Ashen

 

Retracing steps

 I am misery

He says

I am misery

Pinching

A droplet of venom

Drowning me in my own sinking

Deeper and deeper

I go under

The sleep of enchantment awakes

Aroused with passion

I touch

She grasps

The linens tussle

Spirit

I am embraced

But flesh remains

Seizing the beat

Breath before breath

Dispersing the ugly

Boundlessly

The sleep of enchantment awakes

Thread follows

An unbridled soul 

Into the mouth

For the skies of resolution

As he departs for another’s awakening

 

 

 

 

 

 

Withering Heights

A pigeon I once knew sang a song of great heights

Echoing of love where ever she soared

Dirty

Alleys

Crowded

Streets

Noisy

Rooftops

Enlightening the nearby vendors

Searching

For a new sound

Flew with her beautiful

Silver

Feathered wings

In every corner of the city

I shall be released is what she sang

Whistling to the other pigeons was what she did

But never did they listen

Devastated

Wandered off to a pine tree

Cold

Is what she felt

This scent of pine is where warmth was

Lord knows

Why she stayed?

This pine gave her hope

Hope

To keep singing to find her way

Built a nest for her only

Before winter was to be welcomed

Twigs and branches is what she found

With those she decorated her home

Protected

By the snow flaked pine

She sang songs from a top

Tooting and Tooting

Here

She met a

He

Unfamiliar

Was

He

Brown

In tone

Cared for only love

Love

She professed aloud

Morning after morning

Her

Silver

Feathers gleamed

To sing a song for

He

One brutal morning approached

With the knocking of the tree

TIMBER

Said

He

And down fell the pine

Crushed

Was her home

Wounded

Were her wings

Red

Trickling in

White

Had covered her

Silver

Feathers

HOW COULD

HE

BE?

HOW COULD

HE

BE?

Agony

Appeared

Cries

She hadn’t heard

Trembling

Her whistle was

Suspended

With

Hurt

Shrilled

For her lover of calling

Sung a song of

Longing

With her heights at her

Feet

A pigeon I once knew sang a song of great heights

Echoing of love where ever she soared

Her beloved she thought

Was

I

But

Love was pine

Had I known what I had done

To keep her from her

Heights

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Coming from all walks of life, they step all over me
I am stuck
You have come to me in the form of direction
Be my guide to the heavens we cannot even imagine
Show me the light at the end
A sign
Perhaps, a north star
I am patiently impatient
Numb and I refuse to feel
Because I am the path
But you

You are the direction.

Reyna

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Reyna is a flower,

She is delicate and lives wrapped in her own sentiment.

Her brief conversations with the air and ground are simply enough to keep her alive,

She survives on the whispers and conversations that she shares with her surroundings.

Reyna is quiet and conservative,

Always remembering to follow the rhythm of the world.

The wind reminds her when to breathe,

And the rain reminds her when to cry.

If it weren’t for her surroundings,

Reyna would be dead and dry.

As a flower, she lives seemingly pleasantly,

And watches the earth grow.

Her life works as a cognitive instrument,

In the orchestra at the flower patch.

She has the time to daydream,

And time to paint the field of her own desire.

She keeps her wishes to herself,

And her imagination on a taut leash.

Is it so cruel that the surroundings that offer her life also suffocate her optimism for a changed world?

Reyna’s petals are delicate and always sensitive,

Elastically waiting for the right breeze to uproot her.

Sometimes, she just wants to be taken away,

The elusive feeling of discovery tickles her.

Her fantasies take her far past the sensations of the field,

And her mind wanders through forests and sceneries of faraway places.

To her the world is a cinema,

With no chosen protagonist.

The world demands her exploration,

But instinctively, her little fingers always cling on to the comfort of the soil.

The other flowers never show such genuine interest,

So why should she?

She complements the warmth of the colours around her,

And refuses to stick out.

Flawless in feature her beauty is in the simplicity of her form,

Still she wonders how life can be so simple and elegant.

The rain starts to pour and she remembers to cry,

She is a flower and eventually she will wilt.

Female Suicide Bombers: The New Weapon of #BokoHaram?

Nigerian History Channel


https://audioboo.fm/boos/2377613-bokoharam-crisis-are-female-suicide-bombers-the-group-s-new-weapon

The above is a podcast interview about Boko Haram’s use of female suicide bombers. Boko Haram has carried out nearly a dozen suicide bombings since 2009, but its use of women as suicide bombers is a new tactic.

Contrary to popular perception, Boko Haram’s cadre includes educated people with degrees in sciences such as chemistry.

http://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-28657085
Meanwhile nearly 1,000 who fled Boko Haram in Nigeria have arrived in the uninhabited Chadian island of Choua (see images of the refugees above):

http://www.un.org/apps/news/story.asp?NewsID=48419#.U-JiK41dUqh

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صحوة روحي

images (6)

I saw something white in the distance.
Raging winds.Fluttering leaves.Overcast skies.
Unsettled weather.
Women running to take shelter.
Dressed in black.
Voices in the radius.
Khamsin blowing into my eyes.
I open them.
It’s there , it’s shining.
So bright.
So white.

The mosque.
The mosque.
I’m moving.
I’m moving.
It’s out of my reach.

Vigorously the sand makes contact with my sight.

