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Sahar Noumi Poem
My hands gaze toward the tenderness of life’s flow.
My heart, beating before the breath,
Serenity runs through my blood
As I begin to discover my senses—
And all that I have ever felt was made of water.
I instantly inspire fire’s burning rays,
Before the water tests its melancholic phase,
After air suffocates in faded absence,
Die in despair from cognitive dissonance,
Within matter—by its essence.
Reaching the higher purpose,
Oneness in openness,
Solace in sadness,
Harmony in chaos.
Dear fear, you shall never feel
Your bouncing heart’s
Ultimate explosion—
Coded in motion,
To fulfill the concept of emotion
By the name of paradox
With galaxies’ devotion
And void’s lotion,
To attend higher vision,
Sight of God’s precision.
Let the heart choose,
Let the earth bruise,
Let me lose—
Or be lost in those eyes of yours.
and void's lotion
to attend higher vision
sight of god precision,
Let the heart choose
Let the earth bruise
Let me lose
Or be lost in those eyes of yours.
Copyright © Sahar Noumi | Year Posted 2025
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Sahar Noumi Poem
Nothing appears as real to me,
Each truth reflects uncertainty,
Like mirrored ghosts in crystal’s sea.
Behind them hums the gleam’s decay,
And walls of night conceal the ray.
Beyond that wall, the void resides,
Where darkness from itself divides,
And absence in its womb abides.
The broken face reveals no hue,
It sees not me—yet I see through.
My eyes compose a cosmic glass,
Where light and self together pass,
Each fracture dreams of what it was.
My window yearns to meet its frame,
But strikes the dark and burns in flame.
I fall, the world within me folds,
Its edges blur where meaning molds,
The night absorbs what light upholds.
We spiral both to find our core,
Yet find ourselves and nothing more.
Does cosmos live if none can see?
The witness births reality.
Mind’s eye defines its alchemy.
Each thing is born from what it’s not,
And void divides what time forgot.
Copyright © Sahar Noumi | Year Posted 2025
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Sahar Noumi Poem
"There is no outlet for words from a freedom that lets ink flow.
The blood of my pen is imprisoned in the cells of insomnia.
And the tears of awareness of perceptions dissolve the concepts.
Knives of greatness slaughter my sensory nerves,
And kill motion in the rhythm of continuity."
"Eyes feed on fragments from the sting of a memory of ecstasy.
The scene of the idea is a link between time and gravity.
And the positioning of the moon suppresses the age of my watery senses.
The places suffocate, they sweat, and the dates burn.
There is no stranglehold on meanings from the slavery that freezes war."
And whenever that barefoot voice was narrowed,
It swallowed gulps of old music,
And cast the shreds of its deformed thoughts into a dump.
And stanched the bleeding of its heart with a knife.
It roamed the emptiness of the hollow city,
The muddy alley of the neighborhood, and drew its lungs as a chimney,
And kept gathering the smell of corpses of its words,
And piled them in a soak.
It is after noon at night and at dawn.
If he obeys and comes, he will soon approach sunset,
And the darkness will extinguish.
But if he refuses, the bleeding of my mind will continue,
And the flowing of words from me prolonged,
And silence will keep striking my hearing and tearing it apart.
Fires will be burned in my soul and ice frozen in my heart.
Then the stone slides into the river of our garden,
Breaking the water, shattering the air,
And trespassing on the laws of physics,
Where butterflies sprout and blossom,
And roses swim in our sky, from butterfly to butterfly.
There we listen to the calm chirping of branches.
On the wings of the birds of repentance,
we watch from beneath the mountain’s summit
The stars of our earth, how they fade while shining,
And the darkness will not extinguish.
In this world of ours, armies practice love instead of war.
They exchange showers of perfume and bullets of kisses.
And when they attack, they dance, and win without fail,
To rejoice in drinking music by night,
And consuming books by morning.
Copyright © Sahar Noumi | Year Posted 2025
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Sahar Noumi Poem
And I know, from freedom and by fate,
that the sky will weep upon us, Kohl in tears of virgins who has never taste,
the night that caste the shadows of its veil upon our decayed flaws on sand,
Glory remains the struggle to embracing a sent of belonging to a homeland,
The sorcery in your eyes steals the soul, I swear by my sacred-self and the Ghoul,
The roses I once plucked withered, burning, turning, sacrifices to my widowed,
Your burdens plant upon my back the weight of the past, once thought to last
Your wounds stain my hands with the blackness of guilty blood and dirty mud
And I realize that I am utterly ignorant of the holiest meanings of purity,
that I have profaned the sacred—
and if there is possibility to piety, it will mess my sanity and rip my dignity.
Copyright © Sahar Noumi | Year Posted 2025
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Sahar Noumi Poem
Mirror,
You betray me with your cruel precision.
You hold my face hostage in your glass prison,
shattering me into reflections that no longer recognize themselves.
I have begged you for honesty,
yet you pour hallucinations across my skin—
a thousand mouths whispering,
a thousand eyes unblinking.
Once, I thought you were truth.
