Tuesday, 31 July 2012


Where will my words take me
A journey to the depths of my soul and back
Will those added clauses teach me what it means to love
Words hanging on the edge
of the line and my mind
If I probe further and further who will I find
Will I enjoy my own company
No commas no need to pause for breath
Life is too short she says
Then I can feel the words slowly drift away
My fingers slow
And words remain upon the tip of my tongue
 Soon receding into the crevices of my young mind
Slowly, slowly they are gone
I am left with words on a page
I force myself to conclude
With some sort of order.

She writes only to try and materialize this overwhelming feeling . The capacity of the heart is such that it wishes to be filled with great things, it yearns for more and more.So thus she strives .She writes only to take the intangible and make it real, even if it is only jumbled words scrawled onto the page.And through the insanity don't we all believe that these strange shapes have substance, have a meaning. That is the power of the heart, to take the once insignificant ,the faded, and renew it with such vigour that our knees buckle under its weight.

Monday, 30 July 2012

They say

They say I am alive
So long as I breathe
But I know
I am deaf, dumb and blind
Without the soul inside of me
The truth is we are fallen
leaves from a forbidden tree
In our quest for eternity
We rot miserably
Do we submerge ourselves
In dirt just so we can feel
The piles and piles of memories
That we relive in order to
Feel as though we are still alive
That there is still time
Taking smiles and friendships and pouring
Them into never ending holes
We've dug on this journey

They say to live
Life to the full
To cram the wonderful things
And don't take the time to stop and think
Experience, the touch and the taste
Don't let your senses go to waste
So shove starry nights next to 'being a child'
Comforting food and a new pair of shoes
And then you wonder why
Nothing seems beautiful to your eyes
On your deathbed you feel
And then you know
You are empty
because your quiet heart is filled
with holes

'Only in remembrance of Allah will your heart find peace'
Surah 13
Verse 28

Sunday, 29 July 2012


She bleeds, randomly
I wonder when cracked
Heels shall heal
She looks in the mirror
Before she looks at me
The swelling hurts my cheeks
This medication is for today,
This medication is for eight weeks
And this medication is for
The rest of your bleak, existence
We have no guarantee
That this will work but we'll
Pump it in your blood anyway
Don't complain as we jab your arm
To find a vein and it is all in vain
Because she is no longer alive
The shine in her eyes
Replaced by the tears of
Three years of gritted teeth
Her bones ache , hair falling
From its place
Hands shake as she drops
Asleep in the middle of the day
Tracing the lines of veins
Through papery thin skin
I wonder how it came to this
I stand silently in her room
Making sure the duvets move
And that her frail little heart
Has made it through this July

And if you were to count Allah's favors, you would not be able to number them; most surely Allah is Forgiving, Merciful.
Sūrah al-Nahl:
Verse 18

Friday, 27 July 2012

The Cookie Jar

She is broken
Bones, her blood is not her own
Hands shake  uneasily as
She drops the tea she
Makes for everybody but
Herself to sit with feet up
The stairs running to fulfill
The desires and whims
It is my God given duty she beams
As she cleans and educates
And reinstates
There is no one worthy
Of worship except God
To her little ones as they sleep
So for every kiss on the knee
Advice given gently
When fingers stroked
My hair and 6 year old ego
Gosh you look so pretty
Aren't you ever so clever
I do not endeavor to offer thanks
For anything other
Than you being the means
Through which God guided me
For there is no greater wisdom
Than knowing the purpose
of your existence

Thursday, 26 July 2012


Poems are like plants
Soak them with sunshine
For a time, before they grew
Hard, cracked, sickly sweet
There is no true joy in
one who has yet to taste the rain
to soak their soil
Softening the heart
Before they reach
For a dream so burning
Hot it destroys me
Poems in their childhood grow
Without rhyme or rhythm or beat
Straggly, teetering unstably
Before loving hands cut
Excesses to reveal
A rose beneath the leaf

