أنا بكتب حكي ظروف..

عشان إنتا تشوف وأنا أشوف ويبقى الباقي معروف..

Like I got something to prove..

And I do like it’s proof to my life وحنشوف..

What it does, what it do..

When it’s not really cool but it’s true..

When it’s you against you..

I find myself in paper and on paper..

Inhaling ink vapors and other flavors..

I feel how I feel how I always felt I feel of life, I feel of death..
I feel of more, I feel of less..
I feel of home, I feel of mess..
I feel I’m weak, I feel my strength..
I feel of calm, I feel depressed..
Made to be stressed highly obsessed hard to impress like blazing my sess like bless upon bless like forcing my words outta my chest like, I feel I’m ok I’m just catching a breath..

Before we draw images on mental limits unpacking it..
It’s been a minute since we back innit?

But we back in it..

So let’s start up with checks..
We’ve been through hell and wrecks..
Smiles to tears seeking vents to vent..
But I vent when I write..
When I write I’m alright..

My all wrongs are all rights..

And I fight for my rights..

See I ain’t no hero, life is not an academy..

But I write with all might..

When I write..

I’m alone I’m chilling..

With all these villains and all the feelings..

I’m learning..

To play with the wording to lay down the burdens like I’m burning..

I’m right where I’m supposed to be..

حيثما ينبغي بي كيفما أنبغي أنا..

“أنا ما رميت إذا رميت وأي عاشق ما رمى..”

“أنا راسي جاط”..

ما بين دريبات الحياة..

ما بين متاهات السنين..

بين التغيب والتعب وبين الحنين..

بين الضحك وبين الحَزَن وهم الوطن..

“وما بين هواك والدبرسة”..

أنا بين قضية وبندقية وكم وصية..

أنا مية مية..

أنا ثورة معالم سيريالية وصوت حرية..

And I hope you feel the same..


“نحنا إنعكاسات للنجوم والواطة ضل راميه السما..”

تعتمت هذي الضياء..

تركت معالم مظلمة..

لم يبق فينا أثر شئ..

الروح فينا ملجمة..

يا صاحبي هذا الزمان عاث الخراب ودمدم..

القول حرام، الشوف عمى..

وعيشة الفقر متلازمة..

يا صاحبي غير أطراف كلام، 

حبة حروف متزاحمة..

ما باقي لينا كتير هنا..

هذي الأرض يبست خلاص..

شبعانة جوع، رِويت ظمأ..

وبعدا كلو “كأنما.. ما كان في شي.. لا بنستحي ولا بنختشي..”

بقولوا الدنيا فراقة..

ومصيرو الحي بيتلاقى..

‏ياخي قاسية الدنيا جدا وجد كئيبة..


‏أبقو طيبة..

‏أبقو زي ما ياكم إنتوا..

‏اصلو هي الغربة بتعدي..

‏أصلو ربك هو البقرب

‏وأصلو ربك هو البيدي..

فيا صاحب عليك الله..

عليك تتذكر الطلة..

سماحة القعدة في الحلة..

من الناس الملانة بلى..

ومن الروح البتنسلا..

ودعتك في أمانة الله..

ومحمد يا رسول الله..


أدركت أني قد مت بعدد المرات التي نطقت فيها بالشهادة كلما زرت المطار..

لقد بعثر هذا القلب على أناس كثر بأمل أن يعودوا به مجددا يحمل القليل من النبض..

ما زلت أنتظر..

ما زلت أرتقب قلبا أو نبضا..

غاب الرفاق..

ملعونة أسباب الغياب..

ملعونة هذي الدنيا كاسيها الضباب..

ملعونة كل آلالام خليل في الغربة..

شان قصة آخرها كوم تراب..

يا خلي..

انا وانتا من نفس التراب..

بانين حلمنا سوا..

بس الحلم من طين..

موج الزمن أقوى..

مات الحلم يا صاح..

ما لقينا ليهو دوا..

وزرعنا غيرو كتير..

وكل مرة واحد يموت..

يدفن معاهو سنين..

عارفك صبرتا كتير..

عارفنا مجبورين..

عارف العليك فاض بيك..

عارفنا بين حدين..

درب السفر وداك..

خليتنا منتظرين..

قالو الوطن بالناس..

انا وطني في الراحلين..

I tend to do this..
It’s therapeutic..
Every time I’m in the dark 

 كحوت يونس..

وكلما أضحت هذي الحياة

Like a rubik’s..
I break the patterns and the loop..
I spit what I chewed, shape it

كما الحروف..

أشباح ما تركت في صمتٍ أتت تطوف..

تضج فوق كل صفحة 

We need proof..
So I wrote about them
to get less haunted..
Well, some of my demons then
felt more wanted..
I fight evil to sing for freedom

أخط ما أريده على يدي قصيدة..

I’ve lost wars and won battles
it goes vice versa..
I’ve lost ways between travels

همت دون مرسى..

I’m on to something..
maybe the things that I’m on are on to me..
And they want retaliation..
I escaped my reality
only to face imagination..
This horrifying horror house
in this mind of mine..
Dragged different drifters on the run..
I don’t know how this begun

أو من جنى على من..

