Bismillah ir Rahman ir Raheem

Assalam alaikum warahmatullahi wa barakatahu, lovely readers.

It’s been a hard week. Where others might take to chocolate, bad TV and alcohol, I took to…Bollywood films and poetry. (My mama and I saw Lagaan last night. Man, that movie is about 2 hours too long.)

And prayer and remembrance of Allah (SWT).

Still my weakness overtook me and I put it on paper.

I have to admit, posting something this vulnerable is a funny feeling. All writing is vulnerability, so I am used to the bottom-dropping-out-of-my-stomach feeling Alhamdulillah. But there is another feeling, a more hopeful one. That maybe someone will read this and understand what I’m going through.

Ultimately, perhaps my writing – and maybe all writing? – is about connection.

Comments welcome on the below.

Tell me you love it. Tell me you hate it. Tell me I’m giving into despair. Tell me something, in any event. It’ll be nice to hear your voice(s).

Alhamdulillah

Her frailty is criminal

Her strength subliminal

Nothing seems to work

Yet everything is normal

What newfangled cruelty is this?

My mother dressed to kill in a hospital gown

Laughing and eyes closed

Wheeling her chariot through narrow corridors

A forest of strong limbs.

I bless and curse in her wake.

What did you do to deserve those carefree fingers?

Nicotine-stained, hooked around bottles

Mocking the God that feeds you.

What did my mother do to deserve hooked limbs and baby steps?

Why are you here now healthy?

After a while, there are no more questions,

Only deep merciful silence

We learned to bless what we saw and what we didn’t.

The wonder and its opposite

The anger and the forgiveness

The tears of joy and of despair

God’s Mercy flows like a river.

There’s nothing left to give

Money

Jewellery

Hope

Fear

There is now only a silent pleading

Begging the question, if not the answer

Asking why, if not how.

Anger rumbles in the entrails of our investigation.

Bleeding virtue from our fingertips

As touches become harsh

And tongues become understanding.

There’s no need to be a jerk

But there’s no need to be an angel either.

We are comfortable with the broken.

We have tuned our radio to our body’s natural rhythm

Of destruction and healing

Of life and death.

I am comfortable with the pieces that fall through the cracks

The essence that escapes into space.

And I love what comes after.

The glow of true love

And the absence of fear.

Wassalam and Fee Amanillah.

The Happy Muslimah.