The Conscientious Observer

"It's innate to mind my business Writin' words, tryna elevate these children That's why I deserve it all"

The Windy Oracle The breeze under that eucalyptus tree brings, with it, stories, from every place there is. Some are nonsensical. They make an optimist cynical. Others are relatable. They make the pessimist find the concept of hope to be palatable. But good or bad, the breeze brings to us, stories, and we ought to learn from these. ፍቅር ይታገሳል፣ የውስጥን ይረዳል፣ ከልኩ ሲያልፍ ግን፣ ነውጥ፣ ጸብን ይወልዳል፣ ጽብም ተወልዶ አድጎ፣ ያመጣውን ይወድዳል፣ ዛሬ ነገን ሳይል፣ ፍቅርን ያላምዳል፣ ፍቅርም ለምዶ ይታገሳል፣ የወስጥን ይረዳል፣ ከልኩም ተላልፎ፣ ነውጥ ጸብን ይወልዳል። Whiskey neat, I’ve been sipping on way too much of that lately. Novocaine, can numb and ease the pain all it wants but I’ll hurt first thing tomorrow morning. The stories told by the breeze are getting overshadowed by the murmurs your broken heart seems to cry out. I wish telling you about the love I have for you would mend your broken heart, but my soul is way too emaciated and drained from all the stories told by the breeze. And that is why novocaine, can numb and ease the pain all it wants but I’ll hurt first thing tomorrow morning. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll say words you can find solace in And if me and you suffer, and if me and you still hurt, then fuck it, we do it together. Ain’t that how it’s supposed to be? ፍቅር ይታገሳል፣ ሁለመናን ይወዳል፣ ሁሉመናን ከያዘ ግን፣ የብርቱን ልብ ያነዳል። አንድዶም ሲያበቃ፣ ጥላቻን ይወልዳል፣ ጥላቻም ተወልዶ አድጎ፣ ልብን ገደል ይሰዳል፣ ታዲያ ፍቅር የታገሰውን ያክል፣ ያነደደውን ያክል፣ ልብ የተሰማውን ህመም ካላስታገሰለት፣ ገደል የሚያገባውን መንገድ ካላስቅየስለት… እንደው የፍቅር ዋጋው የቱ ጋር ነው፣ ከጥላቻ ጋርስ በምን ነው የምንለየው? Whiskey neat, a sip of that seems to ease the bloody cough that’s been depriving me of sleep. But it can do all that, however it wants, I still end up coughing up blood the next day. You weep like there’s no tomorrow just to end up weeping more and louder the next day. I want to know your secrets, but the breeze seems way too stingy to share those bits to me. So instead, I stay quiet, and mind my own business. Some whiskey neat will likely heal your tears, it’ll probably hear your fears, but your problems? They seem way too big to be eased by the good time I seem to propose. It’s crazy. I had problems of a child, and the next day, I woke up to adult burdens, without even burying the hatchet I ploughed on during my youthful days. Now they are gone. Now they are gone. But I know me and you both have stories to tell one another You might not want the sight of me after, I might not want to see you too. But that’s just life, it’s just what it is. And I accept the entirety of it. Do you?

"So hold my feet to the fire I can be the enemy you need Like a paradigm Falling out of vogue My legend won’t be stopped So next time you see me You better get right Get right Or get gone"

Andrew Wells is just like me fr.

Revelation 12 Shhhh It’s getting closer, so be sure to stay quiet they may hear us beyond the walls of the dark, dark cave we are hiding in I can’t for the life of me fathom why I need to hide. Is it something I have done? Is it something I’ve sung? The world seems to lose its color by the minute. But part of me feels a little bit of hope breaking through and ending the chapter that made me live life as a fugitive. However, I can’t voice this thought, because they can hear us, somewhere in these walls. The throne is nearer than we think, but… Heavy is the crown, worn by the fallen Serpent, the servant to his own stomach. Writing his reign on the sand alongside his disciples, before unknowingly washing it all away with the river’s amount he spat out to chase away any lingering hope that is voiced by one of us peasants. “The Kali Yuga is upon us. Armageddon is calling. Doom is coming sooner than we think.” Are the words being heard straight from the Nile River. But when the sun sets and night time arrives, the words in the stars will collectively say otherwise. The eagle will rest its wings tonight, but tomorrow morning, it’ll continue its flight from where it left it now. And you and I, will fly until the rivers dry up once they wash away the Serpent’s soldiers. For the Will is, The Child will live.

