ENIGMA OF SELF - Wardha Jawdat (best self help books to read .txt) 📗

Dedicated to
Farah

Thank you for always accompanying me on this,
at times colorful,
at times grey journey.


THE SIMOOM

It scalds my dreams.
My subconsience lies shimmering,
Like molten, pulsating, lava
In the Sighing volcanic rage,
Of my Hatred for you.

You've turned me into a wasteland,
Upon which, simooms wage sand wars;
And the drought remains suspended,
Like a promised curse,
Unbreaking, never ending.

I walk upon these barrens,
With hair turned flame copper,
By the merciless stare of Helios,
And I hate you with the passion,
Of Medusa.


ME

I am abstract,
An abstract of Me;
I am disjointed,
Hiding within Me.
Drowning, in unsaid words,
Unspoken truths about Me.

I am losing my mind
In the maze of Me.

I lie awake for hours, divining
The meaning of my life,
And then I rock myself back,
To the ignorance of sleep;
Shunning again the restlessness,
That is the essence of Me.

I draw the curtains about my self,
I refuse to speak to Me,
Yes, I fear no mortal more
Than the mortal that lives in Me.


*

AURAS

I see them,
The colors that play around you,
And they whisper to me,
Stories of your soul.

They have enticing tendrils:
Delicately curved and petit in form,
Which float above and around you,
Carrying the aroma of your soul to me.

I watch them, mesmerised by their play
Enthralled, by the secrets they whisper,
Wondering, if they lie, just like you do.
Their allure is your deceit.

They seem to vibrate in giggles,
Of glee and mirth at the mischief,
Of your intentions.
And I feel my Anger stirring,
It sends forks of red,
That slice through,
The insipidity of you,
And you suddenly turn away,
Confused,piqued ,full of disdain,
And your aura shrinks,
With tendrils retreating,
Pulsating, timidly with the hurt,
Of my rejection.

I am hard to deceive,
With affectations and insincerity,
For I see the colors,
Of your soul.

*

TWISTED REASON

I have learnt from you,
That everything is two-faced,
And that Goodness doesn't count
For tuppence, in a world devoid of grace.

I have learnt that it's wise,
To shoot down the other guy,
Before he gets his finger
Cozy upon the trigger.

I have learnt that ugly truths are all reverential,
And should be labelled “highly confidential”
And should be reserved,
As the proverbial “trump card”,
When you need to cripple your opposition.


I have learnt to Trust no one,
Since the world with distrust is replete,
And noone desires attributes,
archaic and obsolete,
I have learnt, oh so tragically,
That more human are things,
that dependably “beep”
Than those with a heart that so oft,
skips a beat.

I have learnt to weep in the apathy of my car,
Rather than upon a soft shoulder.

I have learnt to talk to walls,
Rather than a human boulder.

I have learnt to make peace with the ugly,
And never trust the “looker”

I have fed my innocence to the cynics
And now I'm all the wiser.

*

WHISPERED BATTLES

I hate the dark,
Silent caves in which,
I've stored all the hurt,
All the ill's, you
Wished upon me

I never visit those
Memories;exiled as they are
In the caves of my mind;
Until the time when
You rekindle old spites,
Reawaken sleeping demons
Stoke to angry hungry Flames
The dying embers of my hate.
Then the caves spew forth
The worm infested cadavers
Of past venomous games
Played by you,suffered by me in shame,
And I fight the age old battle
Of digesting the same acrid waste:
My passionate distaste.

My wounded pride wages war,
Against the walls of those caves;
My Ego whispers obscenities
Which my poker face restrains,
And I sit stoned,
Listening to your tirade;
Afraid, more of myself cracking
Under the strain,
Of those whispered battles
That wage on in my brain.

*

THE MR.HYDE IN ME

And I smile,
To let you think all's well;
And I talk rapidly, to fill
The uncomfortable silences
Between your lies and my disbelief;
And I laugh louder than anyone else,
To keep quiet my Disquieted Self.

I stop IT before IT erupts forth,
And reveals to you,
What a dark place my Mind Be.
I have so many unsaid accusations,
Such dark truths nestled uneasily in Me,
That you might just be stricken
Into a deathlike palsy.


I am a dangerous person,
For I hold too much captive
Behind this mask I have donned
Of smiling,restrained, composure.
I have maniacal rages
Which I have never quiet unleashed
Nor quiet explored in their dark degree.

I am the afraid of what lies tethered
To the very brink of sanity,
For though I recognise it as
The reflection of me,
I am frightened to siezures
By the insanity I see
Grinning out of it's eyes...at me.

