Ghazal of Gold
Red silks that wrap and hold; details inlaid with gold.
Bangles bright with bells held tight; jingles set in gold.
Her movement is a feat; it’s something to behold.
That royal beat; in transmuting stone to gold.
Her arms display a grace, from that the tales are told.
Movement right with steady pace; hands adorned in gold.
Her eyes are alchemy, tinctures that don’t withhold.
They connect with me, whilst coating my heart in gold.
Her hair’s black as despair; but nothing just as old.
Dark shades soaring through the air, spreading musk of gold.
Her voice leaves one in awe; it isn’t something sold.
As it moves us all, it’s pure honey mixed with gold.
A dance that is behest; encountered by Saleem.
From it we see the best; that is a dance of gold.
Haven’t been writing as of late; so here is something I did a few months ago.
Victim culture as it stands is part and parcel of
The lands. Expect integrity; though take offense for
Sure when public true; you never know what benefits
That victim status brings to you. Keep in mind; it’s said
The loudest voice will always win; so be sure to scream
To heart’s content. And with this advice you should begin.
Oppressed and Shamed, the titles that you seek. In seeking
Them you knell the Meek and stoke the Flamed. A titled earned,
By you it’s claimed, wear your badge with honor bound. In this
There is something profound. A warning though; so listen
Close. In striving through to status gained you may upset
The ill profaned. Abandon reason for it will halt
Your progress to that sacred vault. Filled with riches true,
Status found; victim stew. Something made; it’s just for you.
Not with eyes of hope.
Nor with tears of joy.
Not with a heart of gold.
Just embracing cold.
An edge with high contrast.
Cradled like a newborn life.
The warmth inside; it feels.
As it moves to end a life.
A dream, that’s true.
What could have been.
It was not; I know not why.
All’s I know; I did not die.