Fake Paradise

Living with an Arabic name in the Western World. There is bound to be some confusion there, if you have an awkward name just do what I did – write a poem about it.

Fake Paradise

 

‘Iran’ was scrawled ever so credulously on the side of my Starbucks cup.
Sigh.
The smiley face doodled aside it was obviously
Mocking me.

Little do they know
That I grow in Eden.
I am made up of roses of every colour
As far as eyes gaze.

Where Angels dance and play, within
The beauty I continue to flower.
I ripple and ride in a heavenly state,
Drifting away.

Flowing beautifully
Serenely and smoothly, my
Waves crash.
I am a source that Bliss derives upon.

Yet Earth holds me
back.
I only met the Angels
halfway.

Plunging into a fake Paradise
As my spirit dwells
Where Angels laugh and cry.

Where ‘N’ would be ‘M’
Earth battles Heaven for my existence,
And wins.
Maybe Starbucks is not so wrong after all.

 

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