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My loneliness and I

take the road less traveled by

I hide and she seeks

once screaming to the skies

The monsoon rain

so sweet

Laughing at a reflection so subtle

so discrete

The kids jumped in puddles

and God would speak

In the streets filled with love

yet sometimes defeat

Vendors holla Mash’Allah

when they see

Women decored in modesty

she pulled my veil

I wonder what she needs

following the steps I leave behind

Through the trail with wooden beads

we became one in the long afternoons

Somewhere in the east

ceased my soul

Now its hard to find me

wasted in sighs

My loneliness and I

take the road less traveled by

I hide and she often seeks

 

 

o que a água me deu

I let the water run

let myself seep

this is what you call being contained

water contained

silence contained

am i contained

by life’s guilty pleasures

but really what the fuck

because i cant find the words

lurk, rust, agony, grief, focus

its all been said before

why are they never enough

why are we never enough

in this flawed universe

so perfectly pottered from his hands

but wait i am too

am i missing something?

potential

i think of potential

and jail cells

i touch down and feel erotic

with this skin over bones

weak flesh

weak bones

a strong being

when can you trace my contours

why do we rely on one another

merely bound

my mother says not to waste water

i think of the thirsty

for life

for love

for lust

i close my eyes

he says to let the filth leave

drain it out

meu amor

i tell her all the time

she lets herself lose

she’ll love to dance in your arms

wearing all white

everything so pure

thats what i am supposed to be

why these names

why these labels

HERE COMES THE SUN LITTLE DARLIN’, AREN’T YOU GLAD TO SEE IT?

Nina,

leave me alone

i have a lump in my throat

i turn the tap off

stay still

they’re so loud

so many of her

are so loud

in this silence

so much noise i hear

can you listen

Akinola does

i try to uuh vice versa

but i am in front of his ventricles’ steps

he don’t let me in no no no my baby my baby i wonder when he gonna let me in

why he giving me quests but hey i don’ mind 

as long as he still infatuated, he still mineeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

i like creating my own tunes and words

Quero cantar como um pássaro

no one can own anybody, he is free to leave

i laugh in my mind

but my lungs

they weep

if you could only

starve me

then feed me

and free me

until i

run my fingers in my long black brittle hair and

leave them to soak in a tub full of ambition.

Why don’t you give me the strength you’re supposed to? 

Walking a thin line

Deathly are the battles we face with our backs to one another
Though love may be blind to those
It is felt to us like being in the midst of the first breeze
In what was our,
September night’s prayer
His caress as soft as a rose’s petal
In my eyes
You are the gold, fools fail to find
Blessed I am
God has created you mine
Though they ache in disguise
I ask why, they not see us
so divine
Walking a thin line, they say

He places his heart in my bosom, I say

Grief stricken with your beloved

Grief was never this subtle

For tomorrow will bring you sorrow

Tomorrow what comes may?

Bitten by the evils of this world
Curses on the each shoulder you must bear!

If that is the curse you must spill
I will embrace with these lines of fate!
So divine
I ask her why, they not see us
Though they ache in disguise
God has created me, yours
Blessed we are
In your eyes
Why question he is the gold, fools fail to find
This carress as soft as a rose’s petal
September night’s prayer
In what was our
It is felt to us like a being in the midst of the first breeze
Though love may be blind to those
Deathly are the battles we face with our backs to one another

Innocence knocked

Innocence knocked on these ill fated doorsteps

There lie a cry inside my corset

A snarl surrounded by a string quartet

And I forfeit

He rest not a jasmine

Stance in wry

Black satin

Vermilion veil forsaken to pacify

Slipping palms of earthly soil

Shrieks of theft, say NAY!

Iblees incites who to foil?

Zalimun! Her nafs hisses as it lay

Ek Khaali qabar,

An empty grave

Kudai jisne yeh gehrahi, ab vo raha ghulam,

Whom ever so dug this deep, remains a slave

 

 

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

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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.