Until I have to say Goodbye.

.

IMG_20170711_014146_693.jpg

 

Those few happy people, yes they exist.
Those few left, who are truly happy.
They make the best of every day.
How does it feel when they don’t stay?
How does it feel when you have to watch them die?
You have to watch them beg to be euthanized!
Let me tell you how.

I stand and watch as his
life is pulled out of him.
I stand and watch him lose control.
He does smile, and makes sure I do too.
He smiles to hide all his pain and ordeal.
That devilish smile, it’s our driving will.
But every day,
Slowly, dramatically, every day.
We lose him a little.
We watch him
bleed out his soul that wants to stay.

His death skulks around us like an old friend.
But death, how do I prepare myself to lose his scent,
His presence, his voice, his walk, his lips, his touch, my strength.
He brought me happiness when I thought it was just a myth.
He brought me life when I didn’t want to breathe.
Now he leaves, and it’s unclear why.
How can the Gods watch and let this happen?
How do they let us all cry?
Who knows.
I can’t care to ask anymore.
So I stand by his bed.
I simply stand and love.
Love him till his last breath.
I wait for him to depart.
I wait for my life to leave my side.

He is smiling right now.
Oh, that devilish smile.
So I stand by his bed.
I simply stand and love.
Love him till his last breath.

I will, until I have to say Goodbye. And I will after that as well.

 

-Sabah Batul

Advertisements

A song.

.

Screenshot_20170613-213802

I dreamt as a kid.. I sang a song.
I sang tales of the future.
Stories of travels
to bays of nature.
Stories of handsome men
I dreamt.
They saved me from all their torments.
I sang about the world,
and the love it hold.
Unaware of tremors
Of souls sold.
Of course, I didn’t know then what I know now.
About fallacy and pretence.
About cussing and hurting crows.

Yet I  sing through the night.
But now my songs accompany wet pillows,
With infatuations imposed.
A different story it is now
Story of struggles and scars.
Of lessons and days marred.
But you know, you still got to sing your tune,
Kindle for inner warmth.
You sing, for your different soul,
Because soul’s need to be heard.
To be emancipated, to grow old.
So dream and sing.
Be peculiar and quirky.
Whatever you do,
Don’t live for the world’s mercy.

It is already a scary world. No need to add to what’s already lost.

-Sabah Batul

She escapes.

.

IMG_20170521_172904_285

You committed a sin,
And now your faith is sealed.
The old man said crying,
Trembling with fear.
He was scared of the future near.
The worst would be a burden to carry.
She was deemed impure,
Given into the lures
Of something which was warning to heed.
How she wished someone would take her stead.

Maybe that’s why she sat writing a note,
A blade in one hand.
Ink in the other.
Impervious to the circumstances.
She should have been imperious maybe.
But all the ink wouldn’t explain,
What gave her dark art leverage.
She wasn’t gullible, or drowning.
She was smart, empowering.
But no one knew,
Or asked.
Anonymous she might die at last.
She slit her wrists,
Blood drips down.
Angst flows through her veins.
Oh how relieving as the aggrieved soul drains.
Drop by drop, impurities turned to purity.
Cage to freedom.
And suicide to life.
And she escapes.
Judge her as much as will,
But your drunk life ridden eyes
won’t see her case.
And so…. She escapes.

She explains why, but I’ll never understand.

Now you stay, she left.
We hear cries of her family.
You hear their pain.
But at least she is happy now,
Somewhere away from this loathed town.
She escapes. Repeats the third person.
Again and again with regret.
She escapes. She escapes.
-Sabah Batul

Our great men of hope.

sketch-1494863293304

 

I could have written this better,
but I can’t. Anything I say might just turn out to be a travesty.
But I will try.

OUR GREAT MEN OF HOPE.
Breaking points reached,
And ropes are his hope tonight,
As beautiful he might have been,
Even though he had put on a tough fight.
At least was known he lived better than many.
Died on a higher stance.
Guess it makes you worry,
How many Andy’s did we lose to chance.
Chance which was at the hands of stake holders insolent,and conceited.
We let it pass by,
We didn’t want to feel smitten,
By things we can’t control.
Like his friendships on those consecutive tedious days.
A witty narrator, and a band of different tales.
He took him under his wings,
Or maybe it was the other way.
They made each other happy, brought change.
A good, fatal life.
You see though, our beautiful man
wasn’t just beautiful. He was smart.
He left the living profanity clueless as ever.
And did what wasn’t done before.
No matter what exquisite talents the subject hold,
He gave a good quote.

I end curtly now without explaining much of my niche deductions.
And I quote him for the formidable man he was.
“I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really.
Get busy living, or get busy dying.”

-Sabah Batul

Premonition.

.

IMG_20170430_193540_769.jpg

 

The swords were sworn to secrecy,
the pestering was stopped.
Lives were spared.
The carnage at halt.
They thought Precious was solicited,
by Kings, honorable of their time.
And was announced,
Oh dear villagers,
rest tonight.
Years will pass by, as they should.
AND THEN…
Light hits the blades.
Yes, we are at war.
War with the grotesque creatures.
The creatures which lay low.
They come out at twilight.
When the sky sheds black snow.
When the time is right they will attack,
as they did before!
Please stay put my Knights of valour.
Make use of the armor you wore.

The innocent need sleep tonight.
So fight tomorrow for them.
Let’s stay close.
Our time is near.
Heed to all my warning!

Then when the skirmish is loud.
Brawls and chaos everywhere.
The mighty fall down.
The dead will stay awake.

