The Last Time We Were Here

There’s a lesson at the bottom of the glass

I’ve hit my bubba pink

 

She delivers and they walk by

I’m like a GPS

My subconscious has taken a detour

 

Too hyperaware of everything

 

And I’ve never seen her walk

And she appeared like my words give her form

 

I’m dreaming again, but there is nothing between us

 

And I’m here again with you old friend

 

“I’ve stopped writing because I’ve stopped feeling…”

 

You paused and drank your Cappuccino

“It all comes back to you.”

 

Amsterdam big-wheel rolls on and

We reminisce

You’ve gone all responsible on me

 

How fucking dare you!

 

And you sit there counting your wrong decisions in the past

And I’m confused because all I’ve done is envy your capriciousness

 

And then I remembered

I wrote a poem the last time we came out here.

 

 

© A.R. Minhas

 

The Fool

Purchase Artwork: https://www.redbubble.com/people/arminhas/works/33440034-the-fool-c-a-r-minhas-2018?asc=u&p=canvas-print

(USE CODE RETROGREAT, for 20% Discount)

THE FOOL (Zeke)

BY: A.R. Minhas

 

If you hold onto this

Drown in the water

Look up! Look up!

 

There’s hope that if you hold onto the flower

The wind that carries its weight

And floats up

Swirls around a bit

 

I can’t get that green cicada noise out of my head

And I plan to end another father figure’s life

“I’m beyond frustrated.”

 

You don’t lead me anywhere,

I just travel in circles, and all you do is make noises

Plates clutter, your middle-age flatulence

Feet thudding with panic

 

And I fear that

I might end up like you

 

Bald, bloated, stubborn and alone

 

But for now

I feel the wind in my hair

There are no signs of appendicitis

 

I feel like I’m guiding myself

Even this cigarette has given me a new meaning of life

 

And if I can just walk around

I’ll eventually stumble on that mystical guide

 

Here’s hoping it was me all along.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Artwork And What It Means To Me (Updated)

Hey Guys,

I’m really happy to share my artwork with all of you. I usually make my paintings on my phone, which sometimes can be challenging as it takes a longtime; however, I’m finding the process a lot more rewarding and creatively stimulating.

I don’t like to say what my art is about but if anything its about the connection between sex and spirituality. A bit like my poetry and prose. I like to think of it as ‘Sexual Mysticism’ (If that term even exists). As for the eyes, I don’t know why but I’m obsessed in making them.

I wanted to rant a little bit with this post because lately I feel, for some reason, sex has become a taboo subject; although, it’s the single most life affirming thing you can do in your life. This has been frustrating for me lately because I’ve tried promoting my art on other social media platforms but they have rejected my request. It’s really annoying because I’m not posting porn, the nudity is meant to have a message. It’s not meant for instant gratification or objectification; it’s meant to make you think. and in that respect, I need your help.

If you like my art, if you understand my message and my true intentions; please, help me in promoting my art and supporting me. If you go onto the links below you can get T-shirts, hoodies, phone cases and stickers with my artwork on it. The links, further down, connect you to my Canvas Paintings. So you can have my paintings in your home, that is if you think there good enough. If you can’t buy, please spread the word to others. Anyway, thank you for all that your continued support and I love you all. Thanks.

Shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/arminhas?ref=more_work_artist_title_name&asc=u

“Girl with flowers

flower Girl full napa

“Nightingale Sings”

Nightingale 2 Sings.png

“Woman in the Cosmos”

Locust Universe (Close up)

“Simurgh”

Simurgh (A.R. Minhas)

Woman, Mirror & Eyes

Woman, your beauty is divine

I can only recreate it in my hands

Crooked

My thoughts

Come

 

From                            Floating orgasms

 

The pleasure principles

Your paleness speaks

 

Volumes

 

And I didn’t hear a thing

Your eyes stare at me

Or am I even here?

