AN INTERLUDE CALLED MENTE // MAJID ALTURKI

– Overture –

Where it all begins
above the crud
and the unstable grounds.

– I –

It’s hidden,
but the pressure
is well noticed.
bits of filth
are on your legs.

– II –

Something seems different..
you probably wouldn’t know,
but you feel weaker,
bent a little.
your legs are stained.

– III –

It’s gloomier and darker now;
too late to change anything.
You’re trapped under the
force of your will.
you’ve lost sight of
your feet.

– IV –

All seems withered and
the air tastes a bit stale.
giving up seems like
all you can do now;
you close your eyes
waiting for what may
come. Your knees have
clamped, and you feel crushed.

– V –

No breathing is left;
all light has been consumed.
It’s cold and damp
and your skin is crawling.
people simply step over
and around the place
you stay in. Sight is barely
possible anymore;
you kneel in submission,
a victim to the world.

Is it time to buy time?

– VI –

Rest assured, there is no need
for further misfortunes.
now, you've been suffering
for a life time.
kneel down,
plead and dispute.

Live on.

HOPELESSLY ANXIOUS // ARMAN

In my mind, I’m chained to the bed.
The bed rests on the gallows pole.
The gallows pole adjacent to temples of merciful Gods. Gods nowhere to be seen, heard, or felt.
The senses numb and rust.
The rust dulls the chains, I break free.
I leap faithless off the gallows pole, uncertain of how high it sat on bigots’ lap.
I pass by the temples as I dive, no mercy to be found. Idolised figures, sanctified mortals and no sacred Gods.
I’m descending aimlessly.. No ground to be found. Until I feel that skinful ground, until I see the two starry skies and until I hear the heartbeats of mercy, I’m unable to land.

THOUGHTS & TALES / TALES & THOUGHTS // MAJID ALTURKI

Sometimes the dullness
of our minds
slips from between
ceaseless (senseless) lips
like buttered buns
or oiled thumbs
or maybe peeled
banana skins
before a dawdling
thought takes
a moment
to apprehend
the disproportional mass
of reckless words
escaping
into receiving
more space,
greased and creaking
viscid mud
then it’s suddenly
too late,
and i’m trapped
and falling
in my own waste-
d breath
and regret.
And I think
to myself;
I’m no longer the
ignition to
your thoughts.
Maybe all of
my words
played with
put together
torn apart
smothered around
blown away
held along
and laughed about
were nothing
but mere words
to guide
me back
to your restless soul.

FIFTY SHADES OF EARTH'S DEMISE // JOHARA ALMOGBEL

Her wide, beautiful, eyes, the color of an ancient mystic Chinese jade dragon, glittered in the dawning moonlight, drawing the strong and mysterious and black haired, very muscled, billionaire Jones closer and closer because there was this magnetic power pulling them together even though he just saw her like, five seconds ago and- 

The old lady stood, brushing commas off her pants as she did. It was getting quite a bit tedious, this business of badly written novels, she thought, picking her way through the scattered similes from the last dumpload. Not that it wasn’t good money. Or that she would ever judge a book based on content, oh no. It was not the way.

For she was the keeper of the words, and the keeper of the words would never commit such a blatant act of pretentiousness. Never.

Except…

Except. The place was starting to look like a thesaurus, really. Andeveryone knew a thesaurus was not a very healthy environment for well-bred wordians, not at all. It had the most peculiar effect on delicate sinuses. Which she had, of course.

Sniff.

It would, she reflected, be nice to get a decent story every now and then. With proper sentences and perhaps not with such an abundance of exclamation marks. Exclamation marks were quite the bother to clean up, what with the small dots always fluttering off to who-knows-where and clogging up her drains. And they were very hard to sell on the market.

Maybe a poem or two? Yes. Something with the air of a Poe would do quite nicely. Or perhaps a long-lost Orwellian tale! That would be such an excitement.  Oh, the old days had been much more enjoyable. The keeper of the words still remembered when Bram Stoker’s Dracula had come tumbling down the chute. Very lengthy, but a proper horror with very decent vocabulary. Not like nowadays, where they pranced about glittering and making triangles with werewolves and all other sorts of embarrassing things. She snorted. Vampires indeed.

The chute clanged about, indicating another load coming through.

I want you to become well acquainted , on first name terms, if you will, with my favorite and most cherished part of my-

Oh, bother. It was that one again. The keeper of the words put on her macintosh, donned on her surgical gloves, and waited.

That sort of literature was always bound to be sticky, after all.

INDECISO // MAJID ALTURKI

It’s horrible how fast
These raindrops
Run from one spectrum
To the other in a matter of
Nanoseconds.
In a nano, I catch one
Laying upon the warm cells,
Hoping to break free from the
Dark layers that cease
"Evaporation."
In the nano right after,
I catch one racing
Against the odds
Of this world
But with no success
Whatsoever
It falls off the flesh,

Dreamless
Hopeful

Hopeless
Dreamful.

These drops desire the sky
And the shelter of the clouds,
Losing it
And spilling what's
Left of the mad-house
Hoping, dreaming
Only to find solace
Within the torn
Cells of its
Raw, organic molecules..
Killing each and every drop,
Never to rise again.

Under the surface, the raindrops are happy. The raindrops feel lonely. The raindrops are free. The raindrops can not make up their minds, for they have always felt this way.

UNTITLED // ARMAN

According to the laws of he who had no essence of the Message he has conveyed, and those who followed with no perceiving, you shall be living in a cell.
You shall inherit the basic rights of thoughtless beings of A mind and hearts, and there are none.
Your goals rest in a shell.
Your thoughts are blasphemous, your love is plain lecherous.
Your Family revolves you, live Your life portraying their professed perfect image.
By their beliefs you shall be mislead, through the labyrinth of the lost ones.
I shall and will deceive, I won’t be clinched to their bare-self creeds.