I awake from yet another

rare
subtle

dream.

Anesthetized.

4048F12

I fell down a flight of stairs today.
It didn’t hurt, It didn’t sting.
I had been anesthetized.
You know where you have those moments when you have to just sit down and stop doing everything?
This was one of those moments.
I couldn’t call for help although I was bruised.
I sat on the steps.
Caressed my heart.Dried my tears.Stoically, listened to the noise from across the street.

Rickshaws
People
Children
God

Time had passed and not noticing it had been an hour.
Felt like a second.
Dad was going out for a smoke, and asked
“Oh, you were here. What were you doing ?”
I looked at him for a long while.
He just went on about his smoke.
I finally spoke up.

I fell but I just got up.

He gave me a confused look.
Nodded.
He understood.

Yeah, he understood.

The what ?

It’s the holy month of ramadan. A month filled with blessings and goodness from our mighty allah. But I ask what good is this month when all we see is war on terror?

I saw a woman veiled in white.Yes, white.Not in black.As if she were to take me away from the missiles , the bombings , this war. I dropped my head down & woke up from a beautiful prayer.

Let us spend our two minutes in silence remembering our brothers and sisters out there afflicted to this genocide in Palestine. Let us, this Ramadan pray for the humans who are losing their life to this Israeli aggression.I cannot fathom what these people are going through. I can only pray to god to grant their souls a place in heaven. (Amen)

Abu Huraira narrated that Allah’s Messenger said : “When the month of Ramadan starts, the gates of the heaven are opened and the gates of Hell are closed and the devils are chained.” [Bukhari]

He sends down water from the skies, and the channels flow, each according to its measure: But the torrent bears away to foam that mounts up to the surface. Even so, from that (ore) which they heat in the fire, to make ornaments or utensils therewith, there is a scum likewise. Thus doth Allah (by parables) show forth Truth and Vanity. For the scum disappears like forth cast out; while that which is for the good of mankind remains on the earth. Thus doth Allah set forth parables. (Quran 13:17)

Certain things in this world pass, certain things last & stay that are good for human civilization.

This isn’t about religion or politics . This is about being human. To not just feel for the muslims dying but for the many others who have lost their lives.
This is the 21st century, no. The 2014 GENOCIDE. It’s time we took notice of these things. Not just in Palestine but in Syria and other parts of the world.We are proceeding closer to the day of Resurrection by witnessing the hurt, pain , suffering due to the violence in this world.This is all is another test of it’s own by God, Allah himself. We can only keep the Palestinians in our prayers.

مِن أَجلِ ذٰلِكَ كَتَبنا عَلىٰ بَنى إِسرٰءيلَ أَنَّهُ مَن قَتَلَ نَفسًا بِغَيرِ نَفسٍ أَو فَسادٍ فِى الأَرضِ فَكَأَنَّما قَتَلَ النّاسَ جَميعًا وَمَن أَحياها فَكَأَنَّما أَحيَا النّاسَ جَميعًا ۚ وَلَقَد جاءَتهُم رُسُلُنا بِالبَيِّنٰتِ ثُمَّ إِنَّ كَثيرًا مِنهُم بَعدَ ذٰلِكَ فِى الأَرضِ لَمُسرِفونَ
“That is why We decreed for the children of Israel that whosoever kills a human being, except (as punishment) for murder or for spreading lifethreatening chaos on earth, it is as if killing the entire human race; and whosoever saves a life, saves the entire human race. Our apostles brought clear proofs to them; but even after that most of them committed excesses in the land.”

-[Qur’an 5:32,

It’s the Israeli Aggression Ya’ll.

On Not Being Able to Write It

Bending Genre

In 1988, fresh out of college and working at a macrobiotic deli in a health food store, I had an affair with the stock manager, a married Irishman living illegally in the United States and the father of a three-month-old daughter. In the mornings, when we met before work to make love in the back of my car, he smelled of baby powder and the beer he’d drunk the night before at what he called his local, The Dribble Inn. We flirted through the workday, French-kissed in the walk-in freezer. One day six months or so after our affair began he didn’t show up for work. Just like that, he was gone. This was in the days before cell phones; he didn’t get in touch to tell me that his wife had found out and given him an ultimatum: quit his job or she’d take his daughter away and make…

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Walking wounded.

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There are women around the world that are walking wounded.Women in our everyday lives. We see them riding on the buses, working, on the street, driving around in lavish cars, debating in colleges.They ALL have a story. An inner self. An inner self veiled with grief, sorrow , despair , solitude. We go through phases of life taking a leap into the unknown just waiting for a Utopian wind to uplift us. If that’s even a word. They’ve been always telling us , we’re the weaker sex. Always underestimating us. It’s time we speak up. We tell them our stories , we tell them the emotional hurt we go through everyday. The only way to get them to stop talking is to share our struggles, our fears , our abilities. Women come from all walks of life , its up to you to peer into their souls. We are ; orphaned, divorced, assaulted, raped, emotionally hurt, mentally unstable. BUT , we are only humans. We make mistakes, we fall, we get right up and we learn to move on.  I have seen and felt a lot of women hurt these days.I wanted to do something about it. These are my 189 words of randomness & positivity to the all the women out there DOING IT UP.

Peace.