Thursday, 1 January 2015


Here is where the metaphors meet at crossroads
Only the well tread may comprehend
Because the rains fall still
Till I stand on a side of the street I do not know
I do not know what it is like to be the green plastic
The simplicity in ends  hammered into this pacing
Let me say that glass walls taunt
And that perhaps the  mere exclusion could be counted as relief
But we are here counting the shards of glass
And bleeding veins telling one story again and again
But not quite is this light that shines hard
Onto these faulty premises
Wood carved with gaps
Sentences that don't really match up
To a point but to a bigger picture all the same
If somebody could give me peace of mind
That I could be a leaf plummeting
Little time , the presence of the absent
Fills this place with prayers
And the echo of a fear that came true
There is a silence
A held breath
A misplaced intention
Hurt bound in a book
I did not write

This should not be the place for such sentiments
But this is where the string takes root
The knotted tree
Where this brute honesty
Made the empty auditorium
All that more empty

It echoes
What an old friend once said
Whose fruits would've come at the end
But I am not thusly blessed
And ends are not ends
Just full circle , hard lives
And mornings where we begin again

Not a poem

I want to write on muslim youth musings
A little direction and discipline is in order
I wander too much
And all my wonderings cover the same ground again and again
Maybe sow a few seeds of goodness
Maybe this uncomfortableness needs roots
Maybe home is soil , is earth , is us
We are home racing towards home
I want to write like the meanings aren't dripping
Off the page with each sentence lacking punctuation

I want to write

Wednesday, 24 December 2014

On Finding a Dream

These are the hectic hands juggling
Coals we must collect without burning
Truth is in this darkness no diamonds shine
And what once was a dream resides in an unopened history
I do not have the heart to read these things once again

I know now to grab the glass I break
Whether it fits in the crease of my palm
If we bleed , we bleed , we all bleed red
So let my humanity stain every endeavour
May my regret not tear and cool the coals

May I suffer if it rips my soul from limbs
May I suffer if the sweetness is to teach the heart to want
May I find amongst the shards unwanted dreams

Let me walk if walking is the only way to find a way
And let my hands touch more coals than the wholehearted-
Could dream to know

Thursday, 11 December 2014

Spiritual Limbo III

Impressions stamped upon the forehead
We cannot escape
Left unstable with these mounting trinkets
Gold plated wood

The goodness amassed for frail hearts
Reaches no veins and in vain
We wait thinking foundations will not buckle
Under the pressure of the external

I am not rich
Just a poor soul trying to pay off it's debts
Towards God is the procession

Sunday, 16 November 2014


Compromise is unutterable , an ugly, heavy word, forming uncomfortably in the small print.

It was not my intention to write this here , to write this , to write.

Sometimes I wonder at the paradox of principle . The excellence in the grandiose , the simplicity in excellence . I demean the latter despite lacking the moral fibre to achieve it.

When I think of compromise , I think of betrayal and the bitterness of that gives way to humanity. A compromise rooted in betrayal rooted in compromise.

Life has always been full circle and never quite straight lines .

Are you feeding a hypocrisy ? Or are you trying to shirk your responsibilities ? An old friend told me to give back , I give aghast at the quality of that which I have to give.

Most days I think of the brevity of life.  My bones ache in loss , I trade in loss , I meet and greet in loss , I walk in loss.

She told me that ' every soul is continually tasting death'

I don't stop here. I don't stop at the edge of every unique reality to remind myself there is an optimum . A perfection in the handling of every moment.

We are so intertwined that it has become our detachment . Our pale faced denial.

Do you value love and progress and goodness more than vulnerability. Why is it so often a hidden pride masking all our wounds ?

Dear world, this is where I fell. Do not fall here too.

Saturday, 8 November 2014


Tell me where it is supposed to hurt
On which wound should my tears sting
If all my veins are lined with hypocrisy
Maybe I sold my soul too cheap
Took a faith as fleeting
Can't even pinpoint where
Did it all go wrong ?

I sit with my old self on rainy days
One foot in the grave , a heart filled with dust
Of shame

Its strange

Maybe my mind is fire
That my limbs will taste

Perhaps your words made knots in my fate

Tell me where do I begin
Crave a silence too deep for a body to withstand
Bound to that which isn't sacrificed
Sacrificed along with that which isn't bound

Forgive me for misendeavors
The vilified victim , the victimized villain
The lines blur to no discernible end

It's strange

Tell me something I do not know -
But make me understand

Sunday, 31 August 2014

On Beauty and Weddings III

Bloodlines disperse with belief
These generations are untraceable
Unteachable , unbelievable
I hold my breath when she tells me

I feel religiosity stuck in our throats
It hurts and we diverge
Like pebbles in the sea

Ask me about beauty
I would say she runs
Like a glass thread through our hearts
Transparency in being
Sincerity in action
Caught somewhere awkward
Where unsaid truths tick away another hour

The outcome of our collective childhood
Is bitter sweet tongues and
Distance growing weeds
A half bloom of flowers
that may never see another spring

I want to sit where the river splits
I want to understand

Thawban related that the Messenger of Allah said: "The nations are about to call each other and set upon you, just as diners set upon food."
 It was said: "Will it be because of our small number that day?" 
He said: "Rather, on that day you will be many, but you will be like foam, like the foam on the river. And Allah will remove the fear of you from the hearts of your enemies and will throw wahn (weakness) into your hearts."
 Someone said: "O Messenger of Allah! What is wahn?" He said: "Love of the world and the hatred for death."