4.7.15

I am mason-jar

4th November 2013

"You need to know my communication about my most honest unfiltered impulses are a tightly shut mason-jar that i had kept on the top shelf of my mind, i took it off to take a closer look and its slipped right out of my hands when it comes to you. if this is what it means to feel a surge of thoughts for someone. Then I'm surging."


24.6.15

I am ember-iynik

Clashing and fleeting this smoke is a mighty grail swaying in each stroke is another dusty storm frail. In its wake emerges yet hung-short of words. I am here and yet adrift with the waves off that raging shore. You come closer positioning gazing harsh but the overwhelming sense of horror becomes sharp at last. They mount whispers and call you unspeakable false these tiresome cyclopes seems to bore me alas. Hunching and seething brooding your way into their hearts. But what of the cries and ghostly sighs a scene impacting corners dare revolving as they change at the beat of a dead drum. 
Order your squares and calculate the steps forward but deafening are the silent thoughts that escape these four walls. Spring to your feet and mark your territory, this lowly addition can not be cut down. Masked are the red waters of this time. Caped in its shadows are truths well defined. We are here and our now will be the end of this lie. Static voltage burdens the circuitry alive yet have I mutilated this body for its one last time. Sores fade and colour returns to the sensory core of all things. A humble wisp of a tamed wing slides out of my sight.


8.5.15

I am your Invocation

Trust denied- love occupied - thought mastered - hope survived. 

Travel longer than most to make us their own. Holdin on to an oblong fury hold. "i miss you" and then I dont. It's much harder drawing us in, till we cant see what it all meant, sooner or later we make for the door. Our minds made up, but what is it based on, who of em lied, them many are tricksters. 

Making amends dont make you courageous. It's all to buy time, your smoke and mirrors. Craft of giving what they need, you had a great show, got em to believe. The applause, your crowd, all gathered but later they all showed you out. But you still believe its my fault, I stood on the sideline watched my heart-ball kicked around. Being guided, shot and halfassed loved, your crowd, they cheered - but my heart-ball sank so they booed, hissed and called you out. 



9.4.15

I am Relationship Beat

You pool at my feet
In this heat 
And i know one things for sure
I cant make up this bed anymore
You follow my lead
A short track line our relationship beat
Making my eyes swim my lungs race these guts turn 
Cause your hearts never been in us.

12.3.15

I am "not here"

When you're so close 
Tinkering at the brink of 
Feelin' low 
Holed into a wall of lust  
Rocking at the guile of hopeless dull 
You cut the folding right at its toughest 
And Im left open in your arms this tedious calm
I am not here 
I am not home
I am not hoarding this sail 
no not anymore 


31.10.14

I am Enlight-strangement


Endless scratching burn connections smearing the sense of clarity challenged the myopic cataclysmic eyeliner perfect me here and now. Mull over this notion that we once hesitated this cry of endless numbness that manages tugging at the ends of your fingers. Bring me to the verge of enlight-strangement hold me a little closer to you. Feathering in this pale night sky is the infinitely lost you and I, might they bring me a little closer to you. Easier to untie thawing flesh threatening the concoction melted to remove subsequently conquered most betrayed alas not hope your hilting to a conclusion disappoints. Have I told you station elusive I must have many a time in a loop of sentences ringing like 10 church bells and 100 trumpets with 200 cigarette carcasses to encircle rings of sadness around my love-stuck-hunger for what seems to you.        


17.9.14

CHOTA DEV "Tiny Giants" faces of Speak Sudan

Chota Dev celebrates the inspirational and powerful team of Speak Sudan 

Rania El Mugammar
Founder, Executive Director & Editor in Chief
rania@speaksudan.org
Manar El Mugammar
Events Coordinator
manar@speaksudan.org

Mazin Osman
Program
Development Coordinator
mazin@speaksudan.org

Salma Suliman
Programming and Design Executive
salma@speaksudan.org

Mariam Ahmed
Media and Community Outreach Coordinator
mariam@speaksudan.org

Sara Suliman
Online Editor
sara@speaksudan.org

Mahad Mohamood
Volunteer Coordinator
mahad@speaksudan.org

Sarah Salih
Treasurer
sarah@speaksudan.org

Lisa George









22.7.14

I am Bleached


Roll over and vex my soul insist on a lashed up deviant corpse of rot life. Make amends to ensure bursting at the seams of the next hopscotch misfired lie. Trying to weasel trail blaze tunneling tunneling into the midst of smoky horror hall of reflected shards. Giving up on the last resonating sense of who we really are. The spiraling waves of golden yarn webbing across soulscapes of lust and tar, move me. Hold me. Lighten thus the innards of my cerebral surge of coloured glass. Remove me. Tender thumping a nerve crossing over onto melted emotion and dusty floors, will you sand me down. Pressure rises as a stampede of darkness rides into a horizon of dimmed down hope. Whisper a moment into the cracks of my closed up heart. Bleached me down to reexamine the engravings these shadows of words mean nothing after.  




10.4.14

I am not here


This about turn is the last on a road folding in on its self. It was here, red cartons stacked, spring twine baskets spilling interlaced joy raindrops on us. Take a good look cause the moments passing. Make amends Nayha. This medicine isn’t worth all the grey sky in the foreseeable distance.  Paths gleaming slipping touch. 

Miss communication handed her tongue to the Cheshire and decided to collapse into herself. You leave a trail, an umbilical cord of innocence. The white naivety shredding against rough wind could it withstand another blow too hard? Blue is the colour of a throbbing tiny vessel hidden behind a pretend bright red heart. 

Flowing ever so quietly turning ultramarine. You wont see it. No one will. 

The sting of cold pins my blood pricks and bolts through this moment.  

   


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