When

When we laugh
Together,
When we cry
Together,
When we plan
Together

When we pick up the pieces
Together,
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.
Alhamdulillah.

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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
                                                                   Silence       
I remember
Noise
Heavy in though the air
I don’t remember
Being safe!
What is safe?
I remember
Mistrust
I don’t remember
Trust
I remember
The lock jiggling in the
Door
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
Calm
I remember
Fear
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
Sleeping
I remember
Dawn bright cold
Twittering birds
I don’t remember
Dressing
I remember
The doctor’s visit
I don’t remember
The trip home
I remember
Sweet children’s voices
I don’t remember
Dinner
I remember
Sweet sleeping children
I don’t remember
Silence
I do remember
I am human
And
Deserve respect
I don’t remember
Crying
I do remember
Feeling relief
 

TO A WESTERN WOMAN FROM A MUSLIM WOMAN

TO A WESTERN WOMAN FROM A MUSLIM WOMAN


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