Or if I made this for fun 

أو كفنٍ أو كفنْ..

All I know is
when I feel like none..
These immigrants
will get the job done..

Healy Catch A Feeling

“It’s been a minute since I stepped up, battle with my Atoms that began to Uncle Fester..”

I’m fading, it’s messed up..

Left with my thoughts casting the images I reflect on..

Wandering the souls that we left on..

Attractions, distractions them makeshift thug’s mansions..

All of the..

“Good vibes, yeah we bout ‘em..

Started off from the bottom and we still here..”

And it’s devastating..

Saying we’re amazing is an understatement..

And we hate it..

Seeing how we grew up lost and frustrated..

I’m hesitating..

Between the pharmaceuticals I’m dating..

And all the unattainable dreams I’m tired of chasing..

It’s a hypocrisy of fantasies..

“I just wanna live like Biggie Smalls..

Make a couple dollars doing what I love and all..

Pay for the homies like everywhere I go..

Stay on the road doing show after show..”

That’s all..

But nothing shows up..

We end up waiting on the roll out just to roll up..

Glasses stay half empty so we pour up.. 


To good friends who made it here..

Broken hopes..

Losing steps on these streets..

And as you can see..

“There’s scuffs on my feet..

From these roads filled with cracks..

So I polish my shoes but my soul is still black..

Had a beautiful mind so I spoke it..

The limelight took my time took my focus..

Finally made it to the orchard guess I’ll smoke it..

I fit the world in my hand then I broke it..”

it’s chaos..

Out of the blue..

Into the darkness..

It’s madness..

Mixed with good intentions..

Desire to love..

Fear of affection..

Promises on the land of the wasted..

Lands of wasted promises..

And a wasted promise land..


“I love all the things I lost but I miss my mind the most..”


She’s beautiful..
Like poetry is..
I mean she’s not a poem but,
You gotta admit that poetry is beautiful..

She’s a song..
Kinda like the type of good music that you’ve been missin’..
I know she’s not literally a song but there’s something about her that makes you wanna smile and listen..

On and on and on and on..

She’s some sort of art..
Actually she’s a multi forms of art..
It’s like a poet decided to paint a melody.. and ended up with a sculpture of a Goddess..
God damn..
She’s beautiful..

She’s the reason I’m outta words..
Running outta colors to draw you a mental picture of what she feels like..

But enough about her..
Let’s talk about me..
Her eyes are like new places..
I always get lost in new places..

Then I kinda get stuck there..
For a while..
Until I’m saved but the curve of her smile..

Then I kinda get stuck there..
Until she reach with her hand to fix her hair..
As an excuse to look down..
So I’ll look away..
For l didn’t notice that they were people around.. and I strayed..

Sorry babe..


She’s the most complicated thing God has ever made..
But she makes things simple..
More like things make sense..

Oh yeah..

She keeps me warm..
Every time my mind rages like a storm..
Every time the demons try to escape my dome..
And every time this life casts me alone..

She finds me..
And help me find home..

She somehow finds a way to mix euphoria on cloud nine to take me high..
She has the ability to stop time..
When our skins collide..
Or she’s by my side..

She’s the type of feeling that makes you wanna embrace life..
When you were trying to hide..

She’s an eye sight for my blind side..
She’s my guide..

Not as in to move around..
“I’m a movement by myself..
But I’m a force when we’re together..
I’m good all by myself..
But you make me better..”

She.. is way way more than these three letters..

She’s like a book that will have an infinite introduction..
Because of the endless ways you’ll have to begin with to put your thoughts about her in rotation..

She is beyond imagination..

She would stand for how beautiful everything is..
If everything was beautiful..

She is everything..


I’m sick of
home sick
home seeking
sick poerty
sinking in
to make me think..
of how this world is sick..
and I know it..

1- I caved in, I got hit..
2- I faught back, the world was big..
3- I fell down, my soul got ripped..
4- I got up, my hopes got killed..
5- I grew up, the world got slick and learned new tricks..

The fight goes on..
counting this…
me 0, world 6..
man I’m sick..

I’m sick of home..
and maybe home is sick of me..
and maybe home is gone..
and I really didn’t wanna write a poem..
but I breathe through ’em..

or maybe
I wanted to form
a noose
from a rope
made outta words..
and NOT breathe through ’em..

Suicidal side notes..
linguine linguistics..
shape shifted..
in a hidden list..
made to mimic hieroglyphics..
pieces and bits..
from a mind a bit twisted..
blessed with many curses..
under the name gifted..
lost without a purpose..
under the name misfit..

fuck this shit..

this is breaking down the cinder blocks of the writer’s block..
this is moving rocks..
’cause I’ve seen what we turned into everytime I take a walk down the block..
we are moving rocks..

I saw how hopelessly homeless I felt in front of my own house..
inside the gloom of my own room..
I saw my own doom..
I saw my damnation, in this damn nation..
I kept seeing walls in every destination..
I saw hell’s blueprints and layouts..
I saw me play doubts..
so I wrote a way out..

you see..
she/he/they/we are home..
This is home..
memories/paintings/photographs/poems are home..

