Snake.

Your lies were like wine, which blurred the lines of my reality  As I drank thirstily of you, I failed to see my city under siege.  Too intoxicated to retaliate and too enamoured to care, I became a ghost of a king, a mere shadow as I was hardly there.  Sobriety, though seductive, would have eliminated you.  So destructive of me to keep drinking when that was the last thing I should do.  Abandoned my awareness, replacing it with false comforts in the dark.  You were the only archer whose arrows would always hit my awkward heart.  Deserted by my disciples, autumn's leaves left the coldest winter when they died.  My screams could no longer be stifled, finally regained the strength to be immune to all of your lies.  New conscious eyes allowed me to see you for the first time.  You cowered in the corner pleading for another chance as you pressured me to drink until I was once again entranced.  That was the day your appeal melted away, stripped of your schemed, you were hardly the dream I had mistaken you for.  Awake, I reflect on how I remained numb and unaware as I sat naively wide eyed and how I was silly enough to trust a snake, assuming that one could ever play fair.  I called it love, confused though you had been devouring me alive right from the start, devoid of me, now we will see how you will ever survive without my blood pumping into your heart.

Compassion.

Inconsolable now, the collective unconscious of the world cries for the deserts that are no longer brown but red.  The oceans black from oil spills, all marine life placed in endangerment for the already rich governments to increase their greed quotient. The streets paved with the same poison that flows into our homes, numbing our minds as we succumb to the notion that we just might be this dumb.  Bombs are all that fall from the sky that once blessed us with rain and beamed on us through its magnificent sun.  War will not end until we refuse to attend yet the cycle begins anew then resets again.  Convinced by corporate slaves that we are in an emergency state, instead of helping one another, we lash out with hate, no safer now than we ever were yet mass hysteria increases from day to day.  Though my brother in the streets is no different from the rich, poor, or middle class, we are told he should help himself and hurry by, head turned, so fast.  Humanity abandoned, our focus on survival led us to forget what it means to be alive, selfishness and resentment isolate us from loved ones that once helped us thrive.  The damage we have done is far worse than we choose to accept as we continue to infect our Earth just because we can.  All that was once natural is now enhanced or modified, chemicals contaminate even our most sacred lands that filled our ancestors with pride, as we wring our hands as though it is too late to make a change because our hope has died.  The seasonal highs outdone by lows, as the climate we once knew abandons us  no longer wishing to compete with pollutants in the air or our twisted definition of progress.  Through robbing some of their civil rights, perceived threats were met with venom, eyes traded for eyes until the entire world went blind.  Deaf, and dumb to others' misfortunes or plights if they are out of sight, but instead entranced by happenstance, and scenarios that were most likely planned.  Ignorance is neither sadness nor bliss, but just the opposite of awareness; our beliefs our own to choose yet there is still senseless prejudice.  In the age of information, only we are to blame for staying uninformed, only we are responsible for conforming to the norm.  Free thinkers and light workers will help the world hold on, but until then all we can do is pray that compassion is just missing and not permanently gone.

Control.

There are moments in life where the only possible options are to lose control.  To simply let go, allowing the black hole that remained just out of sight to suddenly devour us whole, encompassing us in a darkness unmatched by even eternal slumber.  Those of us that are stronger, and can hold on for slightly longer continue to do so, avoiding, evading, ignoring until all is forgotten once again and brushed under the proverbial rug.  Then there are those of us who have tried so hard to remain standing, to stay upright pretending that we are immune to the overwhelming pressure that is gravity.  No, not us, we will not be shaken, even if just for one more solitary day.  We all tend to conveniently forget the support system that each and every single one of us possess and have had since the beginning of time.  Aside from our conscience (what greater than our most basic, natural instinct that helps guide us through the landscapes of our lives) some of our families, counselors, professors, friends and overall loved ones would love to hear from us; whether for guidance or even just an encouraging word or reminder that you still care. 

Deciding to lose control is half the battle whilst accepting it is the other half.  Firstly, we need to somehow convince our stubborn egos to accept that we can no longer cope with the paths which our lives have taken and need to reevaluate. Then we must constantly remind ourselves that we are taking the reigns and changing the course of our voyages.  Our ego responds with denial, doubt, anger as our defenses shoot up with the false belief that they somehow protect us.  Already in a state of vulnerability, we counter-intuitively make efforts to prevent ourselves from appearing vulnerable as our ego is rooted in image and others' perception of us.  We could desperately need to take a step back and relinquish control temporarily although doing so would portray us as weak, cowardly or unstable.  Asking for help when needed is often mistaken as a flaw although it is a strength; to be aware of and then utilize one's resources translates as being self-aware and almost humble to know and accept that you are loved and are so valuable.

