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).
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
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.