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. 

Balloons

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

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

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.