Aglow I am alone, Despite all the people present, I pray for the impossible to be my present, In hopes there comes a time in the future where I would love my present, And finally find joy in its presence. My thoughts are wild, they’re filled with superstitions, A lack of concentration and bottled-up emotions, All under the guise of a calm motion, But that’s just your preconceived notion. Picking up the pen to write is my number one source of regret, Because I probably have something productive to do instead, Every night I pray, “Give us this day our daily bread” All while fearing I’ll be hungry by the time I am dead. Sometimes I find myself resenting my past because of the hand I was dealt, Never knew I would hate myself even more whenever express how I felt. It’s an endless cycle, a love hate relationship, me and this pen have, Its limitless supply of ink may have saved me from the brink on multiple occasions. Deciding to leave it was never a good choice for this is beyond just an obsession, But at some point, it became a confession, I feel like I wouldn’t see the popping of confetti in my lifetime, I fear my profession, Lately I’m feeling like a plagiarized paper ready for submission, A fork in a soup, an old-head in a coup, Too near to rejection. Paulo said something along the line of, “The questions change every time I find the answers.” One particular question stayed the same in my case, and that’s whether I’d be a failure, I’m more inclined to say yes, for I cannot live in this cycle of lethargy. I need to break my chains before they break me.

Remastered version

Re watched Taxi Driver and remembered an unreleased voiceover I made with a taxi driver edit. nearly three years back. Sound quality is pretty poor but bear with me, I'll be sending the re-recorded and remastered version in a few. :)

Living existentially is slowly rotting my brain. Every time I fall asleep, it's a question of what it would all be once I die. I honestly cannot make sense of it. But I need to get the hell out of my head and fast.

Oiii so this is unrelated to the usual poetry and arts, but there's a new podcast students in my campus have launched. Both parts of the episode 1 are out and it covers topics such as med school life with internship being the core focus. Do share this with any med student/ aspiring med student you know and also give it a try if you are interested in seeing the glimpse of what the medical student goes through during internship years with Issrafil and Oliyad as the guests. https://youtu.be/Pp5njyEu4xY

"They’ve taken lovers and left us with witches and warlocks." Twitter user dbcxptures

Warped Timelines “ላይችል አይሰጥም” የሚለው ተረት እውነት ቢሆን ኖሮ አንችን ለኔ አይነቱ አይሰጥም ነበር፣ ምክንያቱም፣ አልቻልኩም። Sometimes I can’t help but wonder why. why I love this emptiness, more than I ever loved you. Maybe it was that distinct piano note I used to hear at our favorite coffee shop. Damn! Six years already? How time flies! I wish I could break its wings with the endless violent thoughts that intrude my good days. Don’t even ask about my bad ones. And maybe it was the tight grip your soft hands had on the rough, callous palms I yielded after carrying the weight of my sins and after writing whenever I was damned to catch a break. You told me that you wished your shoulders were never dislocated just so you could be able to have my arms wrapped around you. Was that true? or was it yet another excuse from your invisible handbook? Over the years I’ve learned that, to yearn is to bleed in an open sea whose biggest shark is Lucifer himself. I never missed you since the day you left my life, but I always think of all that there was, and all of what could have been. But revisionism is a tool that’s used to make he with good memories look a mighty old fool. “I’m better off without you. I’m better off without you.” I recite in front of the mirror as if I don’t already know it’s true. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder why I want to try and prove that ice indeed melts in the sun, and I indeed smile in your absence. But still, I always have something that drags me back To wanting to prove the already proven. Foolishness! Is that even my hobby? Maybe it is. What do I know? What I do know, is I’m knee deep into the emptiness, to the point where I’ll be damned if I let you, or anybody in. But within this confine and the crevices amidst, I still think of all that there was and all of what could have been and compare it to all that there is. Sometimes timelines make the unlikeliest of allies cross each other’s paths, and I can’t help but wonder why, of all people, you were the ally I was begging the timelines to hand me. Foolishness is my enemy, yet I still cohabit with it. But reality is, that I’m better off without you, and I’ll be damned if I let you in, even though you’ve never left my mind.

Ode to the Reaper - Reprise “Let’s play a game,” you say. And I? I obliged? “Let’s come up with a question and give away our answer. Let me start, let me start. Ummmmm So What do you do when you feel lost?” you ask. And as you took notes, I answer. Only for you to use my words against me, and you break the spines of my neck when I told you I looked up to the ceiling, you dislocate my shoulders, when I said I’d gather my arms for prayer, you slap my face, both sides, when I admitted I’d break a smile. But little do you know that I’ll stabilize my spines just so up is the only way they look to, and pop my shoulders back to where they belong, and in spite of the pain sensations on my bleeding face, I will keep breaking that smile, Because newsflash, I still play the game, I know zero shame, Plenty of times I lost, Plenty of times I was cost the win But I got bailed out by the wind. I’ll thrive amidst calamity, and die with immortality, so, reaper, don’t you dare come lecture me.