So I stray on roads in search for more..
and though my heart is heavy and my feet are sore..
I’d rather wear down the sole of my shoes then to wear my soul..

Home is a song..
Home is hope you carry along your way..
“Take this music let and use it let it take you away..”
For today..
Home lays within the smile of a loved one..
Home is a warm familiar sound to pick you up when it’s all set and done..
Home is a touch..
Home is a simple conversation..
Home is this land..

Home gave up..
But I didn’t..

Home is anything but a construction..

Unnaturally Forced.

“A tornado flew around my room before you came..”

And it said, what the fuck is wrong with you man?!!
Wait let me rephrase that, can you teach me chaos?

I wanna claim this chaos mine, I mean pick things up and throw them around from side to side through miles and miles, how can you exceed that with just your mind?

Then I replied :

Dear tornado,
Grab a seat if you managed to find one.
Let this sink in, you start by mastering the art of over thinking,  then you sink in.

First of all,
Pass me that hate beside the dirty plates..
Love from those shelves above..
Frustration near that broken PlayStation..
Hope lost somewhere inside the wardrobe..
Smiles and laughter behind the laptop adapter..

You’ll find bits of pain clogging the shower drain, and I think I had a skeleton in the other closet but I lost it.

Never mind,
As you see I glued the rest of the feelings to the cracks in my ceiling to make it more appealing but then life happened and now it’s peeling.

Anyway, you take all that mental garbage set it as a target then charge it.

Let me tell you this,
Life is what you make of it..
Death is what you make of it..
Heaven is what you make of it..
But hell was made inside these walls then they stole it from me and sampled it.

Dear tornado,
The problem is that you’re a force of nature, you gotta be unnaturally forced instead, screwed up in the head, reached a million dead end, let this chaos reflect on the sheets of your bed..

The tornado stopped me and said :
Fuck this, you need help.. then left.

زح مني.

Don’t judge people..
We are all equal..

As cliche as that sounds, let’s address this with common sense on common grounds..

We are all fake, equal..

We all made make and will be making mistakes, equal..

We break, equal..

We shake, equal..

We ache, equal..

We all try to get by whatever it takes, equal..

And it goes on forever like its a sequel after sequel, until forever runs out.

We all die, equal..
And its finally peaceful..

He may look at his best..
Clean cut well dressed..
Rocks top line jackets, jeans, shoes, vests..

You see, his outfits are new but his soul is in shreds..

She may seem on top of the world..
Young beautiful outgoing bold..
Like she got it all..
Like if they’d remake women she’d be a perfect mold..

But just like the hollow container used to give shape, inside she’s left cold..

They may look free…

Fuck it, we are supposed to pose as if how will it be..
If we were to look free..

But all you see is stolen identities..

I may look like I can handle the odds..
Like if they were all against me, I’ll stare from a far..
And realign my stars..

Kinda like I’ve already known from the start..
That I’ll be blasting these bars..

Never minding the scars…


Making dumb assumptions on how people function is some really stupid shit son..


Away from the different destinys and destinations..
Status and occupations..
And all of life’s blah blah and exaggerations..

Striking normal conversations can turn into self confrontation..


– Hey, Are you okay?

Beside the fact that I lost my faith,
the feeling of love and hate or mental state or things that relate.. I’m great.

Beside the fact that everything I see now is faceless, ugly and heinous and me living aimless.. I’m aces.

Beside the fact that I ignore right and wrong, places I used to belong, numbness to a pain so strong.. I’m moving along.

Beside the fact that I’m dying but still trying ’cause I can’t seem to convince my soul and mind.. I’m pretty much fine.

Beside the fact of the countless nights where my thoughts scream and fight.. I’m alright.

Beside the fact that I misplaced hope, burned down all ropes and ways to cope.. I’m dope.

Beside the fact that I’m just repeating syllables and everything is miserable.. I’m feeling incredible.

Beside the fact that this is depressing and I’m spacing and stressing.. I’m flexin’.

Beside the fact that I pretty much lie about anything I state or say..

I’m Okay…


The moral is basic..

This was not about being sexist, atheist, alien or racist..

Just fucking stop pretending that you read faces and leave us alone..



If I could turn the hands of time…
I’d twist them and break them..

If I could turn the hands of time…
I’d turn them into dust, so time won’t we able to use his hands again to hurt anyone..

They told us that heaven is timeless, so time must be the fucking devil..

Time was week after week as I saw my grandma and grandpa grow weak..
Time used his hands..
I used mine to bury them both…

Time was 7 years ago when time took my best friend’s Mom..
So my best friend took his time underwater..

I couldn’t bury this one…

Time is countless nights of my mother’s unanswered prayers…

Time shows as burdens hanging from the wrinkles of my father’s face…

Time is ages away from you and seconds with…

Time was 9 months in my mother’s womb and 23 years later hoping I’ve never left..

I really wish that stopwatches will make us stop and watch someday..
Because then I’ll get to say :

FUCK TIME! Time Ends Now.