يا فاتِن العيّنين جئتُكَ مُرهقًا
‏مِن وحِي حُسنكَ راعنِي أن أقتُلاَ
‏تلكَ العيُونُ النَاعِساتُ فتكنَ بِي
‏باللّحظ أمّ بالكُحلِ صِرتُ مُجندِلا
‏فَاضَ الدّلالُ مِن الدّلال تَخيّلُوا
‏كيفَ الندى فوقَ الزّهُورِ تكلَّلا
‏القتلُ فِي شرعِ الإلهِ محرمٌ
‏وبشَرع حُسنِكَ لا يزَالُ مُحلّلا

But I've been waiting, waiting
But I'm waiting, waiting
But I'm waiting, waiting
But I'm waiting

It's like a constant need, a hunger that I can't seem to satiate, the feeling is intense and consuming. It's like a constant nagging feeling, an invisible itch that just won't go away. It's more than just a feeling of being ignorant; it's like a deep-rooted feeling of inadequacy.

Every interaction feels like a test I'm going to fail, every conversation a reminder of all the things I don't know. I see others around me, who seem so effortlessly informed, while I'm desperately paddling to keep my head above water. I feel intellectually inferior, behind the curve. it feels like the world is moving at a pace I just can't match and I can't help but feel like a child trying to understand the complexities of an adult's world.

I'm consumed by a yearning to fill these gaps, to immerse myself in books and knowledge, and gain what I lack. Yet, even as I crave to close this gap, it feels as though it's an endless and daunting task, like trying to catch up with a train that's already left the station or like trying to drink from a firehose. In another sense, I feel hopeless.

فالنَفسُ جازِعَةٌ وَالعَينُ دامِعَةٌ
وَالصَوتُ مُرتَفِعٌ وَالسِرُّ منتشِرُ

وَزادَ هَمّيَ وما بالجسم مِن سَقَمٍ
وشِبتُ رأسا وَلَم يبلُغني الكِبَرُ