A beautiful dark battle will be fought.
Prudent people live on.
This is your tomorrow.
Listen to what I say.
A war is coming your way.
And my jobs done,
My premonition shared.

-Sabah Batul

#Lotr

Let’s stay friends?

.

IMG_20170420_002119_558.jpg

 

My heart feels faux pain,
Unaware if it is real.
Missing you!
Looking from afar isn’t ideal.
A charitable meet,
Without thoughts of the future.
Let’s live in today darling,
give up your act of mature.
I don’t want your forever for me,
just have a conversation, maybe.
Be my fling friend.
Stop pushing me away,
Stop trying to protect me,alright?
I’ll lookout for me.
And I’ll find peace somewhere.
So let’s flirt and laugh,
Talk and shake hands.
Date and depart.
Hug and promise never to call,
And break the promise as well.
Let’s have late night calls.
Beautiful morning text’s.
I’ll video call you all decked up,
wait for your voice,
have small fights,feel vexed.
Let’s post to each other letters online.
Do all the cliché drama,
Go out and dine.

Whatever we do..let’s just live our day.
I’ll be heartbroken later,obviously.
But I’ll have my friends to discuss about you and me.
We’ll gossip, share ice-cream over movies.
And soon I’ll be over you.
Ready for a new crush.
So walk away when we are done.
It was good what we had, while it lasted.
I’ll just hang out here now, watching you go….
I’ll have company,
My hoes before bros.
But hey,
Let’s stay friends?

-Sabah Batul.

The walls.

.

IMG_20170413_002622_835

The walls of his blunt blank thoughts,
remain empty when looked in.
There are a few random colored dreams.
Black, green, crimson.
A few devoted songs,
to anonymous names and grins.
A few encounters,
Incidents, dramas, scorned nights.
A few speeches,a few fights.
All unheard, all to himself.
This is his safe haven.
His locked up room.
The walls enclose his agitated needs.
And the walls suffice most nights.
But sometimes, being heard even though spoken is required.
So he stares wide.
He speaks, they contemplate.
But no one surely understands.
The walls remain locked.
He remains chained.
To his own blank thoughts.
And HE, our leading pathetic soul.
HE is left unnamed.

-Sabah Batul

They were attacked.

.

IMG_20170405_195807_172.jpg

THEY WERE ATTACKED.
Are u listening?
They were attacked today.
People are trying to find blame.
But that’s not our gray.
Our ages gray is their distress.
And their last difficult breathes.
Their struggle to see the world.
Their struggle to live.
Their struggle to save their young cribs.
Their struggle to find their family.
Their struggle to protect them.
And I don’t know how many wars
they fight every moment.
But today,
It was to live.
But they couldn’t.
And you think it’s about who to blame?
No it isn’t.
It’s about saving what’s left of Syria.
Or Palestine.
Or any life lost in the name of war.
Maybe not a utopia, but the death toll can be stopped!
It’s just land. Stop fighting for power.
Stop the killing.

Hey listen,
Why aren’t you in turmoil?
This isn’t just a news headline,
This isn’t another war movie.
Don’t relinquish this away.
Don’t waiver them,
they are people not toys at display.
Don’t just sit and nod,or sigh.
Give them your courage, help them fight.
They have to win.
Win their opportunity to
A life.
A good night’s sleep.
A happy neighborhood.
So why aren’t you gaping?
How are you continuing your life?
When they aren’t escaping,
Those air strikes, those bombs.
They can’t obviously out run,
the bullet storms.
Help them now.
They want to live.
Help them and those refugees.
Take your stand.
Your voice counts!
Because they were attacked.
Again.

-Sabah Batul
#stopthewars #syria #yemen #palestine #ghaza

 

The postcard dream.

.

IMG_20170326_222307_796.jpg

 

 

 

I had one.
The postcard dream,
without my envelope,
the one with lucid deeds.
There were moaning sights,
lust and thrust,
more than I could bite.

Beautiful it was,
Beautiful and empowering.
I want to see it again,
With a new character starring.
The new adventure,
derogate from my daily trails.
Makes me come
before I turn stale.

For this dream,
I want him.
Him whose perfume alone
gets my blood running hot.
His hoarse voice,
and my control lost.
With every clothing he is to lose,
and the flavors we have to choose,
before he begins to taste me.
The depths amidst my glee.
Slowly, mouthful, luscious.
And we are on a new spree.
The kind which requests,
Attention to each others
hidden nests.
From yours I swallow and yearn.
Yearn for more,
Until your scream and groan I learn.
Our skin hot, breathes deep.
More coming to feel.
Many more kisses indeed.
Yes, I want to dream tonight.
Feel his girth. Understand my needs more.
I want to relive every moment of it
to its sensual height.

-Sabah Batul

The meaning of his love.

.

gatsby

I am trying to understand what the meaning of love is.
Love brings equity.
It brings a kiss of hope.
You share yourself,
into each other allured.

True love though is a matter different,
different of its kind. Colossal even.
it’s the music only his ear hears,
while to deafness the other reclines.

True love is his truly.
For her, his every dream changed.
it’s the light his light house gleams,
but only in vain.
As his light was his truly.
She could never want to see it enough.
Blinded by dubious desires.
She brooded for a different love.
The type you can hire maybe.

His soul was wed to hers.
So he waited for her to fall for him.
But see, his love was so true.
So pure. So in-depth of a soulful realm,
that no one could possibly share it with him.

So he took his love to his grave sleep.
He keeps it to himself, unwillingly.

Hence, I try to make his cameo,
but he made himself immortal.
And I am just a sideline watcher.
I watch what true love is.
And still, I don’t understand. No one ever will. No one like him.

-Sabah Batul