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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Le coucher du soleil
par-delà les montagnes,
sa beauté,
sa doré,
et le ciel teinté
en amour
du soleil.

Et l’amour du soleil
est le ciel brun-doré.
La couleur du soir
lorsqu’il part l’azuré.

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You’re the white camellia
I’ve been hunting in my wildforest.

Roaming through the woods,
I’ve been seeking
that scentless purity
to fill my soul,

to revive me,

to renew me…

…to forgive me.

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

O! In thy patchwork soul,
do weave mine tonight.
Let mine grey
soften thy quelling ocean blue.
Let mine sombre
soothe thy troubled hue. View Post

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. View Post

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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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

A deep thinker.
Outspoken.
Maybe a brave adventurer.
Quite strong; a little broken.
But determined never to fear.
Have an abyss for a heart,
Because I’ve been betrayed and torn apart.
But with an unwavering faith in God,
I know I’ll follow a righteous path.
Grounded because of regrets.
And while I’m no Lady Macbeth,
A little arrogant because of ambitions.
Not prudent, yet patient and peaceful.
For every blessing, I can’t express how much I’m grateful. View Post

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