Losing control, though seen as destructive, can be healing in that it allows us to take a step back and begin a metamorphosis of sorts.  I have lost control many times, of my emotions, impulses, and addictions, to name a few.  It is a traumatic experience to be centred on maintaining control and then having to accept that you are not in control; similar to a life's work dedicated to evolution and then finding out it was all fiction.  As someone with many compulsions, the energy I allocated to appearing to be in control was now free to be utilized to reeducate myself on how to maintain balance through a routine of sorts and by familiarizing myself with moderation, a concept which my ego regarded as inferior and an issue that only attached itself to weaker minds.  I convinced myself I was invincible and capable of anything I put my mind to, ignoring the rampant alcoholism within my family, conveniently forgetting my own mental health history and that to think in cliches was to become one. Perhaps these delusions of grandeur could be brought down to Earth during this period of change & growth.

BiPolar.

With my heart in the Antarctic, and my mind somewhere in the Philippines, it can become quite exhausting trying to grasp the intricacies of my extremes.  Blazing like a wild fiery inferno in one instant, then frigid, icy cold the next, my moods catapult conspiring to make me appear my worst and then immediately my best.  Though I resolve to reveal only the side of me that never frightens others scaring them away, when I am left untreated, it can go either way.  Depending on the day, I am unintentionally one's foe or their friend, irritability then rears its ugly face resulting in world's end.  I shout, swear, scream and then the storm is over as suddenly as it began, I hurry to collect the scattered pieces of a misunderstood man.  Although I hate playing the victim, I cannot be forced to take the blame, as though pointing the finger at me could somehow change the game.  Stretched to my limit in opposite directions many times throughout the day, this internal war pierces my skin with its shrapnel in the worst way.  On the surface, all is calm yet just below is another outbreak, as I summon all my strength to prevent any mistakes.  Comedy and tragedy in their duality are personified by me, though I would prefer to remain an anomaly, or mystery.  Torn between two arguments even though both contain logic and reason, I am not winter or fall, but rather the highs and lows of every season.  

Super Rich Kids.

Children raising themselves are the reason why sex sells, why petulance has become pedestrian and synonymous with prepubescence.  Parents that refuse to instill values or morals in their offspring, quickly reveal that they are the reason their children are dressed for the season but insipid and boring.  These babies are having babies, and only then do their parents wonder what the Hell they did wrong, as if nine months were the only indication they had for their list of discrepancies which was several sorry pages long.  Exposed to more skin during the day than exists in some pornography, influenced to lose more weight in the hopes of being told by complete strangers whether they are just plain or pretty.  Accepting challenges to pour alcohol into their own eyes or successfully inhaling and regurgitating condoms on their first try, I would blame it on their parents but they are nowhere in sight, enslaved by money as they model the behaviour that is eventually accepted as right.  In comparison, reality television appears to be overflowing with class, as the real housewives seem more scrupulous than these parents that refuse to teach their children how to last.  Suicides attempted from insults strewn on the internet, these kids, though in a rush to be adults, are so easily, irreversibly upset.  Confidence could have conquered their consideration of others' cruel critiques, as immeasurable insecurities immediately invalidate everything that they believed.  Devoid of the ability to rise above or see beyond, sticks, stones and especially words can easily break their fragile bonds.  Darwin held onto claims that only the fittest would survive yet somehow these devolved beings made it out alive.  If the future of the world rests in hands that are too preoccupied with their phones, mankind as we know it will die, replaced by derailing dial tones.

Possession.

Vulnerable and so open, suddenly more susceptible to choking.  Love and its possession are much worse than any demon, as they leave one feeling more powerless and devoid of hope than the most Godless heathens.  Shaken awake from my slumber, I have always been the problem and never the cure yet somehow I still manage to attract beauty in forms that are the most pure.  You say I lack ambition, that my bark is bigger than my bite although I retort by adding this to your list of superstitions and fears of creatures that go bump in the night.  I am a force to be reckoned with, always blessed with whatever it is my heart desires though it seems to only chase the things that guarantee to set it on fire.  Unafraid of being alone, in fact I thrive when I am on my own yet my fear of abandonment prevents me from ruling my kingdom from a lonely throne.  This king of sorrow at his best could leave even the eternally optimistic feeling depressed and then bereft.  I acquire all that I admire then watch woefully as it slowly begins to expire, instead of strengthening my foundation, I neglect it instead then fail to feign surprise when it, like everything else, flat-lines then is dead.  Dead on arrival, dead as a door, desensitized to death now that I have been here before.  Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, never shocked by the promise that things will indeed rust.  Conditioned to die are all things we adore, so it is always best to remember their impermanence before they, too, are washed ashore.  We naively assume that everything is built to last like the Titanic and other relics from our past which are here in an instant then taken so fast, so it is with all the things that we love, we should count our blessings before push comes to shove.

