Every poem in As I Write These Words seeks to take the reader on a journey with author Samir Georges. This very personal collection of poetry, begun by Samir at the age of ten and completed on his twentieth birthday, offers an invitation to travel across the tapestry of emotion and experiences he weaves. Raised in a culture that values and nurtures poetry, Samir first began writing poetry in his native language without any training. His need for expression spurred him on. From the emotion of "He Whistles as He Walks, This Man" to the charm of "Lady", he improvises every poem, writing before he thinks; to him, emotions are felt like flint and stone in the hand, long before thought sparks from between. As I Write These Words presents an offer to dream, journey, and grow-an offer made with an open hand that is there for the taking. Contemplating quietly and fluently is he Not with speech but by mind and precision in every degree, Congratulate those who assimilate to those around them with decree. But he who cares not for the throng knows better than to be bound by such wrong, For judgment is to be awarded by deeds best unknown to the judge, Not as a tool to be handed down from a man to fool.

As I Write These Words

By Samir Georges

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012Samir Georges
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4697-7375-9

Chapter One

    Open Curtains

    To a scene of beginning:
    Where with a gasp of universal release,
    The dark void bursts from the light
    Showers worlds with the heat of new passion,
    and from darkness comes life.

    And so too is born into this world rust
    and the dulling of blades,
    the birth of habits
    when globes dim and dull, glow and growl.

    But the emptiness remains vast,
    a sight of worldly yearning
    Cold to the eyes,
    Faint to the touch.

    It's a sight caught up in the stars
    amidst the ones that have fallen,
    the many that are falling still,
    and those in our eyes that live.
    They remind us
    of rolling hills,
    the illusion of mountains,
    and their promise of clouds;
    the uncertainty of faith
    and crashing to the earth;
    the steady crawl,
    the forced ascent;
    another promise,
    another beginning.

    And we rise again, always
    in step with the sun,
    and the breath of this fuller world
    that stands alone all around us,
    demanding our hearts and pledge
    to live
    and begin again; all that once was
    to fill this empty space
    with something other
    than dull yearning
    and cold embrace.

    And with every word and breath,
    a promise
    to begin anew.
    Rise again as workers tasked
    and fill this world with life.


    Soft-spoken Words

    Softly spoken words arise
    from the ashes
    in droplets of snow,

    and they rise like curtains
    shrouding us in cooling shade,
    enticing us
    with the tingling of their touch.

    These heartfelt sensations
    that melt away in waves before the sun

    leave but a gentle dew
    and memories
    of soft-spoken words.


    Wilful Captive

    I'm sitting in the perfect place,
    feeling very present
    from the ebbing of the pain in my ankle,
    the tickle I feel upon my brow,
    the fading ache of the bench against my back,
    and the ease of every breath,
    to the touching of the wind
    like a gentle rain that leaves no mark behind,
    to the pleasantness of the bird mere struts away,
    to the ant intruding on my thoughts
    and the smoothness of the water trickling
    so close to my ears.

    Even the pavement beneath my clothed feet
    feels soft yet unyielding.
    The fly that twirls around
    and the clearness of my eye—
    Oh, I am caught in a perfect place
    between two worlds.


    Whispers

    The flash of a bulb.
    "Sorry" flashes
    in my mind.
    Echo.

    The pulse of my mind,
    snap of the camera.
      Snap!
    Echo.
      Sorry.

    Pregnant rain
    slushes down the sky,
    Lightning skidding
    through the drops.
      Snap.
    Fading flash ploughs
    back to the camera,
      my mind.

    Clouds limp past, dragging.
    Sorry, I can no longer hear the
      whisper.
    Snap, flash, all gone, huddled
    in a ball in the back of
    my mind.

    A drop,
    another,
    jolt my sleeping senses.
    A swarm, rain rails down, cold.
    A startled cry—
      they awake.
    Shredding the wind,
    clouds streak by; steam engines, like flashes, burn my eyes.

    The sun blazes upward; I crane my neck
    to catch it—too fast,
    gone,
    the whisper
      gone.


    A Foul Business

    In debt to this world,
    Silent is she
    Who is spared no sympathy.
    Stripped of her fruitfulness,
    Once so welcoming and whole,
    Now she lays there,
    Her pride an open door.
    A crippled beast once wild
    Discarded there, unspoken,
    To be picked at by carrion
    Or mauled at by those remorseless needs.

    One day a dear friend came by to include
    His hungering smile,
    Putting no effort to hide
    His green teeth, a gleaming pride.


    Whirlpool of Fate, Siren
    Grasp of Quicksand

    Swallowed by your path, Panic!
    Wriggling in its strong grasp, Suffering!
    Subdued beneath its murk, Frantic!
    Twitching weakly with hope, Flickering ...!

    Peacefully captive bound soul, Unspoken ...
    Recalling events long past, Ebbing...