When we laugh
When we cry
When we plan

When we pick up the pieces
I thank Allah that He made us companions
In this time,
In this place,
On this journey.
A mother
And a father
On a journey together

To raise a family.
I’m glad you’re there
To hold my hand
As we face the unknown.

Silence builds an awful wreckage of a person

Silence builds an awful wreckage of a person

It feeds on loneliness and creates a void
Gray shadows haunt and torment and torture

A child is stricken and destroyed

There is no sound of laughter or happiness here
the little one has thrown in the towel today
Somber, melancholy moods decay the soul
It is futile to hope and dream and pray

Emptiness builds a home in this woman
in this girl; this child where hollows have bred
a deepening sea of no-whereness consumes
and eats away at every connecting thread

Confusion feeds like a savage inside her,
Leaving nothing considered worthy remains
Destined to walk through life less ordinary
Alone, exiled, different and disdained.

Void, canceled, simply annulled.

Void, canceled, simply annulled.
Endlessly aching, unconsoled.

cause without reason.
Touch without sense, time without season.

A shallow face anguished and marred.
An empty space scaled and scarred.
Sweetly abiding in the cynical charade.
Secretly hiding behind a fictitious facade.
Still, lost within this heart of glass,
This fragile and yet unfeeling mass.
Lies the remains of a love that glowed,
Ripped from my inner depths, impeding-
Mind and body and spirit, bleeding;
Now’s crushed to sand from thy ruthless hand,
A cold stare I just can’t understand.
I feel that somehow, somehow I’m dying,
At least my soul and all that’s underlying.

A simple void, is that what I’ve become?
The hollowed sphere on a pendulum.
Swinging back and forth, emotion to emotion,
Never once stopping, nor slowing the motion.
No reason, no answer, no justification.
The creation of a sterile imagination.
Just passing through time as time passes me.
Merely a nothing- nothing, merely, left to be.
Sightless and soundless, unseen and unheard.
Mindless and boundless, obscure and absurd.
All empathy lying ungraced, unemployed,
I live my life dying, unembracing, a void.

Death Not Being The Way

I held the knife so close to my heart.
Like a foolish child I sat and I cried,
Didn’t realize what I had done, what I had tried.
Tears mixed with blood, falling slowly to the ground.
Covered in blood, pulled myself up, in tears scribed:

“To those who don’t care, to those who can’t see,
Never Give up always thrive to be free.”
Didn’t know how many people would later cry.
“Tried to be free, yet I see this isn’t the way.”

Friend at the door, ran as fast as she could.
Too weak to say I’m sorry, otherwise I would.
In tears, looked at the blue sad day.
When you come and see this pool of blood and me,
This isn’t the way my life was meant to be.

Hijab- this poem was written by a Muslim girl who wears a hijab and is proud of it!

Hijab- this poem was written by a Muslim girl who wears a hijab and is proud of it!

What do you see when you look at me?
Do you see someone limited,
or someone free?
All some people can do is just look and stare,
Simply because they can’t see my hair.

Others think I am controlled and uneducated.
They think that I am limited and not liberated;
They are so thankful that they are not me,
Because they would like to remain ‘free’.

Well free isn’t exactly the word I would’ve used,
Describing women who are cheated on and abused.
They think that I do not have opinions or a voice,
They think that being hooded isn’t my choice,

They think that the hood makes me look caged,
That my husband or dad are totally outraged,
All they can do is look at me in fear,
And in my eye there is a tear.

Not because I have been stared at or made fun of,
But because people are ignoring the One up above.
On the day of judgment they will be the fools,
Because they were too ashamed to play by their own rules.

Maybe the guys won’t think I am a cutie,
But at least I am filled with more inner beauty.
See I have declined from being a guy’s toy,
Because I won’t let myself be controlled by a boy,

Real men are able to appreciate my mind,
And aren’t busy looking at my behind.
Hooded girls are the ones really helping the Muslim cause;
The role that we play definitely deserves applause.

I will be recognized because I am smart and bright,
And because some people are inspired by my sight.
The smart ones are attracted by my tranquility,
In the back of their mind, they wish they were me,

We have the strength to do what we think is right,
Even if it means putting up a life long fight.
You see we are not controlled by a mini skirt and tight shirt;
We are given only respect, and never treated like dirt.

