Submission

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]

Heedlessness

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