What’s frozen inside me
so bad that it melts?
Comes out in tears
that I later regret,
for I shouldn’t be crying,
wasting time, now should I?
I should get up, wake up,
look the world in the eye.

What’s frozen inside me
so bad that I shiver?
At the thought of day
I just begin to quiver.
I tremble, yet I know I must try
to get up, wake up,
look the world in the eye.

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O! In your patchwork soul,
weave mine tonight.
Let a part of me
become yours tonight.
Let my cotton
simplify your struggling silk.
Let my roughness
take away that blinding shine.

O! In your patchwork soul,
do weave mine tonight.
Let my grey
soften your quelling ocean-blue.
Let my sombre
soothe your troubled hue.

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I stare down the barrel
of the gun in his eyes.
His ruthless words —
the bullet rounds.
His echoing voice,
like shell casings
clattering on the ground.

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You are the dawn
dancing on the horizon —
a light I cannot afford,
for it will blind me
as it takes my darkness away.

In this dark that I dwell
I stay espoused to the truth
that it is only your fleeting shadow
that will be mine forever.

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Your voice and its melody,
the falsetto nursed in baritone,
is a mélange of the seasons,
the skies, dusk, and dawn.

The sound to which a Sufi
whirls — reaching Fitra.
The sound to which
his soul is in union with Ṣafā.

An embrace of the purity,
deific and divine,
your voice is the poetry
of the prayers they recite.

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In the last that I breathe,
I will not perish,
for my very spirit
is my love for you,
which upon my end,
will be immortalised;
manifested in your own being,
where it does belong.

As I wither, my breath,
in harmony with your heartbeat,
will evanesce into yours.

The irony is my love for you
that makes so little of me
so my fading is its eternalisation,
as it finds sanctum in you.

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She waltzes into the air,
dancing deftly with the moonlight.
She kills with her allure.
She’s a magical illusion.
A mystical delusion.
A breathtaking beast,
dressed as a ballerina.

She pirouettes ¹ —
it’s the split second of life.
She walks towards you, relevée ²,
her arms the arch of Heaven.
She pauses in an arabesque ³;
the balance between life or death.
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The new year dawns
and the sun shines again,
The sky is warm
and Heaven smiles again,
A change in time –
it’s a magical new present,
A moment to cherish
and walk life’s miles again.

I wish all of you a splendid 2018!

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Celui que vous aimez est parti.
La blessure a déchiré votre coeur;
et tandis que la cicatrice semble pâle,
la douleur saisit encore votre âme.

Mon amour sent votre amour,
donc il sait que ce n’est pas pour moi.
Vous pensez que cet amour est pour moi,
je sais que ça ne peut pas être.

Vous êtes ma raison d’être.
Ce coeur ne veut pas d’autre.
Et pour vous, à chaque haleine,
mon amour va renaître.
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Amidst the clouds, the stars sparkle,
as if hiding a secret.

Afront the stars the clouds stay,
as if guarding the secret.

It is this mystery of the skies
that keeps me up at night,

And the dazzle of it all
that keeps me looking for the light.
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The breeze fluttered into the room and softly rustled the flowers around me. Papers on the receptionist’s desk inched closer to her, the chimes on the window hummed a sweet little tune, and the eager wind lifted the edges of my simple black coat, because of which I now felt poorly dressed for my interview.

The room was big enough to seat about nine people at distances, but one would still be able to hear their hushed tones of talk. It was airy and opulent, with an aura of regality that made me feel small. The floors were a magnificent hand-scraped dark wood that ran lengthwise and reached up to the wall two-thirds of the way, as if in impetus from the run. Above the wood, the walls graced a stunning, but simple, taupe-on-taupe damask wallpaper that glistened in the light from the chandelier. Twenty feet above me, the chandelier looked like a glamorous, miniature version of the sun. Little crystal ‘droplets’ projected unnoticed spectra on the walls. I was not expecting my prospective office to be so elegant and sophisticated. View Post

Tomorrow you shall see
the barren Heavens
shimmering with stars;
the dark of the night
ousted by a nascent moonlight.

For tonight,
this empty expanse of ebony
is inspired by you;
it has looked into your eyes
and said that it wants to
sparkle the way they do.

It has watched
your smile illuminate the world,
and cannot live with the shame
of not being the same.

But the night after
shall be dull again,
for the stars will renege
and the moon will concede —
accepting defeat.

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Violence. Is it genocide? Is it homicide?
No; it is the frustration of many unheard cries.
Cries for freedom, for rights, for education.
Virtues that an orthodox world fails to give.

When deprived of these blessings the mind is tortured,
The dormant seed of violence is nurtured.
And with time this torment grows to power,
That one day, will the whole world devour. View Post

Eyes that are sharp and bright,
like his mind.

Big, clear… pure,
like his soul.

Eyes that are black.
An ensorcelling, sparkling black —
an onyx.

An onyx on a moonless night,
graced by but a few stars,
catches even the faint light
and shines.

An onyx that glistens
even on a dark night;
in the absence of light.
Gleaming – distinct in the dark.
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“Maria, you are still sleeping!”, my roommate exclaims as she walks in. I open my eyes and jump out of bed. Giving her a hug, I run to the door. I’ve been waiting for them all day… for him, actually. That’s when I stop short, and turn to the mirror. Staring into the reflection of my eyes, I chastise myself, “What are you doing?! You can’t be enslaved by your emotions! You know none of this is for you. Don’t you dare tarnish the treasure of this friendship”. My smile turns forced as I leave the room.

I greet them all, desperately trying to internalise the aura of bliss surrounding me. I’m hanging onto every word they say, laughing at every jest and jibe, making an effort not to look around for him… yet, at one weak moment, when my senses elude me I steal a glance at the doorway, where he appears. His startled jerk when he sees me is covered by a laugh as he says, “You scared me”, reaching for a hug I inevitably return. As I feel myself melting in the warmth of his embrace, I tell myself that I must be rigid, frigid, and gelid. I tell myself that nothing can make me falter, not even the love I can’t deny I have for him. Interrupting my angry monologue, he pulls away and says, “I missed you”. View Post