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Photo credit: Lawrson Pinson
Louder Than I Thought
By Rayan Sammak
I could’ve never figured it out
Neither could they
I breathe the wind that decays
And speak the language that’s dead
Or dying
And the truth might be lying about itself
And everybody listens to the wrong voices
My loud sound can be spoken in different decibels of silence
And no there’s no way of telling which path I might choose to attack your soul
Cause that is my main target
Guaranteed that I will harm it
I spar with every single heart that you’ve harmed
And maybe then we’ll decide who’s best at being carved
I starve for this
Believe the hunger not the appetite
I’m glad I fight
Choked by the wire of my mic
I hate it, but it’s fine
The rhymes never make it on time for dinner
So I gotta cook the syllables earlier
They don’t even pay attention anymore
I might be broken I don’t know
But surely if I am, I’d fix myself instantly with the words I learned
And with the wisdom I’ve earned
Enough of that for now
I did not hide away from my frown
I got it to not appear in the meantime of my growth
I cry a lot, but my tears never needed stitches
Happiness is heavier than I thought
I met up with happiness many times but each time it would ask me out on a date, Sadness would
jump in and yell out: you’re out of my league
Because sadness became my mother tongue
I never liked hope
Neither did the smile of a clown
The only artifact that will vanish is the crown
Nobody is royalty
Try and build this thing you call a castle
My house is better with one aspect
It is home
And you can never beat the heart that is beaten and now only knows how to reply with a beating
My language is street and you can hear the gang wars making peace from the corner store
My life will look at your spirit and attempt to walk on the core of a war
I fell from hell, but the angels are waiting from the bottom floor
I think it’s finally time to draw walls for the evil
And color it with fruitful shade
The dark might die from the love hate relationship I have with it
But only rotten emotions can be felt
And dirty words can be tasted from clean soil
And to living I am loyal
I used to write about death, now I’m only concerned to live
Only because I handle my failures way better than I ever handle success
And when I choose to cut myself
I’m only letting things off my chest
You bet you can get offended
Your image is that of a hybrid lie and the act of media rebranding
So you can take your dead character, see if you still wanna defend it
You never guessed the half of my schemes built by a mind where inside the ideas tick as if
machinery dominated and my elements concentrated on armory charmed by poisonous alchemy
actually innovated the chemistry that was never basic, you couldn’t live in between this wreck of
a matrix because if your vocal chords are silent then we only allow yelling out in these spaces!
Amazement from penmanship formed from intensive hatred
And even my evil opinions wouldn’t ever be debated
Put your medication to the test and best believe my disease born from this seed is definitely
twice as potent and heavily dedicated
There will never be a “best”, so I am not the greatest
But since you only look at the stereotype, I’ll work silently and let my success shine because
what’s better than great is being greater
I reek of influential savagery, smell me now or never but that will forever be my favorite
fragrance
But I never settled the burnt kettle, I’m still cooking with high fires and the devil in me is gentle
The weight on my soul is heavier but only because I am no longer an empty vessel
You can hear me quite clearly, I could be saying nothing, and you’d still feel, I am a mixture of
several instrumentals
My success can rise without your fake thank you, I don’t need a medal
Simply into lyrical bursting, I’m flirting with kind murdering, swerving from light but darkness
to strength is what I’m converting
Listen well but are you learning
Disturbing stopped becoming concerning
I don’t have a resume
Forget your lousy jobs
I’ve scared fear away
You make me pile up boxes in an office
I’ll make you pile up offices
My flavor is stronger
Taste it if bitterness is sweet to your tongue
This is the music that should’ve been sung in my death
But I only heard it when my growth had begun
Photo credit: Ahmad Odeh
Belonging
The sky surrendered
its spell struck hefty dreams to us
bewildered
sitting in between
casting frozen glances from afar
This is our city now
silent, awake, hidden
sometimes shifting
molding
inside out
but mostly broken
tossing time around
like coins in a wishing well
Can you remember
the little times it has wished us well?
Coin after coin
gamble on comfort, gamble on the future
bet on hope but double check the odds
as we wait for new tomorrows
moving past yesterdays
It looks like the stars never align in our favor
And our long nights of wishful aspirations never get us anywhere
not in this land
not where the soil reeks of distrust
indifference
it’s worn out buildings
holding concrete recollections of the past
Are we too afraid to let go?
of everything we are under this sun
under this light
and its suffocating beams
Reciting the monologues
of too late to save
and too early to let go
Let go
we are the ghosts of this land
floating above this city
this centipede
listening to the rattles of its familiar passivity
it hisses
Let go
with its hollow mouth wide open
quiet and discrete
but loud enough to feel the rumbling of
Let go
pierce through our bones
and its failures
charcoal black
oozing out
of our eye sockets
tumbling down from our window panes
whispering
Let go
and we limp on another day
choking on the pesticides
of its drains
binging on parasitic regrets
that flow through us
rushing within us
like the sewers we call home
its bite marks
pinching
Let go
staining our blotchy skin
pouring hostility
through the open wounds that were made from
carving the words
Let go
yet we sit here and wait
wait for a new tomorrow
patching up the scrapes
as we mumble
Let go
mending
the injury of today
Let go
waiting for a new tomorrow
despite knowing it won’t arrive before
we finally
Let go
Photo credit: Simon Buchou
fizz
By Omar Kayyal
I turn to rest my cheek on yours.
Its warmth reminds me of sharing
stories,
songs by the fire, melting
long-forgotten sores.
I think of writing a song- of that
moment.
Gooseflesh is a Hurricane Crush-
ed in a Can of Cola
I’d call it.
Photo credit: elCarito
قطار الزمن
بقلم عزيزة عبد الحق
على متن قطار الزمن
بحثت عن الوطن بين الأوهام
و عبرت العالم بالأقدام
كالتائه في الأدغال
و الباحث في الظلال
عن دوره في الكلام
بين ملايين الانغام
على متن قطار الزمن
فر الظلام عبر الأضواء
و بنيت الآمال في الأنحاء
..والأحلام في الارجاء
على متن قطار الزمن
دقت ساعة المساء
لأعود الى الوراء
و أبحث عن الأمان في بلد الأذان
كالبحث عن الهوية في الأوطان
و الأفكار في الأذهان
للوصول الى الوجدان
و عزف الأنغام و إلقاء السلام
Photo credit: Adrian Swancar
The Shave
At 17 I had a
chin full of hair stubs
that cast a light shade of beard;
I walked; a man among boys
watching me sick with envy
I tried shaving for
the first time at home
took the cream in one hand, the
razor in the other, stood
in front of the mirror, thought:
this should be easy
I cut my lower lip and
watched the blood spout from the scar
to the harrowing cries of
my wailing mother
Poor wailing mama
she cried from knowing
there was nothing she could do
she couldn’t make me a man
and I cried because
I was without a father
I cried because of
illegitimate
fears harassing me
voices telling me
you will never be a man
I knew I had to become
a man to beat them
well, here we are now:
dear papa, I don’t
know where you are but
I’m doing better
with the damn razor.
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