4 A.m Bicycle Ride: A Poem

When you’re biking around at 4 a.m,

The world is lavender.

At least if you stay to the right of my house.

When you bike towards the left, 

There are yellow hues emanating from the horizon.

The horizon you just cannot see,

Because of trees, but mostly Because of this blasted civilization.

You can’t see the sun, but it’s telling you it’s alive, that it’s coming, that it’s almost here. 

When you bike down the road parallel to the street my house is in,

There is a blue and yellow sky, and the approaching daytime on your left,

And lavender to your right, with the moon still shining proudly against the purple, peeking out from behind clouds of grey.

And ahead of you, you’ll see a lone star,

Guiding you God knows where,

When all the other stars have dimmed in honor of the coming day.

The world isn’t quiet at all, neither is the noise static.

There are birds chirping, and the sound of someone sweeping, in some house, somewhere.

The world is alive and it wants you to know it.

But at 4:20 a.m, the world is willing to let you be by yourself just for a little while.

It is willing to be the background you silently marvel at the beauty of.

And that is all you need from the world in that moment.

You might think this isn’t poetry.

It’s just sentences about obvious things like the colour of the sky when the sun is starting to rise, but hasn’t risen yet.

But I dare you to go for a bike around 4 a.m on a June morning,

When it has rained the night before,

And the world is alive and it’s colours are sharp.

The moisture that everything has soaked in,

Is almost tantalising, except you’re alright because it’s just the beginning of your fast.

I dare you to experience the beauty of everything being alive and you being alone in it’s midst.

And I dare you to not call it poetry.

It’s Ramadan, so after Sehri (the pre-fast meal that we eat just before the sun can begin to rise), and after praying Fajr (first prayer of the day), lazy ol’ me went for a ride on my bicycle, and saw things more beautiful than I could ever dream.of being. This is the poem I wrote when I got back. It’s meant to be a spoken word piece though.

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Art

I can feel art beating in my heart, flowing in my veins, clawing at the walls, turning summersaults in my memory and taking form, but I’m failing at finding the words to let it out.

 

I Would

I’d show you my scars, but they’re too well hidden,

I’d show you my laugh, but I’ve made it too common.

I’d paint with my words, it’s pencils that fail me,

I’d sing to the deaf, at the top of my voice.

 

I’d be broken and torn, if I wasn’t so stubborn,

I’d be in danger or more, if I wasn’t so scared.

I’d live more and yet less, in this temporary web,

I’d see colors of light, refracted through tears.

 

I’d break through the walls, if I hadn’t worked hard to build them,

I’d fail to be strong, because I often do.

I’d ask for you too, if I was someone different,

I’d give you myself, if I was that weak.

 

And I’d tell you the truth, if I was sure I knew it,

I’d give you the answers, if I knew what they were.

I’d tell you my tale, if I knew how to spin it,

I’d open my soul, if I hadn’t lost the key.

Look Into My Eyes

Look into my eyes

And tell me

That you can see it too

Me and you

The possibilities

and the likelihood for happiness

Look into my eyes

And show me

That the only reason

We don’t know

We’re right

Is because we’ve never tried

 

Look into my eyes

And burn through

To my mind

And like

What you see

But respect it more

Look into my eyes

And agree that we

Don’t know if we’ll be perfect

Together

But we can’t be

Completely wrong

 

Look into my eyes

Just once

And then look away

Not because all you say

Are lies

But because you’re lowering your gaze