protection, speech, silence

This is the notion that is left for us
there is no protection for those who speak
no more for those who are silent,
what then, do we do with our mouths?

Amina, a girl

You look like what my grandmother 

would have looked like, small and contained 
like a shipment box on a rickety boat
aren't we tired yet of talking about the sea?

maybe we are but we are still unable 
to find dry land, because drier lands breed 
no future, just bucket-loads of dust 
that piles to become make-shift houses 

scary, isn't it? These thoughts coming from everywhere
and nowhere. From a lack of sleep 
that characterizes itself in heavy eyelids 
matching creativity

Amina, the name is a story
like my grandmothers' 
to keep you awake
a child gets reaped

by will or by war
this is a story that births itself 
in my water-filled lungs 
everyday

awake

this is what your voice does
calling in the night-time

it is always beautiful to know
someone else shares your loneliness

in between the hours
you should have been sharing sleep

a dream that reaches
around all the heads you wear

but there you are, tiny, sitting voiceless
listening to a description, while awake

looking out on a nocturnal village
that rest at 3:00 am.

When does it come to life?

You ask, when does it come to life,
this passion- words exploding like sugar
when, you ask again
I tell you when faith returns once more.

Piano-man

Your fingers, an instrument,
playing at their own pace
a heart of a rhymer, pacing
the notes, fall like water.

sleepless in your own bed

Much misery happening in your head
it is a shame
you lay sleepless in your own bed, every night

writer block, once more

Like an ink that's dried out
completely
I run out of words