. Hate something. Let that hate drive you to do things. Rebel against what you hate. Let it know you hate it. Demand to see life’s manager. Throw life’s lemons back at it.

 

Just do something!

 

Feel sad, lonely, depressed? Cry. Throw things. Try not to hurt yourself. Wail your heart out. 

 

Forgive. Forget. Listen. Remember. Make up with someone. Make out with someone. Walk…

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Bekele, Milady and Angelica

“_What are you writing?
_My soul.
_Who are you writing your soul to?
_To my world Milady, to you.”

Milady is my queen, she’s my number one I swear.
She made me a lover. She likes when I say that,
but she was destroyed when she found out that there is a number three.
I’m such a bastard, I promised her all my love.
But I have too much love, she should like sharing it.
She didn’t talk to me for months, that was not fair.
So… Dinner, flowers, jewels. Well, I apologized.

Bekele represents the fury in innocence.
She’s fragile, sweet but venomous.
In the vegetable world she would be a carnivorous plant.
Let’s say she’s my princess, and I’m her dragon.
She tried handling Milady, not a big success.
“Tell her to get her hands off me”. Yeah, Milady can be a bitch sometimes.
But Bekele has something special; She believes, she made me a believer.
That flame in her heart, that’s why she means the world for me.
No one really understands our relationship, including me.
Especially when she asked me “Who is that whore?”

She is not a whore and her name is Angelica.
She gives me wings, and makes me see in the unimaginable.
She is Angel Gabriel and I’m virgin Mary.
I’m always high with her (literally)
She’s my LADY and I’m her SIR.
She opened my eyes and made me a discoverer.
That was necessary; I discovered that she is a serial heart-breaker.
But I’m not afraid, mine is in diamond.
When the time comes, I will marry her.
And prove to the world that when the ugly meets the weird
Something wonderful comes out of it. But for now she’s my mistress.

Milady makes it possible for me to communicate my emotions; She’s my HEART.
Bekele brings me joy everyday, she makes me laugh so much; She’s my HART.
Angelica brings me the light, I’m so proud of what she will become; She’s my ART.
They are all part of my life, just like they are part of yours.
Identify your Milady, your Bekele and your Angelica.
Because when you truly love and believe in what you do, then only you discover your true potential.

She made me an artist

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Talent and imagination are incorruptible values,
but love; love instead is learned.
And yes, she taught me.

Re-wire your brain,
you and I are gonna do great things together she told me.
Blank sheets and a pen, what more do you need?
What else do you expect from life?
Stop thinking and let your creativity take over.
But I was skeptical.
How would I allow that distorted mind to say a word?

Re-wire your brain , Beauty is all about love she told me.
Accept and love the man in the mirror before you love me.
Those drawings looked like scratches for me, but meant so much to her.
Those fingers are destined to greatness.
You don’t have to dig in for memories,
Hold my hand and let’s express the future.

But I held something else,
too preoccupied contemplating and exploring that perfectly designed body .
God is a hell of an artist I thought.
I want to draw your music she said.
Just close your eyes and caress Milady.
I don’t want to get lost, hold my hand I told her.

But she held something else.
I was levitating, re-discovering the world.
How can you not love a girl who loves what she does?
You guessed it; she held my heart.

Oh my God ! I’m in love, it’s a beautiful day.
I was not on cocaine, heroin, methamphetamine, not even on caffeine.
But time was too slow for me.
Yes she was my drug, I was on her.
And like an addiction I needed more and more of her.
I wanted to express the beauty of her complexity.
I would write a book just to talk about her eyes.
She was my muse.

And when she finally broke my heart.
Re-wire your brain, I’m not yours, she told me.
The end of something beautiful could be the beginning of something horrible.

The sky has fallen, but I couldn’t be sad.
She left me but that love is still there.
It lives every time I take a pen and some blank sheets.
What more do I need? What else do I expect from life?
The end of something beautiful could be the beginning of something magical.

I am (????)

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I live in Australia, in Iceland,
in the most isolated area of Papua
and also in synagogues every week end.
I was born in a world of darkness,
formed in darkness; cause of darkness.
Light is easily misused, even by those who love me.
I draw my strength in their love,
and give a meaning to their miserable lives.
Basing their lives on me. Justifying their lives due to me.
I am no one to take the blame.
Yet they do this to give me a name.
What has happened to humanity?
Why is the world so in need of my existence?
Is it possible to be so misunderstood?
Their plane is free falling but all they see is freedom.
I reached the overweight,
but they keep feeding me with extraordinary stories.
Some people attempt on my life, but they see theirs being taken.
I am real because I am man-made,
but I am imagination because I live in their head.
And before human kind gets rid of me, and embrace true compassion,
They will kill each other for me, yet I am no one to take the blame.

Pondi is over

Pondicherry-Harbour

We whisper “I love you, I love you too.”
Is it the sea, or the swing that makes it magical?
Here we are, grown up but so young,
thinking that time is ours.
I felt so powerful.
I thought we could pass any obstacle together,
but did she?
How I loved looking at her watching the sea
to find some patterns in it.
How she loved drawing when I was playing Milady.
I lost my crown. Maybe I lost my head too.
I still remember that awesome first kiss,
but does she?
Life is what it is, I guess
and for every Wonderland there is the real world.
But NO! Time is not ours, we belong to it.
And unless we become one,
even together, we wouldn’t be able to pass the smallest obstacle.
Expectations; where’s the evil in this good?
Pure Karma.
I will do what’s necessary to get Pondi back,
but will she?
Pondi was extraordinary, way beyond imagination.
But Pondi is over. So are we.
And here we are, so young but already grown up,
whispering “I hate you, I hate you too.”