Poetic Verses

Poetic verses (different genres)

Forgetting In Progress ……

‘urm yeah so where was I ?’

I say after a long conversation and someone distracts me, 

as soon as the conversation is about to become interesting

I grit my teeth with irritation and pure annoyance ticking in my brain, I depend on my friend to ”remind me” as I look at her sharply

making my eyes look like lines more than anything

I try to recall it … unfortunately my poor memory can not find the missing puzzle of my dialogue,

”urm …yeah so where was I ?’ 

Rukia Mohamoud Copyright © 2014

Seneca

‘Prosperity fosters bad temper’- Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Natures Acapella

I want to sing him the blues , maybe even midnight and you ,

change an instrumental in to purely vocal , hum it and steal natures exquisite music,

thunder-claps watch as I separate my tongue from my palate .. I claim the sounds of nature as mine ,

make tides look as though they were pearls intertwining amidst the acoustics of the air , I catch it compulsively ,form the letters of his name against condensed vapour ,

Press the carvings of his hands into my soul so he can clutch and claim it,

Requiring the need of entertaining his aura, as it strikes me, I dance with his shadows like how willows wave during monsoon season.
Inter-knitting our knot knit into one cloth sewn from the same thread then bonded with an embroiders incision leaning against eternal promises, with great care and precision I notice his scolding gaze , find a fuse between our hearts with amps and volts as he triggers me with his persona

I want to sing , sing requiem as though it was never made for drama , find solitary peace in hearing his voice as I echo back with the sounds of nature as mine , vivid circles circumference us , as life solves our ratio as 1:1

Rukia Mohamoud Copyright © 2014

Literary Habits Of Alliteration

Mimicking the mimesis . meddling with metaphors . momentarily creating moments of suspense

Spiking a shock wave through your spinal , speaking of soliloquising your psyche , assonance assisting a sentence ,

Cacophonous consonants confidently causing cuts like a carcass on a coral reef,

Euphonies looking for empathy ,etymology enhancing the experience of eloquence ,

Fiction fixing the facts in to falsehood ,

Mythology making mysteries blend with history , mixing the minds of the masses as though on morphine , magically merging in to modernity

Rukia Mohamoud Copyright © 2014

Is it true ?

is it true that the world is getting deeper and deeper into economic depression ?

is it true that the world is polarizing ? 

that so many forgot about the beauty of cohesion
that so many forgot the value of financial stability

is it true that the world is blinded by materialism

that we forget the very importance of attachment , like John Bowlby’s theory
that we regress instead of progress in-to a world of gluttony

is it true the laws are flawed like Freud’s false theory ?

is it true that justice died long ago from MPD ?

that many forgot the true definition of right
that many love to act wrong

is it true that the oppressed are seen as meek and the oppressor is seen as strong?

that we forgot enduring pain , is part of firm resilience of a force that we conceive as ‘powerful’ but deems to be its oxymoron

is it all a lie, a deception we are living ?
or do we love the truth enough to accommodate it in our souls uphold it in our actions and speak it on our tongues , grasp it on our phalanges, embrace it with our captivating hearts
that no,
we will not cease to seek the truth

is it true that we live in the era of ignorance?
that the lands in-scripted , engraved with pensive knowledge have been dismantled ,man-handled , distorted
made as cemeteries where in graves , the dead morn
scholars and men of knowledge decapitated

the masses irate

or did I mis-state it ?
mis-taken for the many observations
I was nothing , but taken by my teeming conception
misplacing the knots of misconception

Rukia Mohamoud Copyright © 2014

 

I want to write

I want to write a poem

a poem so intense , that letters convert into lenses to help us travel through history

