Free II
A Collaborative Effort With Kare *Musical Selection: Eve, Tambourine.*
Unsurprisingly,
we have shifted many and
watched them fall out
of their seats,
refusing to acknowledge our
greatness.
Silly peons…
don’t they know that when
we come en masse we flood
the scene?
A Writer’s mind never sleeps —
in the middle of the night,
stories brew, simmer, and will
burn if you do not release them.
If we’re given an open space to vent, we will shake your algorithm and knock you off balance, slipping into each crevice with a presence bolder than Anne Frank. With every breath taken, we create art — and your permission is not needed for this. I will clean up my own feed, freeing it from useless nonsense that does not feed me.
Doubt what we can do?
Sit back.
Peep game.
Watch us work.
We have African drums for hearts,
coated in dried animal skin,
thick, designed to withstand
rough palms of passionate traditional soloists,
you can’t stop us!
We write to live. We live to write.
Our voices get louder with every pound.
We get stronger, wilder, bolder, louder.
Our words echo deeply,
sending signals to summon energy
from the fantasies we create,
form bonds too complex
for your unimaginative minds to grasp,
alone we’re rock steady —
combined we’re indestructible.
We have walked through fiery paths barefoot, emerged unscathed, whole. Your baseless threats bounce off of walls too high for your kind to scale. You judge us in the comfort of cozy blankets near rivers overflowing with milk and honey while our ships brush skins with waves through unpredictable seas and endless oceans. We carve our names on rocks in vast deserts and swing so high between valleys we touch the sky. We talk to the moon and whisper our troubles to the night, dawn finds us pure, nourished.
Ready to devour the good it brings,
learn from the bad it harbors…
when we’re lost we lay on dirt
and gaze upon stars so majestic they calm us.
But you, you’re conformists.
Too afraid to know fear,
too weak to seek truth...
Too complacent to see beauty..
Too proud to live.
We pursue the unknown so boldly aiming to exhaust our lifeline, see everything, feel everything, be everything, we create worlds you daren’t live in. We’re alive and we know it. We don’t walk with a guideline on how to be, we have fallen many times. We crawl until we can learn to walk again, we dust off specks of dirt from our tattered garments and journey on. We take risks, we’re not afraid to fail, we know chances are handouts, ours to take when we damn well please, it’s how we grow.
Every story we pen is a new beginning — a whisk that clears the fog on our path, the sentences that define us have no full stops. You think you can spell out who we are unaware there’s an unprinted edition — two, or perhaps three, hell four! We’re a bulky book of personal tales yet to host our best works, only when you’re done reading through it, will you paint our shades with certainty and precision.
And, even then, you’ll fail. Uncontrolled contents burst at their seams each time, overflowing from their hosts, eager to be set free.
How can you cage a bird that has too many songs to sing?
That’s simple.
You cannot.
Kare and I first collaborated on November 23, 2016. Kare does not just write, she becomes what she is writing. Please believe me when I tell you that it is a lovely/painful/fulfilling journey each time we work together. She has a voice that echoes loudly and hits you even when you least expect it. An incredible young mind of Medium. I am grateful for her words. Noha Medhat, hello dear heart. If you don’t mind, please get ready.
