Wake into your own reality

To white men morality begets a son,
To the black man, it begets none
And since God gave men two colours,
One that is cool, another collous;
Shall a man live for his honour,
Or dwell in another man’s honour?

Men of all kinds are born slaves,
But some are slaves to many masters.
As the master is slave to his self,
Temptation by the neck fetters him.
But remains master to me and you,
We are slaves to the selves and him.
Our beingness is imitation to him,
We knew not of him few centuries ago.

Our senses have made slaves of us,
And senses can make the done undone.
Disapointment is relying on others,
When in pursuit of joy bridges fall.
No man should be slaved but by God,
Like the shepherd in freedom dwell.

In God’s creation of man, I ponder,
Why is reality a one man’s domain.
Some wake in reality they create,
Some wake in another man’s reality.
Since refusal of it is in your choice,
Chose your reality and your death.

There is no fear to man than death,
Intently facing death is a winning
Over the man whose weapon is fear.
Pain and hunger are agent to death,
Face the parent, the agent shall flee.

Isseh

Delirium Train

Hell I danced, rocked
As my very own train
Of ecstasy steamed,
Into a misty eternity
Of a Shisha fantasy
And I raised my head
In the smoky clouds
That meshed in
With the meadow’s hue
And in the highs
Of that dreamy time
I was a Persian saint
Lost in Elysian Fields
Hankering after forbidden
Knowledge of enlightenment

Now I truly know
It wasn’t the mint flavour
That got me hearing
‘Oh Babylon train
Take we to Zion’
‘Hey man,’ I said
‘This is Yrpes Express!’

That’s when ecstasy train
Took the Silk Route
And my Gypsy friend
Strummed his guitar
And hummed to me
‘Heavy shit you smoking,
You’re going to Nan-king!’
‘Oh yeah?’ I asked
‘Hell yeah’ he said
‘But I’ll sing for you
A sweet song till Nan-king’
‘Where’s Nan-King?’ I asked
‘Few stops from hell’ he smiled

Beware, humanity!

Beyond life’s distastes of daily dictation
Lies a transcendent spirit, potent, unfilthed
A spirit oft man forgets, lost or unwanted
Like an orphaned girl, lost in her direction

Man in search of ease or salvage, never finds,
Solace in this world’s glitter of unrealness;
For there is no truth in the bond that binds,
Man to woman, mother to son, for closeness.

Pity relation, today’s worshiping of wealth
This world of deciet, a living lacking in all,
Of which vice had chased virtue off its path,
A path once taken delivers humanity to hell

–
Be not lost,
don’t let your senses deceive you…
Be careful

-Isseh poem first posted on Camel milk thread

An Ode to Xalimo

An Ode to a Xalimo (Bless your heart)

Thy wafting scent of femininity is sweetest,
When my nostrils’ crave is well pleasured;
By that Dirac whose exposure is measured,
By the perfumes spread when wind is fleetest

Thy figure, my dear, natural elements revere
Thy feet wherever they tread is the sphere,
Neither hateful eye nor evil ear comes near
That is the sort of good Xalimo you’re, my dear

Now gallop before me like a horse, to and fro
Sway those hips, darling, as far as they can go
Burn that incense to the coal till I supplicate
And my lungs with your uunsi do suffocate

O’ Xalimo though art like an Anjero blessed
That I consumeth with a heart’s full delight
Gratitude is to thee, for delicious foods I bite
And forgive me for yelling when I am messed

-my old poems from Camel milk threads and my other blog Isseh’s Enclave

An Ode to the Ethereal Harlot

Squeezed flesh of moistened warmth
Crafted edges of delicate furnishing
Of soft, tender tissues yet of strength
That narrow canal ebbing, vanishing

Deflowering shyly to stiffened muscle
Welcoming gladly a pleasing struggle
Of excited spirit and pleasured body
Making the heart be ripe and ready

In accepting the ecstasies that come
With bodily fluids that joyfully come
Oh, is your flesh not a heap of pleasure
An ethereal gift most men treasure?

by Isseh aka Paragon

Poem first posted on Camel milk threads, 2008

Let me go on my own…

The unlit, invisible road, that slithers
Intently into the dark wilderness,
Of bygone times of gory histories,
It is this road and only this road,
On which I travel in my own accord.

May my beloved she-road unravel
Whatever twists and turns she must.
May she wind down steep mountains-
May she roll herself rough and rude
Across a deep and fathomless valley;

Whatever kind her protests in nature be,
This she-road after which I gladly tow,
Wherever she wills or dictates to go,
Its there where my legs would take me

She, my road, is the ancestral glue,
That holds together ancestoral threads
Of forefathers whose revered names,
Are echoed through history’s vacuum,
In which when she speaks I loudly hear !

There exist no eternal tombstone or
Tougher mountain rock lasting than her
Into which I may deeply chisel my name.

Only she is my road to an existence
Blessed by the past and present
And gladly welcomed by the future
She is the one from which to gain,
The knowledge and secrets of life
That informs the will to hold on to life.

So please do not cross my she-road,
With dripping daggers of your words,
Which in envy roll down your tongues

If you’ve already deemed me delirious,
Now is the time to leave my foolish heart,
To the troubles of my lonely journeys!

……by Ali. Isseh (aka TheWayfarer/TheAwakener/The Paragon/Cirday…and others.)

Poem first (02.28.2007) appeared Camel Milk Threads. Just found it again by because someone that interests it wanted to know more about it and another poem amongst the many I scribbled and forgot. Its always amusing when someone somewhere in this world comes into contact with something I scribbled on somewhere in some obscure fringe of the net (mind you: such places and peculiarly odd and nonconformist but genious ideas attrack me) contacts me that I get assured that my clue, or shall say, signpost, was finally found.