So you see, we are the ones that are free and liberated,
We are not the ones that are sexually terrorized and violated.
We are the ones that are free and pure,
We’re free of STD’s that have no cure,

So when people ask you how you feel about the hood,
Just sum it up by saying ‘baby its all good’

I remember
The pillow smashing
My face
I don’t remember
The sweet caress
Of love
I remember
The pain
I don’t remember
The hospital stay
I remember
Fear of sleeping
Of being weak
I don’t remember
I remember
Heavy in though the air
I don’t remember
Being safe!
What is safe?
I remember
I don’t remember
I remember
The lock jiggling in the
As he tries his key
I don’t remember
Calling the police
I remember
The door trembling
As he kicked it
I don’t remember
I remember
The hatred in his eyes
I don’t remember
Thanking the police
I remember
His last lie
“I love you! I never hurt you!”
I don’t remember
His last truth
I don’t remember
How long the police were there
Standing like towers of blue safety
Forming a wall
Between a monster
Of hate and lies
And I trembling
White as a lotus
I remember
The stillness after the police left
I don’t remember
The time
I couldn’t find the clock
I remember
The coldness
The fear
Panic and crying
I don’t remember
I remember
Dawn bright cold
Twittering birds
I don’t remember
I remember
The doctor’s visit
I don’t remember
The trip home
I remember
Sweet children’s voices
I don’t remember
I remember
Sweet sleeping children
I don’t remember
I do remember
I am human
Deserve respect
I don’t remember
I do remember
Feeling relief



When you look at me all you can see is the scarf that covers my hair
My words you can’t hear because you’re too full of fear
You think it’s not my own choice, in your own “liberation” you rejoice
You’re not me you think  I’m uneducated, trapped, oppressed and subjugated
You’re so thankful that you are free- but Western women you’ve got it wrong
You’re the weak and I’m the strong
For I’ve rejected the trap of man
Fancy clothes-low-neck, short skirt, these are devices for pain & hurt
I’m not falling for that little plan.
Alwayz jumping to the male agenda, competing on his terms
No job share, no creche facilities, no feeding & nappy changing amenities.
No time off for menstrual pain – “hormones”
They laugh “What a shame.”
No equal pay for equal skill – your job they can alwayz fill.
No promotion unless you’re sterilized
No promotion unless you’re sexually terrorized & is this liberation???
I’m a person with ideas & thought, I’m not for sale, I can’t be bought
I won’t decorate anyone’s arm, nor be promoted for my charm
There’s more to me than playing coy


Children Of Insurrection

Children Of Insurrection
I write to tell you of a race
that lives in a ‘disputed’ place
where little boys are not quite boys
who get to play outside with toys
but bullet shells do they collect
and tear gas they do feel affect
their tiny little lungs, and eyes
as Israel plots their demise
How many more of these must die?
Before the world stops to ask: why,
did no one think to intervene
and stop this cruel, horrific, scene?
The Palestinians are alone
each throwing their own little stone
at army men with machine guns
the fervor of these people stuns!
So more and more of them do die
And time continues to pass by
Yet still no one thinks to step in
to help these children, and their kin
There are no cameras to show
the injustice these people know
They cannot go to school each day
for politics stands in their way
How can you explain to a child
who is in essence meek and mild
he cannot have the simple things
like shoes, and kites and planes and rings?
A child of seven should not know
of death, and pain, and other woes
His main concern should never be
if he’ll be allowed to go free!
These are just basic human rights
who in their name, so many fight!
But no one comes here to attack
the injustice and severe lack
of too many things for me to name
Of behavior that’s inhumane!
So, Israel sends tanks and guns
And Palestine loses her sons!
What crime did these people commit,
To deserve such a fate as this?



Her long, thick, shiny black hair
Fell against her back.
Her rich, copper skin
Gleamed in the sunlight.
Her slender figure outlined,
With her soft voluptuous curves.
But when she stepped outside,
She became a ghostly figure of the night.
Nothing more to the people
Than a dark, shadowy figure of oppression.
But she showed them.
As she walked down the street,
People made way,
Men lowered their gazes in utmost respect.
And others whispered,
As she held her head up high,
With pride in her belief
And showed them how oppressed she really was!
While they whistled at their women,
Looking them up and down as they were pieces of meat to be inspected?
She pitied their savage ways.
As she walked into the arms of her partner,
Her only love, Her husband.
Where she was transformed,
Into her beautiful self,
For only his eyes to see.

Everything happens for a Reason

Everything happens for a Reason –

a Reason you can learn and grow from.

People change so you can learn How to Let Go.

Things go Wrong so you learn to appreciate things when they Go Right.

You believe lies at 1st so you eventually learn who You can Truly Trust.

And sometimes Good things fall apart so Better things can fall together.