Poetry is a beautiful thing that grows on the windowsill of our subconscious . But the sad truth of it is that plants under changes of circumstance wither and die. In the same way the poems that seem to pump in your veins that make you think I know exactly what you mean , that drive you to tears, yes even the most powerful poem one day will mean very little to you so much so that you will tread unknowingly on what to you is dirt.So unless we view the world as poetry, poetry will be forgotten due the grueling nature of the world.
As for those who ask , the answer is -We do not write poetry , it writes itself

Wednesday, 25 July 2012

The Story of my Life

It was a Friday
The merciful scribe of
My life decreed
Through the twists and turns
Of the plot line, dead lines sidelined
I would pray my lifeline -jummah

It was a Friday
I would text her with false
Optimism brimming, filling
The mosque with everyone
But her

It was a Friday
Waiting at the corner-
Stone moment of realisation
She was on the other side
Of the street
Her head and her mind by his side
And her hand entwined
Ickily with his
Cupid shot his bow
At point blank range
A small part of my soul

The story of my life is
Watching those who I have loved
From the wrong side of the street
It is knowing what separates us
Is busy traffic and distractions
We've built to make everything easy
It is staring at broken prayers
And hollow hopes of halaqas
It is trying to fathom that this is
A real Friday
And not a twisted metaphor
The story of my life is but a few words
I wish I did more

Just for the record Cupid isn't real and ickily no matter how apt an adjective it is , is not a word .

I while ago I told a sister this quote
If you are successful in deceiving a person, do not think how foolish that person is, but think how much trust that person has put on you.
Ali ibn Abi Talib
She responded by asking what kind of person puts that much trust in someone in the first place . The self righteous part of me wants to believe ti's only I but I have come to realize we all do . There are people who our unworthy eyes look up to and admire , we respect their opinions and value their contribution .These are the people that when they slip up it hurts more , far more, simply because it was them . I have trusted my heart in the hands of a few , I am ashamed to say it but its is the truth . This is not a criticism just merely a statement of fact .In all honesty it all works pleasantly until we forget our responsibility to each other and the contents slip from our hands .It is in those moments you stand and watch your heart fall to the ground and wonder through the pain - how can I still be alive?

Tuesday, 24 July 2012

To write

She tells me to write
As if words emanate from
My old heart, pumping limply
Verses in the veins
As if I flick my wrists
And the ink
Of blood pours into fingertips
As if I can orchestrate the colors
That burst at their origin
A blinding symphony
Of memories that broke the ice
And swam in oceans beyond me
As if the anguish of limbs tearing
At the eyes due to some rash inaccuracy
And childish queries, suspicion and agony 
Left in my incompetent hands
Was nothing short of cacophony
As if I could grab the sunlight and the moonlight
The night and the day and all that lies
In limbo in between
Of hesitant affection and imprudent revulsion
And the smiles and the tears
And the real and the make believe
And become the scribe of history
As if I could take words
That linger uncomfortably, in midair
The dreams that grow beneath our pillows
And take the wisdom
From foresight and hindsight
Capturing the essence of perfection scrawled
On narrow ruled lined paper
Oh, she asks me to write
As if I ever could

Sunday, 22 July 2012

To Dream

These fingertips have touched
The boundaries of reality
Where black converges with white
And the dreams of dreamers reside.
It is here where all things are possible
All scenarios are plausible
Happy endings are probable
And everything is as it seems.

I sit on the picket fence
Legs dangling joyfully.
Candid smiles wide
In the sunlight caught
In a picture perfect scene.
With a heart content in knowing
That on either side,
The grass is green.

رَبَّنَآ ءَاتِنَا فِى ٱلدُّنْيَا حَسَنَةً وَفِى ٱلْأَخِرَةِ حَسَنَةً وَقِنَا عَذَابَ ٱلنَّارِ
Our Lord! Give us in this world that which is good and in the Hereafter that which is good, and save us from the torment of the Fire!

