• Zahara Careem


Air thick with smoke... stenched with damp bodies, searching for a beat to feel.

Hard liquor passed around, sipped down with desperation.

Each sip with its burning sensation, setting their minds ablaze with a sense of freedom.

The lustering lights... Red, green and blue...dance before their eyes, too fast...vividly scintillating in patterns their fried brains cannot yet fathom.

You stand tall, with that guitar in hand...dominating the crowd as their bodies jump up and down, to the rhythm you've hooked them on.

You've got the gait of a man who's seen it all, been all around, had anyone you ever pleased.

You command them to raise their hands, but oh man, they raise their whole body with a wave of emotions erupting through their lips.

Satisfied, you strum away the strings, as if the devil himself inhibited your fingers...ignited with a rapidity, that's out of this world.

Every night, as if an oath, you appear in crowded hazy spaces.

Crowded hazy spaces filled with souls fighting their inner demons.

So I've heard.

I've heard you've come to summon these souls and damn them to an euphoria.

But damn indeed, just as the hard liquor, they take you in too, with the same desperation.