Dance with...

Inhibitions set free...
As the music bumps,
And the crowd weaves...

Each body losing itself
In it's own private world...
Connected together to become..

A party pit...
A night club scene..

Drinks go down..
And magically..
It's a crowd of smiles,
A group of sweat,
A human interaction...

Yet each one dances...
To their own beat.

No longer slaves of society.

Intertwining bodies...

Bumping, rubbing, touching,

With a language all its own...

The dance floor now rules.

Until the music stops,

then bodies choose. 

@s.irfanaleem 8.16.2014

Shell Once Shed

Searching this old familiar place.
For things I recognize, that feel in sync.
An outsider is all I am here now.
A tourist who knows more than the shell.

How did I ever fit in?
Was it so easy to play the role?

Time passes and people change,
Yet it stayed so clear within...
Each and every memory.

Tattooed upon my soul,

Following me as my now life grows old.

A lifetime it feels,

Lived in this very place.

So many stories... Captured Memories.

In a different time, a different me...

Just someone I used to be.

A shell worn to perfect the skin.

Protect the outside from seeing in.

It no longer fits... a discarded disguise

Walking my own footsteps,

Wondering, so much about life.

.... knowing... There's a story to tell.

and yet? ... 

What becomes of the shell....
When it's been shed by the soul?

@s.irfanaleem 8.16.2014

Who Reigns

Is it the walk, the talk, the heels?
The pretty dresses and made up faces?
The loud and busy crowded places?
Or the street corners lined with cars?

Or is it the woman behind the face,
In flip flops or tennis shoes?
Cleaning house, chasing stars?
Dreaming of the brighter day...
When all the games can fade away.

But can it ever really change?
Can the hooker become the housewife?
In which place is her natural reign?
Is she a woman or an object?

When the heels come off,
The make up fades...
And all the pretty dresses,
Get thrown away.

The clean house, trips to the park...
Supermarket shopping...
And in bed by dark.
Can never erase, never take away,
The memories of the object.

The woman will forever fear,
Always struggle... 
Never understand.
What it means to be loved by a man.
For the object will forever,
Live within her skin.

@s.irfanaleem 8.16.2014

New Day Dawns

And with the start of each new day...
the sand is washed.
All of yesterdays imperfections,
taken out to sea...
now nothing more than memories.... 
and a new day dawns...

@s.irfanaleem 8.17.2014

Unlock her world

When my eyes were as young as hers,
They were filled with images of my world,
For in those times a babe so young...
Just wasn't believed to have the capacity.

Mobiles, and play mats, pink and blue this or that...
Nope, just the arms of a family member,
and solid wooden furniture.
Now... well now the look in her eyes speaks volumes alone!!

Bright beautiful colors all around,
mixed together with sights and sounds...
Push for this, touch for that.... a world where everything is interact.
Her Mind is so quickly filled with fascinating things.

I can only imagine even looking at this image...
not yet 3 months old and already fascinated,
With the lights and sounds of a cellular phone.
Intelligence truly is all that we open them up to ....
 

Show less

Mystery

Each night I hear...
Just loud enough to know...
That there exists the sound...
Of a playing radio.

From where does is come?...
The corner of my room...
And what does it play?...
Well, I can't quit hear the tune.

But I hear the voices...
The songs and the music...
Just loud enough...
To rob me of my sleep.

No, I'm not delusional...
And it's not just in my head...
For others hear this phenomenon...
They can track it down as well.

Seven years off sounds now...
Each night as I lay in bed...
And here I wonder... 
What's the mystery... of this noise,
That once again fills my head...

Why, who, when... 
And for exactly how long...
Has this mysterious radio...
Been stuck playing no particular song?

@s.irfaneem 8.3.2014

Void

Passion fuels the thoughts
That so freely find the inner me...
Emotions are the portholes
That let these thoughts flow free...

And then the passion...
Slowly fades
from deep inside
Leaving this body
an emotionless shell...
Leaving words,
To simply fade 
Without life. 

@s.irfanaleem 8.4.2014