Poem

Undeserved Gift.

Poem

Undeserved Gift.

My pen is sick and tired…

Of writing about nonsense..

About fake wars and pretentious revolutions…

About the fires that burn inside you because of another person…

 

My pen is sick and tired…

 

My pen is sick and tired of all those times I didn’t write about the truth…

About how I didn’t make my people’s misery my muse…

About how I didn’t express my fury and anger at the world’s injustice…

at how a country was once a source of pride…

and now it’s a source of shame and scrutiny..

 

my pen is so sick and tired..

of the two faced degenerates who claim to be ruling by the word of god..

and how they made “الله أكبر” a synonym for hypocrisy, tyranny and terrorism..

at how they whip women for not covering their head..

yet praise a man for not covering his sins…

 

my pen is sick and tired…

of not writing about a society that is no better than its rulers..

a society that speaks ill of a woman when she doesn’t conform to the low standards..

she could be an astronaut who went to the moon..

but all they’ll say is she did it while wearing a بنطلون

plus she’s not married, how could she do anything alone?

As if her existence cannot be validated unless she has a man by her side..

And a child in her uterus..

 

 

My pen is sick, outraged, upset, infuriated, depressed…

And tired…

About how we look at the world and turn a blind eye to ourselves…

Of how we judge others while we’re not any better..

As if we know our case is hopeless, doomed and worthless..

 

My pen is sick and tired…

Mostly with me, because god bestowed upon me this gift…

Yet I use it in vain, in nothing…

I could enlighten, empower, enrich…

But I don’t..

mostly its just corny words sewn together by some cliché fabrication..

 

my pen is sick and tired..

and it refuses to write anymore…

unless its for something worth writing…

 

something worth fighting for… 

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