Shy : #Inktober Day 7

A shell cracks to reveal a web 

of scars 
Victories 

being shielded from glory 

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Divided: Inktober Day 2

I went looking for my body
amidst the mangled mess of memories

beyond thorned hedges of fear 

where my mind chases balloons

along a rocky beach. 
But I came back with

skins of sand

strong enough to hug the wavess

and not break 
I came back with eyes

that do not fear the face of death….

Hakeem Adam.

[All the poems in this Inktober series are unfinished, rough drafts that will be deleted once the month is over. Thank you]
 

Sometimes ghosts achieve more than men. 

I lost my rhythm whilst I waded through muddy waters by the banks of the sea of experience for pearls to brighten my nervous walk on my eroded path. I had to shed my skin so many times that I cannot tell anymore if it is living flesh or dead skin that I stretch out of, anytime I reincarnate into another version of myself. 
These fragmented pieces of my identity are like wholrs of a fingerprint in their lazy yet seductive curves, each incomplete without the next. Each complementing the other to build an apparition of my true self. 
But sometimes ghosts achieve more than men. Sometimes what we need is a dream and not the broken edges of reality opening wounds in our calloused palms. Sometimes what we need is to fall, whilst ignoring the knowledge of the eventual pain. 

Sometimes 

Looking for tomorrow + Video Art

Ambition does not work

where she comes from

It does not buy you

any of the meals

whose army of aromas 

compete with the rebel stench of filth 

for the wings of the air.
It does not get you a ticket

on à rickety bus

through a sea of traffic

to the hills

of shinny seducing lights 

and clean air sweatened 

by the presence of peace
Ambition has no value here

It is a stubborn shrub

growing by the side of a wide gutter

whose leaves are always chewed

by the strolling goats and dozing cattle 

Yet stays alive 

and hopes of flowering 

when the rain comes 
Ambition has no place

in this same place 

where it is hawked shamelessly 

by the finest merchants 

who descend from the hills 
But she buys 

more than she can carry 

in her empty chest 

and waits for the day 

when she will walk past 

the same streets she walks everyday 

and they will

become gardens 

where she too can grow. 
**

This poem like most of my new poetry will be accompanied by a video art installation. Thank you.