A Time to Rest

“I’m free!” She screamed, and she held her hands out towards the sky.
It’s what she reached for, far above her head.
For peace and happiness; away from all the hurt and pain she felt.
Away so that no one could touch her, they had no reason to.
When she stepped into this dream everyone would know her, know how great she is.
She would have everything she ever wanted. She would be free. So she flew.

CoffeeHouse Poetry

Something profound I’m told to write so let God guide my pen at night
Long did I stumble through life without a guiding light,
like a cigarette waiting for its light. Like a boxer bouncing in a tunnel before the fight.
The journey of the soul requires much to be told so let me explain
how I came to terms with this game.
Once I wanted to catch a train to Spain,
and I wanted Hemmingway sitting next to me in the boxcar so he could explain.
I wanted to sit in Cordoba, and hear the prayer-call,
and feel my mind fall wondering what Rumi meant when he measured his fingers on his brow and said: “This tall.” And this is what goes through my mind everyday yall.
Once I wanted to go war,
and fight for causes I don’t believe in no more.
I wanted to feel the dark blood of my enemy on my brow;
I wanted to see his spirit leave his eyes real slow.
But now I’m a more peaceful man,
but when I still grip my sword the same strength returns to my hand.
I once wanted to go the wilds
and build myself a house for my child.
I wanted to see my children grow,
I wanted to see the good deeds that they sowed

I once wanted to journey to the sky and conquer Mars,
collect the planets in my glass jar..
but alas my dream went too far.
I got no gas-money to start this car.
Tired of my dreams,
tired of my schemes,
tired of walking around holding in my screams
I looked near and far,
tried to find my proverbial star.

Then something inside my heart moved, and I saw in front of me what I had been looking for all along.

A subtle reminder, yet it is so profound.
The crease is folded, to keep shaitan from my mat,
interwoven soft carpet, red burgundy, black,
A bleeding of colors it lies straight but never ruffled,
used but never worn,

friendly but stern, my reminder and my struggle,
Intricate minarets pierce the reddish gold,
long strings dangle off a fluffy stole,
a wet mark enlarges in front of my right big toe,

the water sliding from my skin.
My purification, an oxymoron because my body is anything but pure.

The rug in front of me is my greatest irony,
because if I truly belived in who stood in front,
I’d weep upon it every day out of love and sorrow.

I stand.. then I fidget
I shuffle, than I freeze
I raise my hands…and then I sneeze.
I finnaly recite then i postrate on my knees.
My heart beating, Oh God please
What an ungrateful son of Adam I am..

I’m such a disagrace..
even for a man
Rising I do it again the droplets of water slide down my cheek,

only God knows that prayer for me is such a feat.
My face is burrowed in my rough hands already worn by age 20, creases,bumps, and calluses tell my story.
I ask for forgiveness then I rise
My heart is heavy, my tongue is soft, a smile on my lips.. because I know a secret..

I’ve found the key to life and I know where to keep it

Waleed Sami

I’m playful

i’m not immature.
Last night we jumped on a trampoline far away from the city. We reached our arms up and grabbed at the stars when we could. I finally flew high enough to reach one and kept it safe in my hands while I fell back down. I would guard this star of happiness with my life. We laid in the grass and admired the others. This is real.