- in the name of Allah -


A new year, yet I see such similar spins on things.



A Fish With No Bowl

while wells run dry and and lake beds turn to fields of dust, shrinks the world from a vast, flowing space to a patch of barely growing shrubs, deprived of life but still colored green, struggling to capture moisture and sun while vultures soar overhead, eyes sleek and gleaming. not every thing living found its path in peace and carefree seeming, many are those struggling to breathe, to lift heads above sand and from storms simply fleeing, no chance to worry about any decade of tomorrows, not enough seconds in minutes to see the sparkle of stars in skies and catch in glee their glimmers. alas for me to find myself in a world of losers and winners, where one consumes another to eat and sleep and stay warm in winters, I question my own tendencies, wondering the source of their ambivalence, whether chemical or neural or something of my soul inherent, where are the next steps if one felt "hell is other people"? if souls are sold without even knowing what made them whole or really in them? looking only with eyes and keeping shutters on hearts, opening doors but keeping from mirrors so far apart? once I imagined this to be misanthropy, but for people I have no hatred, only a sense of sadness and pity, for the world to be so spacious yet with vision so tunneled and specious. ironic words from the mouth of a fish roaming its imagination, lost from the bowl it once called home and now finding many paths to ruination, but it knows that somewhere, far out past the rivers and streams and lakes now all dried in their place, lies its ocean, a beautiful treasure holding safe all the hopes-that-once-had-been.