Surah Al-Baqarah
Verse 201

Thursday, 19 July 2012

Love is

Love is more
It is  when somebody gives you 

More than you deserve
And you can sacrifice your life

But they are still worth more
It is when the master responds to his slave
Who is enslaved by his gratitude to the one who gave
Who gave him the ability , the capacity ,the faculty 

the capability , the facility
To love 

Let us remember Allah the way he deserves to be remembered this month . Let us run to the edges of the earth to chase after the goodness in every human being. I ask you of the simple things, to smile on the train , ask your parents how was your day and become the hijaabi in the rain. Be kind and merciful . For what good is there in the person who is neither loving nor lovable.

Wednesday, 18 July 2012


This is not your typical , I'm-so-happy-I've-seen-the-moon-lets-fast-and-pray-and-eat-some-dates Ramadan poem. 

The weight of the world
Has crushed feeble shoulders
Stumbling steps are born
From hearts of weak resolve
I no longer wish to face the pain
Bittersweet truths are far too bitter
I have carved the path that I now walk
I am my own nemesis , I am the cause
And the action
Grief and disbelief
This is the end I have chosen to meet
Did I really choose
The temporal over the eternal?

Mistakes are born in ignorance
And carried miserably through in arrogance
To commit the sin knowingly
Is the fall of all that was innocent
So I ask that vile, wretched soul
The blackness of shortcomings
Known and unknown
Is this who you want to be?

I lived a life of no benefit
I yearned for some sort of happiness
So I strived to fill the emptiness
But everything was hollow
I tiptoed around, my heart
How could something wrong
With time become right
I am caught in my own web of lies

Death comes quickly, unexpectedly
It will seize me
In the midst of a moment
That I do not have the blessing
To live to regret

I am weak
On the verge of losing
The faith I cling to desperately
So woefully weak it seems
That I must starve my body
To feed the soul.

Tuesday, 17 July 2012


I am cracking at the seams.
Some poor soul with crooked eyesight
Stitched me up so long ago.
But it is of no use,
They changed the stitch size.
Knocking little holes into me
Then threading through their own objectives.
I unpick stitches silently
And prick my fingers
So I am stained with my own blood
And the seam is coming loose again.
I tell them,
One step forward two steps back
I yearn to relive those tender memories
It is inefficient , painful and almost unappealing
But I know,
It is the only way to secure me.

The Laws of Love

Rules and regulations
No, opportunities to show appreciation.
How to give back
To the one who gave
How to show your love
To the one who showed you what love is
The very mind that is a gift
Are we going to use it to resist

There is paradise beneath her feet

I turn to God he turns to me
Untold reward for the one who fasts
Purify your wealth with Zakaat 
Every step is a charity 
Dua is my weapon 
Hijaab is my shield
When a brother lowers his gaze , 
Can't you hear the poetry
Your light is brighter than the sun
And neither do I look at directly

And yet

We have no perspective 
We have closed our eyes
In that vile, wretched way
We have the audacity to claim
We are blind


Monday, 16 July 2012


I have written you letters
Etched in remorse and sorrow.
The overhung stench of guilt lingers
After all these years
Who would have thought
That this was the tomorrow
That we had dreamed off.

I always seem to miss you
Greeted at my doorstep by
Sealed envelopes destined to return
To me , unreceived.

I pray you will forgive me
We were young
And you were right
You had rights, unknown
To me, I grieve.

I sit to write another letter
Like all of those written before
One word illegible , smudged
In all these years of pondering
Of reassessing false stances ,
Thinking about missed chances.
My mind on loop of that summer in '92.
Yes I have revised and organized
The emotions that tear me
And I know through all of that
I only wish to let you know
That I am sorry.

Sunday, 15 July 2012

My Brother

Everything is frown worthy with him
The glare of the sun on the tv screen
Your inane attempt to understand  cricket teams.
A seemingly normal question , will be branded
Small talk and abandoned
Not lest before he frowns.
It is a superb frown at that
It channels the annoyance
Of angry Uncles everywhere
And presents itself boldly.
The bitter spirit of an old man
On the head of a twenty something.
It is in my own admission
Incredibly amusing.

