theotherworldofwords.blogspot.com
Other Words: January 2014
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Monday, January 27, 2014. Inquisitions tug out my thoughts. Like damp hair strands,. In a dying comb,. Toss them in sweat drops. On the cold mattress. Dark pearls of saturated desire. Are born on your brow,. As tiny dreams of contentment, attempt. To squeeze their way to my sanity. You do not falter. As you take,. All that you assume is yours for the taking. Mercy opens a window in your mind,. A mere molecule in your memory trickles. Posted by Z Alani @ 12:12 PM. View my complete profile.
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Other Words: August 2005
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Wednesday, August 24, 2005. Masturbated into the cracks of bathroom walls. Smiles ripped open at mouth corners,. Where letters got tangled between the teeth. These bodies wet with sticky aspirations,. Senses parched with the doomed anticipations that forgot to knock on the doors of this room. These, the eyes that had talked heaven away from the sunslowly. They even revived the dry flowers in that dust-filled vase in the shadow. Now gouged and numb with missing expressions,. That very corner,. View my com...
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The Words That Come Out...: Friday, April 02, 2004
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The Words That Come Out. View my complete profile. Friday, April 02, 2004. The salt shaker in the illustration,. Red and small,. Just the right pinches of shadows…. Picked it up from a meal table and put it on the page? Captured the salt as their own and digitalized it? A small symbol of taste. The embodiment of the love shared and passed around on the original artist’s table,. A mild moment caught and refracted. Into a million flying fractions. Landing on a white page. For the normal eye,.
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The Words That Come Out...: Monday, January 02, 2006
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The Words That Come Out. View my complete profile. Monday, January 02, 2006. That’s how we lived…. Incredulous of pajama powers. And ‘dishdasha’ hours. Stuffed with Turkish nostalgia. Dripping of toothpaste on the morning sink. Then came the ‘kahi’ and we sat and ate,. The syrup dripping from our plates,. In our bedroom attire. Ours was a smell of mint. And fresh water,. Fried eggs and hot khubuz. It all floated in Aunt Khadija’s kitchen. And finger played at. The next door neighbor’s windows.
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The Words That Come Out...: Thursday, March 16, 2006
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The Words That Come Out. African Garden in Mid-Summer. View my complete profile. Thursday, March 16, 2006. African Garden in Mid-Summer. It was a different world…. It had leapt out of a crystal bowl. Just set on the table…. Zinnahs’ eyes stared back. When the hedges barked. And the leaves clapped at the distant human laughter. She could not recognize. It lay by the sea. From where we crouched. Where tree stumps had stood to protect our backs. Against the approaching ocean winds. Of our slipping hands.
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The Words That Come Out...: Wednesday, March 02, 2005
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The Words That Come Out. View my complete profile. Wednesday, March 02, 2005. For the love of your face that captures my brother's beautiful eyes. For the love of your tiny 'skinful' fingers and 'fleshful' cheeks. For the love of all that’s in me, that’s in you. All that you now cannot see. For the love of you, my little instance of my bigger brother. May God bless your tiny nose a thousand times. May he guide you as it grows with your curiosity. With every footprint on the walks of life.
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The Words That Come Out...: Tuesday, February 10, 2004
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The Words That Come Out. Mid-Summer Nights African Dream Shanaz where are. View my complete profile. Tuesday, February 10, 2004. Mid-Summer Night's African Dream. Shanaz where are you? And where has Africa gone? Down the Indian ocean highway. On a runaway motorcycle. Singing songs of Jesus Christ, Super Star. Your spectacles were respectable. My father admired your mind. And you did well unto him. Where have the sail boats gone? They no longer sing to the ocean liner at the pier.
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The Words That Come Out...: Monday, August 30, 2004
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The Words That Come Out. View my complete profile. Monday, August 30, 2004. Her lines speak,. Her face, a mirror, hardly scratched. Clouds of questions stream through her lashes and land on the pillow. The days long gone unroll again in slow laps, around her brow. Hints of answers spark through her half-closed look. Age disperses its weariness in peace around her eyes. The tentacles of intolerance. That once were her fingers,. Groping for another lost answer. She believes I have it. But I do not.