Now I know you are only a stage,
where light rehearses the trick of permanence.
When you break,
I will gather your shards and drink them like bitter wine.
Copyright © Sahar Noumi | Year Posted 2025
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Sahar Noumi Poem
No escape for words from freedom’s ink,
My blood is jailed in sleepless veins.
The tears of awareness dissolve belief,
Blades of grandeur slice my nerves,
And stillness strangles every motion,
Crushing rhythm into endless death.
Copyright © Sahar Noumi | Year Posted 2025
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Sahar Noumi Poem
I try, in despair, to condense a tale from the illusion of your specter into language.
I bleed burning tears that sprinkle salt on the wounds of my cheek, its lot deprived.
I beg you to listen to the moan of my heart in the tightening of tone in my voice and in the trembling of the lip.
I ask you for a space on a day of your choosing in which I will confess what pains me of oppression that is difficult for me to disclose.
I wish, while I blaze and shatter, drowning in the fires of a forbidden love,
a knife along the length of the smile that splits the cells and the tears,
that I might wake one time-place and not find you suffering a stifled repression.
They inspired the following to me:
I do not think anyone reached this state of awareness of misery and continued resisting. I do not claim thereby the heroism of resistance at all, for “you are compelled, brother, not a hero.” I surrender to my restraints and my limitation as merely a genetic mutation unfit for evolutionary continuation.
I surrender, by my incapacity, before the simplest of silly potentials. I surrender in my helplessness before myself.
I accept the walls of my cage that were and will remain my home.
There is no freedom for the possibility of desire to choose. I will merge with my prison until every self of me is executed in an annihilating execution with no hope of manifesting in a subsequent life. I will ensure the death of every quantum particle of me so that there is no revival of the memory of the idea, so that disappearance is the final true death.
I recall my writing about my longing for the following forms of life; by cosmic irony, by this moment I feel nothing about that.
Possibility no longer allows more. I have exhausted infinity and I will return to point zero. I will return to where I belong and do not belong, and there will be no concepts of things.
Copyright © Sahar Noumi | Year Posted 2025
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Sahar Noumi Poem
Beloved,
I write to you from the marrow of silence,
where your name still claws the walls of my ribs.
Every breath I take is borrowed from your absence,
every shadow a telegram from your ghost.
I have pressed my lips against the memory of your throat,
tasting the dust that has replaced your laughter.
Do you remember when we shared a heart like contraband,
smuggling tenderness through the checkpoints of despair?
Now I light a candle to your vanished face,
its flame stuttering like a pulse that refuses resurrection.
If you return, even as ash,
I will call it love.
Copyright © Sahar Noumi | Year Posted 2025
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Sahar Noumi Poem
As I look in union of singularity in a world of complexe opposition and harmony.
A splinter in the heart of dream and tearing in the blood cells.
I slaughtered the necks of hopes, bleeding the burning from pains.
A mirror of dry salt-tears reflects the fracture.
And the self has nothing left but the desire to vanish the whole structure.
After long waiting and the stalling of suicide attempts
From exhaustion I feel no enough essence for two lives.
The first, in exile.
The second in the middle between a kiss of the eye
The eye that does not weep, it only stares.
Gazing to reveal contemplations about the soul’s hidden monuments,
Peering over thresholds to inspect the secrets of the universe.
I pluck out the snail of my ear; I try to listen to the echo of the hoarse voice,
Fixing my gaze on the bridge’s edge,
where the wave casts obscene images:
Of tortured bodies and heads cut off before inspiration could visit them.
Because God refused to touch them,
Yet the devil from the pit touched them.
A train without a ticket to take me where there is no memory,
No memory except that I come from afar,
And that the heart is the single meaning of iron.
Copyright © Sahar Noumi | Year Posted 2025
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Sahar Noumi Poem
And whenever that bare voice narrows,
he drinks in doses of old music
and throws the shards of his distorted thoughts into the trash,
and stops his heart’s bleeding with a knife.
He roams the empty city scape,
the muddy alley of the neighborhood, painting his lungs in smoke,
and continues to gather the scent of the corpses of his words
and piles them in a cesspool.
It is past noon, into night and dawn.
If he obeys and arrives, he will soon approach sunset,
and the darkness will be extinguished.
But if he refuses, the bleeding of his mind continues,
the flow of words from me prolonged,
and silence will continue to hammer my ears and tear them apart.
The fire will burn in my soul, and ice will freeze my heart.
Then stone flows into the river of our garden,
breaking the water and shattering the air,
defying the laws of physics, where butterflies grow and bloom,
and roses swim in our sky, from butterfly to butterfly.
There, we listen to the calm of chirping branches,
above the wings of birds of repentance,
watching from below the mountain peak,
how the stars of our land fade, yet will not extinguish the darkness.
In this world, armies practice love instead of war,
exchanging showers of perfumes and bullets of kisses,
and when they attack, they dance and inevitably win,
to rejoice in drinking music at night and consuming books in the morning.
Copyright © Sahar Noumi | Year Posted 2025
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