That wedding last week
Spurred him on it seems.
Though I felt for him
The constant music and free mixing
Was not a nice scene.
Yet the entrance of the bride and groom
Was unbelievably entertaining.
He did not look up at first
But when he did it seems
The bride was far too desi
So he frowned a frown , so profound
That I chuckled and he saw me.
He smiled.

I have come to realize
That this world is frown worthy.
That the sin seeps through every corner
Manifesting itself in disapproval stamped
Across his forehead.

On the authority of Abu Saeed al-Khudri (may Allah be pleased with him) who said:I heard the Messenger of Allah( peace be upon him) say,
“Whoever of you sees an evil must then change it with his hand. If he is not able to do so, then [he must change it ] with his tongue. And if he is not able to do so, then [he must change it] with his heart. And that is the slightest [effect of] faith.”

Spiritual Limbo

The faces of some, grown old
Mouths shrivelled, move rhythmically to praise
Hands tremble as they count
To one hundred.
They have spent their efforts, their wealth
Their life.
Yet to my untrained eye
Their hands are empty, upturned.
Irrelevant to patient hearts, at ease

She stands at the podium
The fragility of her words carry
She shakes fervently trying
To convey a message of wisdom and truth
To stir the hearts
But they do not move

The girl I sit next to
Is my age and MSA
She is texting and tweeting about
The programme today
And though there is a hijaab
Piled on top of her head
It is not the same

Spiritual limbo
Is being torn between
Aunties with scarves that cover their chins
Slim fit Abayas, brooches and sparkly things
It is standing on a broad line
And being told both sides are correct
It is knowing but being unable to accept
The former over the latter
I cry tears of the unworthy
Unable to associate with either
They stack green, plastic chairs
So I am left in a room filled with believers

Friday, 13 July 2012


Not your conventional subject matter...

Hijaabi Got Swag

Yep you read that right
Hijaabi got swag
We know how to move
Eyes lowered to the ground
Feet move without a sound
Ears feeling cold in the winter
Hijaabi’s got it covered
Forgot your house key
Here borrow my headscarf pin
And unpick the lock
Damn I ripped my top
Why don’t you sew it up
Because hijaabis got tassels
I’m late I’m going to miss my bus
Grab onto the hijaabi
She’s got a cape and she can fly
Well not quite
But it does flap in the wind
Hijaabis strong enough to grab
A falling wooden partition
Hijaabi’s swift enough
To avoid getting the cooties
Hijaabis so flowy
You don’t know where
She ends or where she begins
The elements can’t harm hijaabi
The rain has met its foe
The sun has met its match
Hijaabi doesn’t tan
Just loosen it a bit
And look hijaabis got a hood
Hijaabi has no arms!
Well actually she just has pockets
Are you falling of a cliff?
Well Hijaabi’s got a rope
Hijaabi is everyone’s sis
Hijaabi’s got her crew in the prayer room
Hijaabi sends you peace
Because the religion is easy
Hijaabi has got the moves
She does the wrap ‘n’ tuck in the blink of an eye
Climate change – the ozone layer is dead
But not hijaabi (well not yet)
UV Lights prepared to be absorbed
Even the wind won’t damage Hijaabi’s hair
And if you start spouting nonsense hijaabi doesn’t care
Because three layers of pashmina later
She probably can’t even hear you
Hijaabi makes the tough guys move
Is someone’s cigarette up in smoke
Hijaabi can put it out
Just moves her hijaab and makes a breeze
It’s Allah that she aims to please
That’s why hijaabi is so awesome
That’s why she’s not just wearing a paper bag
And that’s why Hijaabi’s got swag

Oh and just a small request
Since Urban dictionary didn’t really help
If you could kindly tell me sis
What swag actually is?