*

THE DIARY OF THE ABANDONED

The mouths to feed
Lie silent for now, but not for long;
He's been gone I’m afraid
For very, very, long.
Too long for my hopes to expect his return,
But not long enough for me to hate him,
With a passion.

It’ll be dawn soon
And hunger shall awaken the young;
The desperation to feed and clothe my flesh,
Shall before long, return.
I know not which way to dig
Or which direction to burn;


What part of myself do I sell,
To salvage the hungering soul.

Oh Lord!
“Love” is the penultimate curse
Upon a woman whose chosen the worst;
"Dependence"
The devil's spell upon one
Who slumbers,
In the lap of another's festering scorn.
Ah! Daybreak I can't play with regret anymore,
Self-pity is a luxury I shall bathe in
Forever more.
But for now,
I shall scavenge,
And survive somehow,
The only respite is making it till dusk,
Somehow.
There’re mouths to feed
And bodies to clothe,
And nothing more to guide me but the pain,
The instincts,
And the sheer brutal strain,
The anger,
The passion of having been deceived,
The desire to be heard,
And the need to be seen!

*

THE MUSE

I want to court "discontent"

for a while longer yet.
I want to cavort with words,
utter some more sonnets to rivet.
Come “discontent”

, plague my soul
for thou art my muse

,
my nemesis, my ever oozing wound...
I need for the blue ink to flow
for my ache to blossom and grow
into poems, into verse, into song.
Come Muse, Pain, Plague!

Come play with my sanity some more.
I am not ready to resign my pen
I wish to play Devil

some more.

*

AND THE DEVIL SAID

In my being
there's a rabbit hole, so deep,
It begins, like a vice
where your nightmares end;
I keep my eyes lowered,
and my hands folded,
so that you see it not,
in my eyes,
lapping up your soul.
And, feel it not atremble
in my hands,
as they desire to
bleed you whole.
You don’t even see it,
dont even think I exist.
Your mind can’t escape
the feeble
mazes you keep it trapped in,
the desires, the pathetic wants,
and simplistic needs,
you think will make you complete...
You see not that I enslave you,

that you are puppets for my treat.
You feel no regrets, no depravity,
no desire to escape my captivity...
I have you in the palm of my hand,
and I am bored now
with your sacrilegious seed.
Your ungodliness has ceased
to please me...
I wonder...
what else shall I
now disease?


THAT BE LOVE

I look mesmerized
at the drowning darkness
in your onyx like eyes,
I look at those lips,
ruby red as though bled,
I look at that satin skin
smelling of peaches
as though lusting
for deglutition,
I look at you
and then pry my eyes away,
you could entice the devil into faith,
had you half the desire to it.
You could rob me of my sanity
had you been aware
I staked it...
You could have me snatch my heart out,
had you so desired to see it
beat.
You, so pure a deity,
would have me sell my soul
if that were the price
for a kiss.

*

ICE

The cold war you wage,
is of the fibre that would
freeze over hell's gates;
and confound the devil himself
with its lack of soul.
Your reticence has
cooled my raging passions,
and made me a stranger
to my own shadowy presence;
I exist no longer in my world
of ginger and spice,
where romanticisms were nurtured
and fairytales sprung a thrice.
You have made me a pauper
upon the streets of my own fantasy;
I no longer sing ditties or
fondly play with elf or pixie.
I stand marooned,
on an island of ice,
chilled to the bone
and blue in my woe;
yet , not a tear I shed…anymore;

*

THE VIGIL

There's a hole in my soul,
It's allure is magnetic,
And it's darkness, whole.

It beckons every night
When I'm slow and sad, and weak,
The battle that I fight
Is ancient,
My defense at times meek.

My armor,
is heavy,
And my soul sore,
As my tragedies play out,
And my heart bleeds into my throat.
I have to stomp out the darkness,
Before it swallows me whole.
The battle wages till morn,
Wages on and on,
I have to hunt for that dawn,
Which will finally,
Defeat the hole

Till then,
I must live this vigil;
Till then,
stay afloat!

*

Books by Wardha Jawdat

Poetry

Shades of Grey
Known Stranger
Sweet Treats
Enigma of Me

Fiction & Short Stories

A Summer in Black
Writing by Numbers
Life: The Final Seconds
Kat & Sable
Enchanted Lake


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Text: Copyright © 2010 Wardha Jawdat. All rights reserved. This book contains material protected by Copyright. Any unauthorized reprint or