Human.

With each day I  take for granted, I vow to appreciate the next, blessed with the opportunity to once again look, feel and strive to be my best.  With my feet firmly planted, my morals no one can test, as I have been granted another day to conquer the world and put my limits to the test.  Some may call me an idealist though I am as real as they come, as I refuse to succumb to the notion that we must all acquiesce to society's rules that really only just make us boring and numb.  I can paint my own destiny, I am the master of my domain, though my moods and momentum may change in an instant, I am grateful that they change at all, as my indecision shows I'm living, and still standing despite my many falls.  Others' attempts to understand me often leave them more perplexed than when they began, I am an anomaly and I will not be defined or categorized by any other man.  A human being not one doing, I live and let live just as well yet I am still often the myth and then the legend that cowards and commoners attempt to dispel.  The subject and the predicate that illiterates will never know how to spell, I have won your game of thrones; I am the king of Winterfell.  Subjugated for far too long, I refuse to remain the victim of your abuse; either endure me or ignore me, your decision is your prerogative, I will not sit idly by waiting for you to choose.  You no longer hold the noose that tightens around my neck, no longer own the signature that validates my cheques.  My strength lies in my resilience, eternal proverbial phoenix rising from the ashes that I am, this is where you remind me of why your approval is even worth a damn.  Some have dubbed me the devil incarnate for I refuse to let anyone in, through the barricades I peer out through from inside my glass house made of equal sin.  You claim that I am worse than you and even with my ego subdued I cannot accept something so absurd as the final word, I have much more to offer the world as it is my oyster and I, its pearl.

War Crime.

In Berlin, you lost my concentration as you sent me to a camp, your vendetta more wicked than anything else under the sun.  I felt so atomic, as you took me to Hiroshima then Nagasaki, blowing me up from the inside out just for fun.  Your contempt for me unfounded, as I had only wished you well until you acquired a warrant to persecute me, you will pay for your sins eternally damned in Hell.  My strength restored, it's nuclear until you light a match so I explode; I would even live in Chernobyl just to show you that you are loathed.  Your holy war doused me with gasoline then attempted to burn me alive, as you misinterpreted the word and justified your actions with lies.  Neither tribal councils nor grand juries can take away my heart, try with all their might, they will never tear my world apart.  My honour stolen like women of war that pray for their lives to end, you toyed with my sanity, it was all pretend.  You only attacked at night, your cowardice could never be concealed, your attempt to rob me of my sight was when your evil was truly revealed.  I am through with lashing out or attempting to make you accept your wrongs, but disappointed with myself instead for trusting you all along.  Chased me from my own village, forced to leave the life I worked so hard to make behind, as I reach for the front page every day praying you will finally be tried for your war crimes.  My second tower hit by another lazy attempt of yours to dethrone me, whether suicide mission or not, you were our relationship's Kony.  Now you threaten me with missiles that failed to deploy but don't exist, your papa would surely preach about your disservice to the Iron Fist. My confidence was the greatest casualty of your genocide that targeted me, I only had to learn to trust again but you will forever be a menace to society.

Serial.

Like Gilles de Rais, you feigned innocence so well, although you were heads and tails above the other inhabitants of Hell.  You watched with mock horror as Joan d'arc burned to a crisp at the stake, salivating as you fantasized about the next life that you would take.  You massacred me without an ounce of remorse until the deed was done, then you wrung your hands in agony as though grieving the loss of a loved one or a son.  Always a romantic, you saved my skull to keep as a twisted souvenir, Jeffrey Dahmer himself would be proud of how quickly you made me disappear.  Like a skilled magician, one shake of your wand and I was gone within an instant, amplifying your charm, you convinced the audience that my name in flashing lights was just a misprint.  Now follow me across the pond, where you gave new meaning to the red light with your silver knife, staying true to your idol Jack the Ripper as you sacrificed many ladies of the night.  White chapel turned into Red brothel as it searched but failed to discover your identity that still remains a mystery, your cold case and flawless escape ensured that you went down in history.  You fancied yourself a womanizer, believed you were irresistible to girls everywhere before you removed their hair, I would have sworn you were Ted Bundy, if he hadn't been a casualty of the electric chair.  Although I fail to find the humour in your murderous and senseless killing sprees, you seem to find it funny that you can be held accountable for the reason why clowns can send some adults cowering onto their knees.  Your contributions to society became null which each body that you claimed, wasn't it crazy, John Wayne Gacy when your crimes resurfaced as the killer coursing through your veins.  Multiple murders were your downfall and your disease, you should have stopped when you were ahead, then perhaps you would have been spared instead of being condemned to join the rightfully vengeful dead. Copycat killer, your crimes were just cheap imitations that still surrendered your salvation.  Rest in pieces never peace for the pain you inflicted on all of your innocent victims other than me, divine intervention will ensure that your suffering lasts in your afterlife eternally.

