Postcard from Berlin

Hey, you know 
you can still call me at 3:43 am 
on Thursday nights 
with slurred speech 
and rusty throat 
smelling of cigarette smoke. 

The girl of my dreams

The girl of my dreams has
grabbable hips, like fresh dough to a stone oven
thighs that rub just a little
locks that sail between my fingers like a light breeze by the coast
breasts like the most fertile orchards in Lebanon
brown skin like the banks of the Serengeti in June
brown like God’s fingernails on the sixth day
eyes like the finest horizons on distant lands
lips full as the ocean, lined with pearls and long lost treasures
lips that have kept Jonah and the whale,
legs like a Kenyan mountain, summit capped with endless pleasures.

Now, you will never be all of this,
No, your breasts will sag like waterfalls
your chapped lips will spit tsunamis
your skin will crack like parched river beds
The girl of my dreams is a mirage you will never be.

Listen, beneath your 9 to 5 eyes and late shift thighs
I want a heart that I can trust
I want to build a castle in you
one where I don’t pretend to be a knight, where my lance can rest
a fort where I can be weak and my shield can melt
a moat so deep I feel free to weep and not flee instead.

You may not taste like milk or honey,
maybe more like cheese and dry rye
but through this wilderness and weary toil
I want to look at you and say
“yes, this is my promised land”.

You may not be laced with the finest gold
but I want to spend the rest of my days clothing you in silk
lathering you in almond oil, cloaking you in violet and orchids,
yes, I want heaven in your earth.

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Sometimes we live many lifetimes

These moments shine like dots on a galactic timeline
some are craters deep and canyons wide
with more lessons to mine or memories to hide

1. A last tryst on a cold December evening
where she told you in an hour, more
far more than she ever did over the last five, six years
probably because you were too busy filling her mouth,
now you listen and you understand and you hold her.

2. A family reunion turned bitter,
only the closest to you can light a fire that wild
and you punch a fence, your neighbour’s wooden fence
because you need to learn a permanent lesson about release and meditation
and how folly still rests in your bosom like shrapnel in your joint.

3. That skype conversation we had before you went out
with your hair slicked back, curls at the end
you rest your head on the wall
and if a look had a sigh, I heard it
and that was the end.

4. After an amateur orchestral recital
the way you put your palm against my cheek
like a leaf caressing sun rays
you made me feel like the sun on the 42 to York.

5. The intensity of your desire
the trepidation in my heart
the novelty of this intimacy
my word, your hips were Everest.

6. University library, way past midnight
deadline imminent. And spending two, three hours curating
and rehashing poem upon poem. Another hour fixing one haiku’
Because no matter what, let the heart take precedence.

7. That Friday night in first year
where my friends were down and your cousins were up
and Norwegian vodka was a thing and things got sticky –
being nineteen.

8. Wondering why we were in uncle’s house
and why dad was painting the walls
and why immigration laws meant
mum and dad’s masters were of no merit.

These moments shine like dots on a galactic timeline
some are craters deep and canyons wide
with more lessons to mine or memories to hide,
here’s to more verses and multiverses in this lifetime.

Graduate

You are like me
Not as fit as yesteryear
Prefer an 8 hour sleep to an open till- 2am bar
Siestas over hangovers, any day
You’re a business case in an open plan office
And when the occasional sun misses the third employee to your right
You squint as if the very rays are insults
You pull down the curtains
Adjust your keyboard and tap on till 5.30

You are like me,
Youth expensed for profit
Trading imagination for practicality and reality
Ambitions sold to the city
Confidence secure as graduation caps in autumn winds
Life’s a hyperbole, steady as rent prices

You are like me,
Open to the idea of love and other opiates
And like drugs, romance requires capital
And trickle-down economics is working like a clogged bog in a swamp

This is life now and it won’t pause, in fact it might just skip you by
There is no rewind, there are no if’s buts and please-miss, there’s just do.
DO. DO. DO.
You will be overwhelmed, you will fall, you will break, you will cry and sometimes shatter

You are like me,
You get back up, you change landlords, you change sheets,
You change managers, change tube lines,
You remember the sun and her embrace
You bless the rain for her background vocals
You kiss the wind for carrying you again

You are like me, mid 20s and learning that
Art must become craft. Imagination requires its 9 to 5, ideas must have desks
And hour long commutes; desire demands overtime
And some dreams must die, for now.
You will not put on the Arsenal jersey, you will not be the next Henry,
You won’t learn the drums and speak fluent French
Priorities my man.
Do this first and do it well, then do that. Repeat.
Do this first and do it well.

To the gym gods

In the name of the deadlift, the bench and holy squat,
may the gains god bless me this day
as I lift my arms in adoration of steel.

May my sweat be a pleasant offering on high,
fill me up as I burn the fat on your altar gains god,
know that though the earth weigh me down
the calf press keeps me up.

Yea though I walk through the valley of carbs
I will fear no calories
Your bar and treadmill keep me trim.

Gains god, keep my traps tight and form true
as I squat in your iron temple,
Lo! I pray not for lighter sets but higher reps.

Keep me swole on the Sabbath
spot me when my faith is weak
creatine me abs of bronze
sanctify my bros with chalk
give us the strength for leg day swoly father.

Wheymen.