I’m finally ready to let go
And say goodbye
To a world I am leaving soon
I see the light of the moon
Dark waves of the sky
Cold breeze
Whispering through my hijaab
My fingers are numb
And my eyelids close gently
I breath
But finally aware of every breath
By finally embracing my death
souls sparks and is alive
I have shed too many tears
And wasted much time
And have been neglectful
In the remembrance of my Lord
Indeed to him I will return
Heavy downpour
Don’t weep for me
Oh soft and fluffy cloud
Cherish the silence
And cherish the sound
I smile
Praise be to Allah today
How majestic, how vast the bounty
How complete the mercy
Praise be to Allah tod
And everyday that has been
And every day I will live to see
And every day that is beyond my reach
Praise be to Allah today
The turner of hearts has blessed me to say
I am pleased
I am pleased with Islam as my religion
As Muhammad upon him be peace
As the messengers seal
And with Allah as my Lord

Wednesday, 11 July 2012


I did not say goodbye.
There are no memories framed
Neatly, stacked empty boxes. 
I will not remember you 
Nor will I trap you behind cardboard
Label you fragile
And let you collect dust. 
No, I refuse to let this mind wander
Through overgrown grass last July
Or reminisce about how it felt to stand
Side by side that Friday
Or how eyes would shine
And smiles would smile honest and true.
 No, I will not remember you.
And I will not say goodbye.

For your words do not line the past
They build the present. 
I take our time together
Clasped in trembling hands .
I vow to live your  naseeha
To follow your example
Knowing it is taken
From the messengers seal.
Those small gestures of adab
That moved my soul , will live
I strive to strive , to struggle
For an end greater than you or I .
So though these eyes shed tears
There is no sorrow, nor remorse
For I know and I dream of the day we will meet
So I feel no need 
To say

To my Fajr time Bird

Aah a golden oldie. I was reading over some of my older poetry and I just had to share this one. It's not amazingly written, the rhyme is iffy in places but it is honest and true and isn't that what poetry is all about. Subhannallah it seems this bird was pretty important to me hence the tribute poem . 

That inevitable moment when I roll over
In that dreamy, hazy sort of state
Neither asleep nor truly awake
And there’s a chilly morning breeze

And the darkness does not feel so dark
The brightest black you’ll ever see

Oh the fajr time bird whose company I won’t deny 

Oh dear fajr time bird if only you knew
How much inspiration I’ve gathered from you
Oh the sweetest chirping by which you recite

The beauty by which you glorify
The one who you have submitted to
And I wonder

 How long you’ve been tweeting
While laying here I have been sleeping
And I wonder why you have not tired 

Praising your lord is all you desire
While I won’t even run from fire
Oh my fajr time bird

My personal Mua’zzin
How you remind me of a majestic word
Your Lord gave you a voice with which you recite 

Oh fajr time bird what would you do
If you were me and I was you
And your Lord had given you

The ability to write and to make wudhu
And to pray in jammat
And you could publish things

And read books from years ago
Learn knowledge wherever you go
What would you do my fajr time bird 

If you had the means to pray as I do
And to be rewarded for all the things I could be too
My dearest fajr time bird

Tell me what would you do
If all that reward was waiting for you
And your Lord said

Do this I will be pleased with you
My fajr time bird you would try to do it all
And you would sleep little 

And you would weep so much
Do you want to know why?
You would want to praise your Lord

In all the ways he has ordained
For everything by which you are sustained
You would praise him for teaching you how to praise

In honour and rank you would be raised
From torment and pain you would be saved
Oh my fajr time bird, I am me and you are you

If a bird with all its merits can do that
Then surely I should be able to do it too

If people only knew what blessings are in the fajr and isha prayers, they would come to them, even if they had to crawl.