Fulfillment.

In the event that one day my mind malfunctions and ceases to exist, I pray that I have lived enough to be overcome with bliss as I sink into the abyss.  To simply hear the laughter of my children or to wipe away their tears when they are afraid, would be adequate compensation for the neuroses; possibly even a fair trade.  I want to be able to reflect on the lines of my face with pride, free from remorse and full of grace as I replay my memories of better times.  Devoid of guilt and confident in the life that I have built, I will live my life in such a way that even the process of remembering it is a thrill.  Every adventure containing enough excitement for one lifetime, each challenge accepted not just for the opportunity but the lesson it would provide.  By seizing each new day and being thankful for every breath, I am not afraid to accept that all good things come to an end.  Equipped with the knowledge that we all arrive here with an expiration date, I have always believed that we are the masters of our own fate.  By taking the reins and accepting that which we cannot change, we ensure that every moment counts until we arrive at our soul's final interchange.  Though two roads diverged in a yellow wood, I chose to appreciate the allure of both instead of accepting, like everyone else, that only one could possibly be good.  I want my future hands to be intricately carved with deep, discerning lines to tell the story, of a man who understood the value of everything in all its magnificence and glory.  Unburdened of grudges that only make us uglier day by day, I plan to forgive, forget and fumble on without allowing hatred to lead me astray.  Every second will be cherished as time can not be wasted, my mouth will fill with flavour as I thank God for all of the wonderful foods I was fortunate enough to have tasted.  I know I will be fine when I reach the finish line, despite the loss of my mind, I will still know that all the love I have ever received was enough to transcend space, consciousness and time.

Human Race.

It was often assumed that because of the colour of my skin 

that I would be inarticulate or unintelligent, 

as if a person’s worth was measured by the content of their melanin.  

I was ashamed my parents were from Pakistan when I was young, 

then I grew up and realized that it was society, and not me, that was wrong. 

Ostracized by my peers because of their inherited ignorance; 

often confused, I tried to ignore my own dissonance.  

Although I was born in Alberta and this was the only life that I had known,

I started to believe that my race was a sin for which I could never atone.  

Disenchanted by the discrimination, I began to lie about my ethnicity, 

unable to reject my ego’s stubborn insistence that race, colour or creed were direct reflections of my identity.   

As I matured, I gained the confidence I desperately needed; it was my finest hour. 

Until my celebrating was shattered by news of two airplanes colliding with the twin towers 

by nameless, and Godless cowards.  

I began to feel diseased, like my skin was covered in cancerous fleas. 

The world suddenly seemed to turn on anyone that even remotely looked brown;

bigotry was blind to whether someone was from the Middle East or Cape Town.  

Targeted and then debased, 

history repeated itself like slavery, civil rights movements and genocides that our ancestors were forced to face. 

Disgusted by the human race, our creator sighed 

by the way we had evolved and diverged from our pure states. 

Though I always identified as a Muslim, I began to feel displaced 

as I had been raised to love everyone regardless of their beliefs, values or race.  

Never told to condemn another human being as I was taught as a child that we were fundamentally the same. The omnipresence of threats of jokes about curry at my expense was actually a blessing 

as they showed me that I possessed wit and resilience, something my tormentors were severely lacking.  

To this day, blanket generalizations are the one thing I cannot tolerate; to demonize an entire group because of one person’s hate filled mental state is only successful at revealing that one is illiterate.   

It has become more common to invalidate our bonds 

than to appreciate the longer list of ways in which we relate.  

The similarities from one human to the next are endless and astounding, 

from the placement of each atom that we are to our anatomy; 

yet, we are tricked into being afraid of our own brothers, explain to me again why and how this is a democracy. 

Aware that social categorization is the cause for viewing things in terms of us and them,

as though some of us are made of dirt whilst others are somehow gems.

We have delineated from love because of centuries enraged by different ways

of praying that it is not too late for the world to change.