Born to Roar

‘Born to Roar’ is my newest poem, the longest, and my masterpiece. It took me about a month and a half to finish, and I am going to publish it online sharing it with the public, and without further ado, I present you with ‘Born to Roar’:

A glimpse into my ancient genes illustrate a remarkable era,
Lords after lords placing footprints with everlasting camels,
Travelling as tribal silhouettes creating a basic mapped arc,
Arriving as one of three hands upon the shore’s only castle,
Strangling salted tears whilst scales suffer collateral damage,
Deterioration never occurred; rather Time had a blissful face,
Aye, bee, cee with successful hits and the hunted triumph,
Ceasing when the half DNAs caused the flamed symbol,
Praising the gloomy face of Time awaiting drastic mutations,
In a period where chains of downhill-streets is a one-way,
Except, the pearl grew ever wise, strong, beautiful, and pure,
Knocking down the belittled pulps of the fake bars of gold,
Then to beget diamonds from collisions of mystical energies.

A freshly ripened fruit sent by the emerald back to earth,
Its cushions were flat showing no mercy to natural wells,
Soon afterwards clang to the tree trying to regrow its stalk,
Alone and befouled if not taken by the delicacy of the pearl,
As water and Time accumulate this fruit welcomed many,
Except to its selfish eff as it becomes an echoic background,
Never lonely, stood by its side the other two 2-carat diamonds,
Initiating the operation brothers-in-arms king of the hill,
As if three musketeers aiming for the canopy of this tree,
Thus, Time on the sundial displays an alphanumeric mark,
Indicating the necessity in generating exponential growths,
Still in the process facing challenges and solving issues,
Trying to befriend with whom have books, platforms, notes,
Pretty regrettable in this era to behave the way I do not.

Twenty four, a flourishing and shining ambitious age,
Yet, the purest living person on Earth decides otherwise,
Cleaving and girdling the wildest forms of gemstones,
Then polishing them preparing for infamous galleries,
Asking Allah for the Hereafter’s reward and why not?
Shoulder to shoulder with our beloved prophet’s, amen!
Marrying Khaled Ibn Al-Waleed, with Allah’s Will,
The pearl, a glowing star omitting optimistic aurora,
A smart engine driven by the sweetest honey and milk,
Blessed with the most delicate flesh yet unbreakable,
Lub-dupp lub-dupp beating for this nation’s future,
If only Angels were to be seen, to be heard, to be felt,
Then this pearl would be mistaken for such a creation,
In the meantime, I kiss her hands and forehead thankfully,
My pearl, my pure, my angel, my friend, my future, my love.

Covalent bonds between three isotopic carbons,
Forming non-metallic transparent relationships,
As for stability, radioactivity of 14C has taken place,
Living half-a-life of over fifty-odd centuries,
Growing perfumes then grazing for dust industry,
Outsourcing to gain priceless benefits and profits,
Re-read to know if my tongue is placed onto sarcasm,
And then what? That is it; seriously, that is it,
Hence, pin-pointing them out whilst still admiring,
So, I ask you for opportunities such as these, any?
Rare, if none, and reason made this bond ever closer,
Similarly, another carbon I owe many adventures to,
Open-complex-minded, yet simple weird hearted,
Licks new individuals with sharp poisonous thorns,
Senseless person? Rather, too genius for me to write,
So, I accept you as my first double covalent bond,
And I agree to invite any flesh of fruits to bond with.

Cerulean gems endeavour along this invaluable crust,
Smiling whites then holding hands then hugging,
Their stalk illustrate different conformation,
Though, trusting the branch to grasp the same tree,
Eradicating aging differences, to support to protect,
Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, all in all,
To them I return from outsider’s ruthless cave,
Rehabilitation is what I seek regrowing my vivid hair,
Kissing these gems planting them next to my flesh,
Keys to the agonised entities dispersing colourful flora.