Bukhari and Muslim

Assuming the Good

I’m delusional
Or so I am told. 
I’m off my head and just plain loopy .
This year has been too much for this heart
The amalgamation of hope and sorrow
Never painted a pretty picture .
So here I am, crazy cat lady lacking any cats. 
There were potholes even I wouldn’t deny that.
I thought they were mended ,
By your cement and tears from my eyes.
I knew we would fall gracelessly from time to time
I thought we would learn and pick ourselves up again.
It is not that I don’t see the issue
Rather that I see it on a completely different scale .
Insignificant compared to the good , the potential and the duas
Non existent when faced by night time prayers of forgiveness on your behalf
Perhaps or most likely it is true
But I won’t let it define you.
Who would have thought that optimism stings ?
You keep digging out the dirt
And helplessly I keep filling it in. 
It ruptures the earth and breaks the bones
That unremitting expanse of sin.

Abu Huraira reported Allah's Apostle (may peace be upon him) as saying:

The servant (who conceals) the faults of others in this world, Allah would conceal his faults on the Day of Resurrection.Muslim Book 32 Hadith 6267 

Imam Bayhaqi in his Shu`ab al-Iman [7.522]. 
 He (Hamdun al qassar) said (Allah have mercy on him), 
"If a friend among your friends errs, make seventy excuses for them. If your hearts are unable to do this, then know that the shortcoming is in your own selves"

Tuesday, 10 July 2012

Night Time Chorus

Surreal moments before dawn
Heart strings intertwine
A chorus so sublime
And it repeats with all that glorious familiarity
The verses we will write
Our hands moved by biro pens
21st century and romanticism doesn’t end
And sometimes things don’t have to rhyme
To be beautiful
They just need to happen at exactly the right time
In that moment if I could be seated any closer to you
I would
To hear your heart beat with mine
To feel my soul gently press against yours
To live it through your eyes
Oh what tremendous vision I envision
Soft whispers are immense to open ears
We read the book of hope and fear
Voices tremble at our lowly state
There is an overwhelming desire to fill the silence
For tonight we sing
The songs of tied-up souls
I yearn for the words to flow
Letting them merge lovingly with yours
As we recite the chorus once more

In the narration of al-Baraa` Ibn 'Aazib (may Allah be pleased with him) the Prophet (peace and blessings be upon him) said:
Adorn your voices with the Quran.  
Abu Dawud. Authenticated by Al-Albaanee 

Disclaimer: the above poem, about reciting Quran and learning tajweed, was meant only to inspire actually
'Reciting the Quran in a melodious way whereby it resembles the melody of a song is disliked and is an innovation, a ruling clearly mentioned by Malik, al-Shafi'i, Ahmad bin Hanbal and other imams as well.'
Stated by Shaykh al-Islam Ibn Taymiyyah


There is a broken safety pin
Bent out of shape by demands
Of my jugular vein.
Snagging the fabric of time
Loose threads pulled by passers by.
I am caught in the fray
Of emotions from long ago.
Hijaab too tight on ears, unable to hear
The cries of loved ones
So long ago.

 “Thus We have appointed you a middle nation.”
 Surah Baqarah, 2:143


I have run
to the edges of my soul
and burnt the tips of my fingers
Ironing shirts.
Yes, I have run
to destinations unknown
just to feel the wind blow
into the empty chambers
of this worn heart.
The layers of dust and memories.
Indiscernible prison.
I run from the futures I had envisioned
I loathe the reluctant steps
That refuse to run with me.
This heart rejects lies and force fed closure.
Truth overwhelming.
I run no longer.
I have fallen.