I want to write about untold tales and mysteries

a poem that causes nothing but misery

I want to write a piece about possible peace that makes those who read shudder from their crown to their feet

a poem that causes nothing but silence, halting the violent winds of war

I want to move similes so much as if it were emotions , frowning , smiling and crying

a poem that adds verbs to adverbs

I want to shift shapes like shape shifters

a poem that causes damage like aches and splinters

I want to write a poem as irritating as split ends and as heart breaking as split ends of the earth’s hemisphere

a poem that awakens unity and fears separation

I want to write a poem that sees , feels , smells and hears

a poem with less deprivation of expression

I want to never end this poem unendingly

a poem that adds new words to the dictionary

I want to write a poem that’s as perfect as symmetry

a poem that reconstructs and redefines geometry

I want to write a poem with acoustics and melody

a poem that I can dance to , one that reminds me of sun is shining by Bob Marley

I want to write a poem that’s as revolutionary as Marcus Garvey

a poem that stings like a bee and that’s as fly as Muhammad Ali

I want to write a poem that makes abridged poems look elongated

a poem that makes vertical lines look like your only horizon

I want to write a poem with side effects

a poem that creates remedies through ancient antidotes

I want to write a poem with musical sound waves

a poem that hits every note

Rukia Mohamoud Copyright © 2013

The King of Society

This is to the lion, the king of not the jungle, but society

Father, colloquially known as Dad

The mothers are the needles and the fathers are the medicine

Mother keeps you going with care

And father shapes your condition with wisdom and discipline

Although strong and firm with his scolding look of a hero

His smile is brighter than the sun’s rays and the moon intertwined

Without him life wouldn’t function, like the number ten without a zero

Life is Nil without him                                

Except that my first provider is Allah

Second I put my father

The weight on his back was for him as easy as one, two, and three

Though in all honesty it was a burden which even the earth failed to carry

The qax (War) does not come to memory, my mind and thoughts were too fragile then

But my evidence is with in the settlement I’m currently in,

Without him I would have been the child in which upon his head was a pistol

How evil killing unjustly, even an infant that is oblivious is under tension 

Tell the first lines of your name, and if you’re not one of us

Then BANG!  With in a split of a second you behold the blood and bones splattered on the surface of the ground or soil in which it bears a plant called qabil(clanism), killed because of division, because of disorderly thinking war mongers 

Alhamdulilah we escaped it, and I’m not left without my hero

Knowing papa’s struggles makes me produce tears from the glands of my eyes, although still in his presence

Even one thousand gallons of tears would not be enough to describe his strife

And yes this is to the lion the king of not the jungle, but society.

Rukia Mohamoud Copyright © 2013

 

It’s Satan that blinds us

Lust that lies to us

Love that binds us

Beliefs define us

Humanity ties us

Hatred that hides us

Mercy that finds us

Arrogance despises us

Knowledge shines us

Ignorance defies us

The Lord reminds us….

That we’re Human kind ‘us’

 Rukia Mohamoud Copyright © 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Passing of the Past

The Passing of the Past
With a delicate touch as soft as pollen flaring.
You roughly turn back the hands of the watch , its rigid edges screech like an engine running on empty ,
unravelled , immersed in one clog of poignant reminiscence, mourned the passing of time ..fast forward the future dispatched with an abundant mass of vivid moments ,
the past is quenched with dust particles as they depart like ants escaping a trench,

dirt purifies dirt , of course we conceal it just to later reveal it ,
passing of time
as ripened fruits bare the beauty of its roots adorned by the future , headlines engraved on the headstones ,
talking of every milestone you had to endure to reach your endeavour and the ominous tongue of the past wants to gulp you again ,

as you run to the cocoon of the future ,taking heaps of experiences and wrapping it around your finger like hoola hoops on waist ,
but no waste just disposed of those who depicted nothing but disgrace , ashamed of their existence so they decided youd be their blue print , carbon copy ,
but you stood up and didn’t take their experiments , you boycotted their campaigns by simply protesting with vigorous resistance ,

and now my ink dries as my tears dried long ago ,
for I no longer mourn my past , my soul should forever prevail without no interference
only God could be the one to intervene in my blossoming future as im reborn in a new psyche of vigilance
Rukia Mohamoud Copyright © 2013

‘Understanding …

‘Understanding is my canvas and knowledge is my masterpiece’

Rukia Mohamoud Copyright © 2013

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 57 other followers