The pulps of fake bars of gold act as rotten candies,
Fighting rebellious along the smirking half DNAs,
Vandalising every centimetre of this branched twig,
A once beautifully-carved well-maintained stem,
Yet, as selfish miners, exported fake bars of gold,
Some of them eat some of them as wild dogs do,
The pulps know but the snakes keep their distances,
Detesting such branches as we regrow ours back,
Lecturing us to stand by their side along half DNAs,
Welding the boring rusty iron-made cyclic chains,
We arise opposite to their frontier facing a clear-cut path,
To them I turn away and to them I keep my distance,
To them I give advice and to them I warn my rage.

I roar from the old white pillar; weeks, months, and years,
Resting on its shelter alongside another but to lease,
Having to state the facts and truths yet 300 kay stolen,
Never mind that but eyes upon eyes keen on its loss,
Yet, a new pillar obtained whilst the loss never reached,
I painted the first, wanting the second, but the third is alright,
Striving to gain the already-set goals; still to pit-stop,
Here and there; I, for once, spin around to foresee,
“I, forever, roar upon dusts that scar my beloved fruits,”
That is what I have foreseen, and here I blood my wrist,
For reason that the pillars are weeping on the monsoons.

Embedding the ech exx kay on this magical fountain pen,
The absence of the ess was noticed and I walk the steps,
There I saw a bunch of little marbles gathering around me,
Their chief progressed asking me about the gender benders,
Rather peculiar, speaking what he wants listening,
Joining his forces with unspeakable elicited guidelines,
Though, forced acceptance, and bait to those benders,
Negotiating policies between soft suffocating parties,
“I here declare that I succeeded and leaving grade three”,
Then, surfing away on the threaded keys to obtain a hair,
Doing original funked-up rituals by the wells and the limbs,
A lady with an umbrella casting her wells onto decorative hats,
Lurky, yet the blueness of the mood cast enigmatic shadows,
Reincarnating Weimar after the brutal bloodsheds of the lords,
Half-truths of Aye Ech, Double You Cee, Jay Ess, rightly discounted,
And if failure was preordained; worry not for “history is in the past”,
Cumulonimbus mammatus to suckle and precipitation of sweat glands,
Emphasise yourself by “I am science”, thus, orange to digest,
And classes to stand, smile stand smirk stand, “headmaster!”
While enjoying pink sheets, 5 x 2 and 1st, then I vote green,
Danny the champion, Curley the swindler, Lenny the &#*$%,
Perceiving French Adiposity as Mrs. Frisby to Dragon,
I, for once, continued banana doodling to Krill’s castle,
All in all for the love of my rollercoaster’s electric shock,
Curled up in midair exhibiting psychic powers to preach,
Observatory’s victorious reports plotting events down under,
Settling in, although such differences shall never be overlooked.

Behold, the desires of mankind opened its G-locked doors,
Mounting mysterious and ever so perplexing granite tiles,
Strolling along naively imitating those of the unfortunate,
Banging on the drums encircled by sneaky snaky figurines,
Then kneeling to the inner beauty of an already-taught entity,
Reciting to the drums rebooting its qualitative journeys,
To the rollercoaster reprogramming its engineered systems,
To the wells digging their dried bases; taken by surprise,
To the beaches constricting the invasion of risky waves,
And to the only fruit recollecting wasted energy drinks,
All together, this universe’s cosmos bow to the Unseen,
Vow to bow and bow to vow for I, believing in Him, prostrate,
And the pearl’s manual straightens this entity tying its knot,
Qualifying few examinations tested by emm cee que’s.

The straight line is this fruit’s offensive and defensive tactic,
Not even free first class e-tickets can alter this line’s shape,
Though twelve is an appealing digit both left and right,
Anti-curvature devices installed onto this entity’s fruit,
Preaching to believe and work for the Gracious One,
I, therefore, ROAR and ROAR and ROAR and ROAR,
“Is there not among you a single right-minded man?”
Qura’an, Muhammad, solid proofs upon solid proofs,
But talking to the deaf, displaying to the blind,
Explaining to the dumb; “Allah, guide us to this line”,
Thus, hugging the seabed’s mirror of the Arabian Gulf,
Walking on Mulu then prostrating in its largest cave,
Strolling along Kuching’s National Park kissing its paper,
I, with Allah’s Might, will forever march along this line,
Roaring onto those who demonstrate twelve to be appealed.

