Breathe slowly friend – don’t let the smog fill your lungs
The sea of your sunset – the sea of your ember painted clouds
Let it be – for it is,
and it was,
and it’ll always be

You can see the ember painted clouds in all their glory –
a most amazing painting – the clouds lined up like stairs
leading to your heaven.

There are no bad omens

Don’t speak ill of those who allowed you
to run your fingers across
the leather of your skin

Don’t speak ill of those who forced you
to reveal what you hide beneath
veiled words – the whimpers
of one who needs help
but doesn’t want it

She told you to
take that disguise
and burn it
and stand naked before the howling winds
let them take you wherever they may lead.

You will regret nothing – I promise

It hurt you dearly when you felt
that you couldn’t possess her as
she possesses that Camel cigarette
between her lips
that you couldn’t suck her smoke
and burn her tip
to the butt
only to throw her away
before you pull out the next one

People – especially women – are not cigarettes
they are not momentary lapses of time where you
can’t tell the difference between one and the other

People are whirlwinds
their mark on the world is always felt
even if you could not see it
where you have kissed – many others have kissed before
every single thing you felt – everyone has also felt

what is poetry
but the meaningless stream of indistinct rivers
that flow into a vast and endless sea?

Poetry is time and space
you and me
sunrise and sunset
sea and river

Poetry is the whimper,
the last breath
of a whirlwind
before it whispers
and becomes inseparable
from the eternal quiet

By Omar Jamal

Originally written 4 October, 2018

Completed 12 November, 2018

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2 thoughts on “Whirlwind

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