“Surely those who are with your Lord (angels) are never too proud to perform acts of worship to Him, but they glorify His Praise and prostrate before Him.”
[al-A’raaf 7:206]

 “And unto Allaah (Alone) falls in prostration whoever is in the heavens and the earth, willingly or unwillingly, and so do their shadows in the mornings and in the afternoons.”
[al-Ra’d 13:15]

Monday, 9 July 2012


I rub extra virgin olive oil
into cracked heels.
Her feet are round, pudgy,
She winces and I apologise.
Sipping herbal concoctions with distaste
Hot water bottle against her waist
I wonder why the TV is on behind me
Pupils struggle to focus
She is staring at something beyond me

Tentatively moist hands
Rub between toes 
There are no
Does that hurt?
Or are my hands too cold
Today she lays down at ease
It is too quiet,
Unnerving is the sound as I breathe

Oh her feet are worn,
by burdens carried
Of heavy hearts and
Night time feeds,
There are steps taken
in an undisclosed history
For it is woman who strives
Hands raw to the bone
to feed the children
And build a home

This heart wonders at this world
that is seemingly the same
Deception. I know that it has changed
Systematically from right to left
Thrice. How miserable the passage of time

The narration (hadith) as recorded by Imam Ahmad bin Hanbal in his Musnad is related by Mu`awiyah bin Jahima al-Sulami in which he came to the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him and give him peace) and said,
‘O Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him and give him peace) I desire to go on the military expedition and I have come to consult you.’
He (Allah bless him and give him peace) asked, ‘Do you have a mother?’
He said, ‘Yes.’
He (Allah bless him and give him peace) said, ‘Stay with her because paradise lies beneath her feet.’

'And We have enjoined upon man [care] for his parents. His mother carried him, [increasing her] in weakness upon weakness, and his weaning is in two years. Be grateful to Me and to your parents; to Me is the [final] destination.'
Surah Luqman Verse 14

Sunday, 8 July 2012


Empty moments leave a sharp and bitter taste
it suffocates.
So we strive to fill the expanse
trivial titbits gleam, arranged.
Yes there are meaningless words and pointless routines
We use to fill the empty hours
Encompassed by repetition, the familiarity
We are at peace with everything except
our own selves
the empty moments creep back slowly
Returning in the early hours
when restless hearts refuse to sleep

Saturday, 7 July 2012

All things are plausible...

Please feel free to comment. Suggestions and constructive criticism is all welcome. I pray that one day that writing about Allah and this beautiful religion will become second nature to me and the words will roll quickly and eloquently off the tongue. I have come this far by the will of Allah . I never thought I'd get here but I have and now I put my trust in Allah to take me further .Al hamdulilah I have hope for a better tomorrow not only for myself but for all my beloved sisters too.  I dedicate this poem to that, for lack of a better word, awesome sister I see everyday, you have truly inspired me.

All things are plausible

I trace the lines on my hand
Dead ends and alleyways
journeying to a destination unknown
 deep, dark and unmissable 
They tell the tale of a worn soul
Of pashminas with holes
And night time sujood
some more frolicsome, swirl
To music unheard
Playing the tune of small talk
Intoxicated by your own desires
These lines fade dizzily

All of them drawn
in black Biro pen, by her
you’re being delusional

Assume the good; you think
Lines remind you of unexpected destinations
with no other explanation, except
the pen of destiny and fate
My heart too fragile
But yet I believe that sinners will repent
That the unseen good
Within people is greater than me
So I dream
of my sister holding this rope tight with me
The moral of my own story is
I never lost faith in God
so to this tender heart it seems
He didn’t lose faith in me

NB: Palm reading is haram. I just read this over and wanted to clarify that I in no way encourage palm reading it is haram. By lines on my hands I mean doodles. 

Thursday, 5 July 2012


Happiness is fleeting,
It is a balloon that tiny palms
Are incapable of reaching.
Watching it fly above and beyond us.
We dream.
For we are dreamers by nature.
When those emotions feel almost tangible
And the hope swells in our chests,
Maybe , just maybe...
All things become plausible when
Eyes are clasped so tightly shut.
But there is no denying
The sound and the feeling
As our hands  clutch at -
Scraps of rubber
Falling woefully

Tuesday, 3 July 2012

To be Forgiven

Allah's Messenger (peace be upon him) said: My example and your example is that of a person who lit the fire and insects and moths began to fall in it and he would be making efforts to take them out, and I am going to hold you back from fire, but you are slipping from my hand.