 

I finger them

And you’re enucleated

 

You see from below

There’s nothing above it

 

And if you can

 

You’re reading too much into it

And you smoke too much

 

Lungs turn corrosive blue

And if I turn to hold you close

 

Escape into the mirror

 

Dissipate in your reflection

 

 

You can’t hold onto what can never be…

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

Become a Simurgh

I feel distant again

It started when I desired to be desired

 

And no one has time to waste

 

I became a Simurgh

Soaring on top of a digital wasteland

 

You can keep your trypophobic flowers

I only smell the sweet pheromones of death

 

Did you hear the outrageous music?

 

It was bright red, like a Sun that gives everything but receives nothing

 

I became a Simurgh again

Because they never rest on the ground

 

They are here only to bring messages

They have no time for your stories

 

Eyes instead of feathers to observe

Not to live

 

There is no living here

 

Only beginnings and Ends

 

The middle is soft and silly

 

Become a Simurgh

 

And leap over the earthly spikes

 

And escape your desire to be loved

 

These are trivial things

 

Become a Simurgh

 

So becoming something doesn’t matter anymore.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

No Love

So you hold me close

And I’ve thought about that afternoon

You hold me too tight

And I’m not able to give you love or offer love

I’m resigned to the fact that you despise me

For some reason

I trigger something in you that finds me so repulsive…

And I can only draw you now in naked form

Your breasts have eyes that I can’t escape from

 

I had learned to live alone

So it’s ok if you’d like to

I’ll swipe left before you even think about it

 

It’s rude to say anything

Mutually assured loneliness.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

 

 

Blackholes

I’m sailing a ship in space,

Because I want to be left alone.

Everyone told me I will drown in the moon.

 

And I’m ok with that.

 

As long as I can have my smoke on that secret porch,

As long as I can feel the sweet comfort of a dark chocolate cake that was left over,

I sometimes imagine your blood is its icing.

I’m colonizing the stars,

Repopulating them with your memories.

At the bottom of the ocean

Pressure conforms—cracking skulls

The sound of opening a can of coke

“Come share with me,”

I’m spilling purple flowers everywhere

Can you imagine a gesture of love drifting alone in space?

 

So peaceful.

At the bottom of the ocean.

Living in Atlantis.

Imaginary like heaven,

All the pain disappears.

Like a memory of that light that was there once,

Like a memory of oxygen…

Everything fades to zero-calories of nothingness.

 

My lungs grow heavy with sulfates

Why don’t you just die here?

“This is a good spot,”

The black hole is right above my head.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

Stagnant

Someone said I can have the whole world

I’m stagnant now

Held into place by my inaction

And I spill a pint glass

My emotions are swaying everywhere

And I continue to overshare my insecurities

I’m not too drunk to notice you flinch

And make your faces

 

I’m surrounded by people who don’t realize my greatness

Just because I’m puking in the vase

You don’t know my greatness

 

I sail on the smoke of an early morning

Cigarette craving

 

This is my regret

And thank you for your indifference

I almost stabbed you with my pen.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

She Offers Flowers

She offers us flowers

And I wonder about the milk that was never served

She Offers us Flowers

And all I can think about are your eyes

How I would like to separate the light

The chemicals that split apart

            I fed your love to the children of the street

She offers us flowers

            And her petals lubricate the darkness

I have served my loneliness well

            Indifference is the thing that kills

And you served me flowers

Hungry still

            I devour your Nectar

                        Blood on my gums

My Tongue swirls in the ozone layer

I served your breast on a plate

            By the fireside

                        The ash is your Flowers

Sprinkled in that afternoon

                        Fucking Blue

To keep my fingers

            From the third eye to the other one

She offers us flowers

            And I can only serve you cold meat

If you are my truth,

Then you are my hurt

            I let it bleed

                        A scab that is worn like a battle wound

                                    Mottled entanglement

The flowers are raw

            And I am burnt

If you serve them again

            I have to refuse again

Indifference is the thing.

© A.R. Minhas 2018