I am pulled towards pain, as I watch them all waste away. All my friends engage, and I feel enraged. Must I stay away? I glance and reprimand with a glare, but I cannot bring myself to stare. Innocence and the Deen or, party and face trouble with the unseen? My heart is pulled closer, and my chest feels weaker. Should I disobey? Nay, I cannot afford to stray. I have been given only one chance, to prove worthy myself to the Lord of the Vast. I must not...
I was delayed of making amends When that which turns was turned on end. Now rusted iron bars keep me from free terrain Whilst I remain restrained by my own ball and chain. It pains to count days since I’ve locked myself away. The silence grows louder, echo is solemnly appraised. Until the dead night, when footsteps sound, The fear within me surmounts, abounds. Out of the darkness, a figure walks towards me, Treading lightly at first, but then swiftly, quickly. Shrouded in black, its demeanor intact, It examines...
As I gazed upon Your sacred House, I could not help it, I broke down. I felt Your presence so near to me, like I had never felt before. My eyes drank from a glass filled to the brim, From the spring of liquid clarity, pure and undefiled. I savored every last drop. I did not know what was happening to me. Suddenly it all made sense, the fragments converged. They formed one beautiful silhouette, but yet… The light was still obstructed by doubt. My surety was still like...
Queen, Jacks, Hearts, and Spades, My personality fades, In a world where exploitation is the exposition for every living respiration. A world where in desperation, no man does speak his self truths, A world where one wrong move could make you lose this competition, Fame and fortune is the only designation. And as I still walk down those school hallways From personal experience one of these days It’s not the clothes I wear, It may be my act. Or maybe what I wear on my head The fact that...
I used to be perfect: Untouched, unblemished, undisturbed. Yes, I was beautiful before you Came and changed me. You seem to forget that I was made for you But you were never made for me. You broke me The rain leaked Down. You started this. You sent wire missiles, bullets of bricks, Glass armies, cavalries of concrete . And you say that I am yours. The angels are healing me at dawn. While you sleep, I lie awake And remember what I was. Perfect were the days before you,...
Become one with the earth. Lay upon the dirt from which you came. Sinking, melting, Streaming down the crevices Cracks, slipping further. We return to the earth, don’t we? Go, return to your Lord. Creator. Guardian. Let the sun wash over your skin. Bask in the beams of mercy, A gift from your Lord Calling to you Pray Beg Bathe in the sheets of noor Filling every pore, hole, void, With longing To glide along the bridges threading from sky to earth. Crystal droplets, dancing Sloshing, swishing Flowing down...
I know a woman who sells perfume, and keeps me apprized of the richest scents in bloom. Whenever I find my fragrances nearly finished, I peer into her shop window before the store hours diminish. Ever ready is she with scents that enliven the air: Freesia, Jasmine, Vanilla, and Pear. Finally, when I manage to tear myself away, the fragrances linger upon me, far from decay. I then see a man parting from a blacksmith marked, It seemed on his journey home he embarked, In a state unfit, unclean...
Oh weeping stars, Do your falling tears bring any benefit? The night has brought its cover over the sky, Soothing many eyes to rest under its blanket. But mine refuses to close from the grief they behold, They search for an answer to relieve their mourning. I’ve explored the heavens above, Tracing your kin from one to another. Forming the constellation in the canvas above, I found nothing. As your kind would know, This world is temporary- A mere passing of a flickering flame. In moments can its ember...
As we leave the Arafat sunset, And ride to Muzdalifa. The whiteness of our ihrams Gleams in the darkness. “Hajj Mubarak,” a sister whispers, As she embraces me tightly. Her tear stained cheek touches mine, In silent salaam. “What are we doing here?” my ten year old sister asks, As we lie on the sandy stones, In the open of Muzdalifa. “We are tracing the footsteps of our prophets,” my father replies, As he raises his hands to the heavens. Muhammad’s blessed footsteps from Mina to Arafat to Muzdalifa....
I’m wasting colours, painting time, Throwing the pen in the air, Slicing okra in the orange-faded Kitchen, watching the thirds tessellate Like broken stencils in the colander. The metal fades, so I drag the blinds And unscroll the curtains to see rain Slipping down the windows. The Song? Tapestries of water Drops, puddles, oceans, casting lullabies, I try to follow - but my voice dies, They whisper the tune until I forget. Everything turns to dust: I can tell you I will, not when, There are shapes in the shadows,...