 Sahih Muslim Hadith Narrated by Jabir ibn Abdullah

It has dawned on you the magnitude of choices made, while blinded by foolish love. Attempts to patch up broken beginnings fail. Your parents have moved from, disbelief, disgust, disappointment to eventual hatred. They wish to love you but it is written in their eyes that they can’t. That haphazard bubble has burst leaving tear soaked pillows and chocolate wrappers in its path. The heart is raw with the pain of loss. You cling desperately to what is wrong for it is all you have ever known by then. 
            It has been a decade, trying to piece together the echoes of ancient advice. No matter how hard you try it is not the same. You look back trying to ascertain where did it all go wrong. Perhaps through the hazy memories of what seemed like love you will remember the little people in your life. The insignificant people you waved goodbye to so readily. Lying awake at night muttering profanities under your breath. You knew, you must have known the thought reverberates in your mind. So why, why did you let this happen to me. At that moment our short lived past becomes salt in open wounds. You feel something of hate at the negligence, the sheer disregard by which you were left.
            Let me tell you in all honesty I tried, miserably. The stubbornness by which you clung to the sin shocked me and in hindsight it probably shocks you. I had to watch you slip through incapable fingers into perpetual doom. I called you with every voice I ever knew until it hurt too much to speak. I am sorry.
             And so tonight as you lay crying tears of guilt and remorse know that ten years prior I too cried the very same tears. I stared at upturned palms in the darkness thinking what have I done. And I found eventual solace knowing God answers the prayers of those who are patient; I pray that you will too.

Monday, 2 July 2012


She is one to climb hills
with shoes that have no grip
It is not the destination
But the thrill of the expedition
Exclaiming her mantra amongst
Grubby leaves and gravel paths

She is one to collect knickknacks
Bathing in eccentricity on her mantel piece
Soon to be wrapped in vintage paper
Shipped long distance to old friends
With a scrawled note in loopy writing
Hope you like it. It reminded me of you

She ladles soup out generously filling
Rooms with hearty laughter
she comes across chaotic but is in control
she asks the questions that people think to say
and holds your gaze for a reply
Nodding knowingly

Delightfully quirky character grown
from the seeds of books of long ago
Pottering around drinking tea in
her personal library
she is written in the pages of history,
as peculiar, unconventional …crazy

Her heart is taken
to stray cats on empty streets
she rubs its belly playfully, cooing
a lone pedestrian eyes dart shiftily
Laughing as the cat ‘explores’ her abaya
Her love is genuine, her love was true

She died yesterday,
And I am left chasing after memories
Which seem just as sporadic as her
Clutching the fabric of time,
Indiscernible fluff floats in the wind
she was patchwork where there are now holes
she was to this world a stranger
and now after everything, she has returned

Lonely Feelings

There are lonely feelings frivolously jumping
In and out of the sidelines of our thoughts
They tease with moments of bliss
Of smiling faces and the answers to tender wishes, blown
Into the wind and out of proportion
Hopes and dreams fuel desires
Leaving black ash on once soft palms
Yes, there are lonely feelings which shove mercilessly
Into the foreground of the painting
You watch as the faces of those
Who you have known and have loved dissolve
Eyes staring desperately trying
 To remember what lies behind
That black smudge on the canvas

Sunday, 1 July 2012

Summer Rain

I dream a dream of raindrops falling onto veiled faces. Abayas black and heavy dragging against the grass. Of the mud splashing at my feet as I twirl, the ecstasy reaching the tips of my fingers, unrepressed. To lie on the ground and look at the sky and feel the water dripping from my brows. Deep breaths filling lungs with crisp air, I sense a tingling of lightheaded humor. My fears untangle beneath my chest and seem to float upwards giddily. I grin madly at the sky one breathtaking evening in July. I am happy.
            But I am inside. Writing poetry on my wrists. Watching as now lone raindrops pool miserably on my windowsill. Knowing deep down, that I have never longed for something more, than to be the Hijaabi dancing in the summer rain.