UNORDINARY FRIENDS

Unconsciously we’ve built that kind of bond shallow minds constantly fail to conceive

They were never made to but the great minds that do work hard to achieve it

They thieve at moments of their lives trying to sieve through the grains of people

And they wonder why compared to us, they come up with nothing but dust

Compared to us nothing quite as robust as the trust between two souls of one mind

We’re best of friends… best of the unordinary kind.

The relationship hard to find between chromosome X and XY but nothing quite as cumbersome

Maybe complicated sometimes but the thunderstorms come down as a drizzle

when we already dove into a sea of simplicity and hand in hand riding high on its waves.

Conversational lovers we are

Tumbling under sheets of words and ink

It was never really our intention to make invincible our sexual tension

Perhaps it was he or I who may have forgotten to mention it during our serial conversations of everything and nothings

That makes something out of midnight other than the clock striking twelve with me losing my slippers and a the carriage turning into a pumpkin

I have never had to be anything other than my tattered self with him.

Maybe because he’s just as shattered as me and shreds of our scattered selves sleep upon the same floor

And flatter the seemingly pretty walls that overlook us.

Birds of the same feather

Colorful and beautiful but ruffled altogether

Tangled until we bind

We’re best of friends… best of the unordinary kind.

Men have knocked upon my door and excused themselves in no time

‘Cause despite their best efforts to fill in the blanks they never could make it rhyme

Their profound diction and wordy precision regardless of how honest

Was never enough when effortlessly we could freestyle a thousand sonnets

Somewhere along the line I made you my pen

And I moved you to write beautiful poetry of pure love and unordinary friends

Till you got me in every sense and I you but you were never really mine

Afterall we are just friends, although the best of the unordinary kind.

I have often hoped for more

And more would be an epic folklore

But we may never stand together before an altar

And slide gold bands down each other’s fingers

However, the intensity of our forever simply lingers over the melodies of our favorite singers

As we make memorable and precious a lonely bench by just sitting and enjoying each other’s company there.

And in this moment I could lose all of the world, leave it all behind

Because the world is full of the ordinary and we’re a long way from its kind.

JAMESETTA

I caught myself daydreaming once again this morn
With a hand gently placed on my belly in anticipation of my unborn
I imagine her staring wide at me, my child
She possesses her father's dream filled eyes
And carries the joy that is her mother's smile.
I can't shake the tingle running down my spine
She has me wrapped around her little finger
When her little fingers momentarily wrap around mine.
Beautiful innocence made out of love
And love I devotedly give to her
More and more each day, like it could never be enough.
Jamesetta,
After my mother I'm thinking I should name her
She deserves a name synonymous to herself; Unique
Owned only by two from generations before me
She's number three.
The charm lodged in my arms
I'm consumed to keep her there and protect her from harm.
Let there be life and so she'll be
In time; the only gap that separates her from me
But my dreams builds a bridge that draws us together
In them I catch a glimpse of the light I'll call my daughter.
Fervently praying to be

her blessing
Her person and more than a mother should naturally be.
For her I must live true to life and learn what it has to teach
That I may reach her first a model woman
Before I dare ask her to practice what I preach.
I dread those days she strays and I'm pressed to scold her
When she gets lost in her ways and her phases won't let me hold her
I pray I'm not fazed by challenges I'm faced with in my quest to mould her
I trust to raise a true soldier.
Fruit of my womb
Extension of my being
Daddy's angel, mummy's pride
I daydream of the future, hands still on my stomach
Waiting in time for the life yet to grow inside.

IN LOVING MEMORY OF WALEED F. HELWANI

Death does not speak my language
But I believe tears are universal.
So why then do I keep screaming and wailing
Till my body's aching and failing
I'm a child once again, throwing tantrums
Hearing my heart beat through my ears like wild drums
Yet my brother responds not to my call?

The image I grew accustomed to
Has all too soon been depressed to a blotch
The unforeseen stranger stole from our hearts and our homes
And all we could do was watch.

I wish I could speak death's tongue
So I could plead for second, third and perhaps even fourth chances
So I could translate into it the grievances
Of the old and the young
The large, the little
The weak and the strong.
I wish I could offer it all; these possessions
These earthly obsessions
And all I do not lack
So maybe, just maybe oblivion could bring him back.

I take reluctant steps into reality
Greeted by 4-sided murals of spoken words and deeds;
Portraits of days past stamped with authenticity
An array of memories intertwined with eternity.
Still I stand before flashbacks when it begins to dawn
Art remains art even after the painter's gone.