Archives / Hanaa

11

Labyrinth of the Lovestruck

It’s quaint, old-fashioned. Almost like a rite of passage, I suppose, to have this insatiable need for the “fairytale ending,” the classic one where a beautiful girl is riding in a pretty horse-drawn carriage, accompanied by none other than her handsome prince. They’re both smiling – rigidly in that quintessential 50’s fashion – as they ride off into the sunset. Then, from what seems like thin air, two soaring birds trace words into the sky, leaving beautifully scripted letters, which read, “The End.”Sound familiar? Now, before you admonish and...

7

Send Me to the Planetarium

As a young girl, I developed an overzealous fascination with outer space. The balance of the blazing stars astounded me – especially as they contrasted against the composed and appeasing moon. When I was ten years old, my mother gifted me with a miniature telescope which I treasured whole-heartedly. I loved everything about it: its fluorescent yellow coloring and accented lines of charcoal grey, its accompanying encyclopedia containing pages and pages decorated with the images of constellations that I one day hoped to locate, but most of all that...

3

Ramadan Hitchhiker

Days draw horizontal lines In the hallow centre of my unkempt mind. Invisibly etched words leave their mark A standing silhouette in the lingering dark A Ramadan Hitchhiker I had always been Ramadan, a smokeless mirror, soul buried in sin I wandered through the month aimlessly No zeal or depth, only attempts made feebly My fasts, prayers, and actions steered in a ship anchored in misdeeds How would I one day reap what I sowed when I hadn’t planted the seeds? But one day everything transformed. One lasting prayer...

7

Fire In My Belly

Reflective thought is utterly addictive. The mismatched colorations of my most vivid realizations and the caviler notions of my shipwrecked self are often enough to leave me consumed. As of late, I’ve been ruminating over a particular conversation. Dialogue highlighted by misplaced anxieties, a dream’s fragility and advice drenched in gold. My friend and I sat in a small coffee shop while the melodious hissing of espresso machines and overcast chattering of other customers filled the vaulted room. “You can’t have your cake and eat it too!”, she solemnly...