The scribbling coils itself unless it tastes marbles,
Manufactured by copious colourful companies,
Mingling with the majority, but few were persistent,
Crying after misplacing a bloody orange marble,
Teaching the other six words before going to bed,
A marble protested then the six words came into play,
Trying to recover them for around two decades,
Not just one, but a handful; rare spheres indeed,
The 4/3πr3 amplified as transformations commenced,
Subsequently meeting a large light blue opal,
A slightly configured pattern from an old dimension,
Holding it within my palm all through the storms,
Another opal lived, though pale yellow, very trivial,
And for untold reasons, large volcanic red opal shows up,
Patrolling the bananas of the marble-filled palm,
I wait on the day where I grasp that sizzling opal,
Farewell, for now, and I will to you, still seek.

I applaud as I flip my rollercoaster’s piled boxes of files,
Finding a rhomboid-margined shiny surface of printed events,
My idol with an elite slogan: “well manners come first”,
Arriving at the seasonal auction for this eff to buy,
Insecurity enveloped my flesh but giving it another go,
Belremaithah hit upon this tiny fruit to further nourish,
Then bouncing marbles pouring across soapy squares,
Punishing circular clothes for points to score,
Acupuncturing rectangles by pulses of short and high limbs,
White to yellow, then jumping onto blue halting on a red,
Blooding fruits behind bars holding something triumphal,
Hunting swords equipping their fashions for the coronation,
Watering the sails for another without a fisherman’s approval,
Gaseous liquids gather around the cove writing a death note,
At the end of the day modestly reciting flawless Words.

Telescoping Sydney’s visual dots riding my rollercoaster,
Burning them into a rewritable digital versatile disk,
Sorting them out into seven or so sovereign sectors,
Five of which I incessantly enjoy their companionship,
First comes first, bewildered by a fruit from aye dee,
No reason, under the sobbing sky, I call upon this fruit,
The knight in shining armour adopts me into salvation,
From whom I bump into many Emirati-flagged marbles,
To you from my entity to my fruit via my flesh I salute,
Now, opening speeches sending invitations all across,
After quite some time reading for a ceremonial chief,
Assiduous fruits from the facility approve the message,
Holding upper limbs to fracture stiff locked entrances,
Jumping off their facility denouncing mistreatment,
Enduring it all commemorating their rejoice and reunion,
A very old marble standing on shelves of the society,
Gazing at their blueprints and footsteps to account,
Hanging some whilst to others forming red carpets,
Kept a note marking the ‘three-times as old as myself’,
An absolute gentleman, and a mathematician I might add,
Though the likes of aye to zed appeared on Sydney’s shores,
Inflicting constant conspiracies between yellow yolks,
Moralities diminished joining without a second thought,
Calling the logics of the rollercoaster against the extremes,
Despite the fact that eye ess owe cee smile at mirages,
A political and an artist advisor I shall be converted into,
The owe pee queue arr and ess penetrated my circle,
Singing with these marbles during dusk and daylight,
Doubting doubting doubting to never even question,
Perhaps that sort is typically called an innovative bond,
Stepping aside as Time conquers this era’s dimensions,
Misguiding those of the unfortunate, the likes of jay et al,
Concluding on whose marbles glow from Arabic script,
Shining white onto the refreshed minty green background,
Awakening separate dots of the entity repairing its devices,
Aiding those in need and a sacred pillar to resurrect,
With much appreciation I honour them a calligraphy.

