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by Tarig Omar

Originally, this was a prodigy; an adonic mythology
This was the mystical spiritual addition to the regular biology
Originally…
This was a poem,

Eminently great, written in the language of epic poetry,
Heroic hexameters and such incorporated in classical antiquity, stanziac artistry,
Ottava rima, terza rima, a pièce de résistance
French, English, Spanish and Italian chant royals depicting royal chants in paper transplant wisdom
like Suliman and an ant,

This was a poem,
In which I claim myself as the absolute eloquent spirit
Studied the Iliad and the odyssey for four hundred years
Ttravelling in time until the Muses became my peers,
Flying solo with the prophecy of Apollo,
Incarnated as a sulu’uk in Ukaz souk, whitnessing mock battles while you banging pop bottles,
standing on the lieu of real wars of heja’a and Andalusian zajal,
Eulogizing shrines and temples with perfect paragraphs and syntax in deserts of harsh life that is actual,
Straight out the memory I’m already spluttering the seven suspended odes yes the hanging poems,
Creating storms inside your domes, make you roam in poetry sees aimlessly,
Just using words, my name is sigma I’m the new enigma, “all must bide helplessly”,
Meditating in Indian caves getting sprayed by the holy waterfalls holding yantras,
Everybody here is dreaming about pushing Elantras, yet I’m Shiva,
Read the Bible, Judith, Genesis, Talmud and memorized the ten commandments,
I’m the valedictorian in every yeshiva,
Declaring myself as an encyclopedic potentate in an ultimate state like Odin,
Using literature to draw a picture, struggling to make you genuflect to the aspect of the state I’m in,
Manifesting maps and patterns of bright colors on butterflies of imaginaries,
Serving on the rainbow while listening to hymns of goddesses and angels in the form of babies with fatherly wings,
And then,
Reality bell rings, in sync with the diastole of my human heart beat, “you’re so street son,
Give poetry to the pretty perfect people who are complete”, they say,
But I only have one power, it is a power of words, I say, words are our destiny,

This was a poem,
Where words get all the credit for saving me,
Been on the rock bottom where the immortal torture leet can be seen,
Considered as the greatest diabolical, normality allegorical, black is concentrated in me,
Don’t you see, I’m prosaic, not gentle at all,
Cannot understand metonymies ,metaphors and similes, more like an enemy, more like an archenemy,
Poets light incense but I’m the kind of a brother who lights dynamite sticks,
In my own world I’m Humbaba the Terrible,
Poets use evocative and aesthetic qualities to praise the beauty of the beautiful
Stuff like golden sand and reddish roses, love and compassion in perfectly green forests
With a phoenix and a siren, flying along with a unicorn,
Chimeras, I’m a werewolf so what about hyenas and the dogs with the raw rash
I’m fascinated with ababeel birds throwing sejjeel stones,
But I cherish your words;
The resonance of your articulate speech is what transformed me from a blind rat to a flying bat,
Let me spiflicate ancillaries and imaginaries, let me get back to reality and actuality,
Rap represents the expression of my mentality,
So, this was a poem,
Now it’s a rap piece and I’m a breathing beast
Spitting intrinsic units of linguistics disturbing the peace
A capella, F.U.C.K a beat, better than a rock-A-fella, take a seat
And witness me rebuking nowadays rap scene
Judge fiend in the leet of the elite I’m giving you a rap feast
Eventually wreaks, barriers, righteous like oracles over rosary beads
Written by a priest, or an imam, let your brain eat and devour the nouns and verbs I eke
I have abjad, hawwaz , hatti and kalemon
Written in tables conjuring my Satan leaping at them screaming Geronimo
Shaitans my rhymes, sweeping this darkness sea, launching torpedoes
knocking them like dominoes, piling them in bodies rows
Words are spiritual, I kill them spiritually,
I strip the soul out of them bodies till they become zombies,
Spiritless but fearless and they kill me physically
Forcing you to shut up or your souls leave your persons eternally
So silently, watch me and meditate like a spider as a become a fighter
My rhymes are sophisticated and my stanzas are complicated
Self defense, I’m not a black panther but you can call me the royal chanter
Imma be like Al-Mutanabbi performing lyrical Kamikaze
With words more reactive than bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki
My vocab spills I’m ill, minus the uminati
We praise Allah with no visions of Gandhi
Your physical abilities are futilities, absurd, power is my words,
Swords that will skin you, do you like Saddam did the kurds,

Words,
Words speak louder than actions,
Words speak louder than actions,
Words speak louder than actions,

Allow me to return extractions to the fractions, exposing the truth like X-ray diffractions,
Eleven words can fundamentally give me a possibility to hug heaven confidently,
Monumentally, seven thousand words are my prophetical miracle of a messenger,
Transcendently transported by an archangel, with six hundred wings hailing diamonds and gems,
I must sentimentally yelp,
when I read,

“Say though the sea became ink for the words of my lord, verily the sea would be used up before the words of my lord were exhausted, even though we brought the like thereof to help”.