This Time of Year

This Time of Year

By: Husam (Sam) Salman

To breathe the sweet petal-ed winds

Upon the setting suns last exhale

Is a memory everyone will have,

Mine, this memory made, was today

In the garden where meditations are

Ceremoniously held, tap into my

Roots of history and souls reconnect.

Is this a Xerox copy of my life being

Reprinted like some child prank, photo

Copying his ass to mock me on the daily?

I open my eyes and am dazzled by greens

And flowers only found in these precious weeks.

The airwaves lull us with repeated songs

Sans variety, which is the obtuse secret of

‘the industry’.  Oh, as I deal with this conflict

Called  life, my prayers hope for a telephone

From my lips to some divine ear rather than the

Idea of a black hole a la Human Resources ‘style’

Shanty town, painted idol statue-d god

Where coins are tossed to appease your wants and needs.  

Am I asking for the impossible, has that time gone

With my requests falling on forgotten ears?

But I didn't get my life’s reward, I must have

Forgotten to sell my soul off for a time with fortune?