The rubbish remnants were compliantly passed over,
This applies to any entity rejecting charity foundations,
Or enslave themselves for false banners to piercingly hail,
Or cheaply sell every inch of their fruits to thirsty wells,
Or eliminate their self existence accepting a new lineage,
Or stamp trademarks on naïve fruits for selfish deals,
Or squeak lowly to bank just as to befall supercilious,
Or unjustly desking fruits from their black phonebooks,
Or raising sails over the wells while nothing to possess,
Or utilise the snake to fib and fib for any pathetic reason,
Or hold onto the book when wants and let go if wants,
Or limbs rejecting the wavelengths exiting the cove,
Or unleash warm alphabetic letters with deep sorrow,
Or seek scavenging vultures to laugh over mausoleums,
Or gently demean the precious stones I shelve elegantly,
I heart my fruit and entity and I heart who hearts me.

The flamed symbol granted its followers a ruinous wish,
Banished into the caverns of this humongous one tree,
Entrapment of our past stung its needle onto our necks,
Eye-dropping and drooling as alien stems advance ahead,
This tree then leant on its left listening to unworthy mumbles,
Living wills to write or seeking advice for advanced directives,
Sleeping in graves walking on a boulevard of broken dreams,
Though its DNA sustained it, watering the unstable roots,
Six others exist to preserve the steadiness of this forest,
And my eff is the founder of such a lovely nutritious soil,
Wishing world’s scientists clone him thousand times,
Hoping for the restoration of our life, security, right,
Freedom, environment, family, culture and pride,
Hoping for the abolition of our corruption, discrimination,
Classed system, dependency, and lack of knowledge,
To the deepest valleys of hell with the foxes’ formalities,
Obliterating bonds then respect to forcefully confiscate,
Open ……………………………………… minded,
Infecting the detrimental youth allowing Nido to wear,
Later, flour to fry faces into the fearless framed flocks,
Befalling upon brainless passersby as drunken phantasms,
To top it with spices, gents then grow garaged gardens,
Harvesting the seasonal lice for false banners to praise,
Nonetheless, finding fresh bright fruits bow in pillars,
Calling others to success and to practice sacredness,
Therefore, this vast forest shows a fantastic future,
Behold, advice your limbs, then your snake, and then your flesh.

A different species of tree coexisted in this poor fruit’s life,
Peeling away its rich-in-nutrients outermost fleshy layer,
Carving yet another masterpiece though without a shadow,
Going back and forth allowing baptism and purification,
Holding back the bulk of agony suffocating all alone,
Slowly dusting off rusty weathered fruit’s cranium,
Their lectured ‘freedom’ displaying it all without dignity,
Following the principles of our books yet no flesh to agree,
Corruption is handcuffed whilst honesty is bailed out,
Wireless network connection established for its persons,
Narrowing the gap with censorship devices to dismantle,
A few forgotten customary concerning crippled elderly,
Wearing through as plastic bags to firmly luggage,
Suburban grandsons arrive at the joyful anniversary,
Then deliberately forgetting the genes and its stalk,
Seeking twelve o’clock parties to binge and sniff,
Ordering menus from Maccas, the two o’clock culture,
Deserting the once child-suckling mother of sons,
No outer space to entertain except in gambling to wane,
Barely growling at the darker-than-black side of Time,
Muttering hysterically as Time imitate Grim’s scythe,
Then a doctor administering morphine for palliative care,
Imperfect trees exist since the book is believed treacherous.

I roar whilst few squeal, meow, or disgustingly howl,
Indeed what lies under this life’s crust is death of fruits,
Whilst entities utilise tickets of life buying valuable tools,
If appraised by the long sails of fruits then how to cuddle,
Better for the entity to reside within this six-walled area,
Worshiping Allah than becoming a stinking garbage,
Sins hunt us as Time lags since tee comes after ess,
Then comes U, me, and them with sins twisting our arms,
Ups and downs; where downs are sharp barb-wired fences,
Where ups are voices of wisdom impersonating Malcolm X,
Zealously following this straight line inviting the rest of you,
I roar when asleep as Dust particles create me into anew human race,
Roar to born the books for entities to read, understand, and work.

Monday, 18th of January 2010

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