It is not I, it is You.

You think you can
put me in quotes
that seem so
You think you can
label me
call me names
You think I’m less
less of a human
because I’m a woman
a woman of color
You think it is I
who needs freedom
well let me free
your noxious little brain
let me free you
from ignorance
that’s smothered you
with hatred
because it is not I
It is you
yes you
How could you
possibly free
a bird soaring high
in the sky?
How could you
possibly not know
pearls are found
hidden deep down
in the sea?
How could you
possibly expect
a rose
grown amidst weeds
change into a weed itself?
No, it is not me
It is you
and your poisoned mind
It is you
and your hate
It is you
and your hopelessness
that needs changing
It’s not me
It’s you

Murdered by Media

She curses her reflection
and howls at her genealogy
for her wide forehead
and her chunky upper lip
she dyes, not just her hair
so shes beyond
the blackness in her curls
seeping slowly
into her veins
poisoning her mind
her fragile little heart
from the burden of ugly
her body mummified
by the latest diet
and her soul
her poor, poor soul
a prisoner of her woes
little did she know
she had died
long before
died the moment she saw
herself in that mirror
she died for beauty
thinking beautiful she will never be

Fussing Over the 15th of Sha‘ban

The Humble "I"

01097_rockface_1680x1050Question: Is marking out the 15th night of Sha‘ban (laylat al-nisf min sha‘ban) for extra prayers and devotion sanctioned by Islam, or is doing so judged to be a reprehensible innovation (bid‘ah)?

Answer: Each year a fair amount of fussing and fighting takes place over the issue. Yet the truth of the matter is that scholars have long held this issue to be one over which there is a valid difference of opinion. The first group considered the night to have no specific virtues over and above any other night of the year, and believed that singling the night out for extra acts of worship is unsanctioned. Another group differed and held that the middle night of Sha‘ban does have special merits and can be earmarked for extra prayers and devotion.

What follows is a discussion about why such a difference has arisen and how each of the two stances has…

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This heart of mine

I broke the walls
I unwrapped
my heart
I heard it cry oceans
Ice and fire
It burned
It ached
like canines
against raw flesh
I rinsed it
with Your Love
and as if that was all
it needed
It gave up
in Your Garden
Of Peace
It gave up
all its dreams
all its most ardent desires
for a sole wish
a wish to be
by Your side
on the highest
in Your ever-lasting
It traded
all of world’s fame
with its glory
and games
to be with You

~ I miss you ~

You were like a flower in a barren desert
You were my companion in sadness
and you were there during my moments of joy
You were like the rays of sun lighting up the sky
You had built a castle deep inside my heart
and now your memories seeping through my veins
are burning holes inside my soul
I left a part of me with you, buried in the dirt
as I laid you down, watching you with mournful eyes
If I could just pull you out, and hold you
and keep you warm
If I could just see you once again
If I could just..
Oh how deeply and sorely you’re missed.



Grief hit me like a tornado. Grief that was too large to be contained within a small beating organ. Maybe I needed a jar as big as this earth to pour the contents of my heart into. I imagined losing feeling in that organ that insisted on aching with every beat. But the sadness was larger than me. I had two options: Grow numb or face it. I found strength in facing, even as it crushed me, even if the pain felt like a jagged shard of glass being dragged against my heart, even if my lungs felt as if they were on fire, desperately needing air. Even then. I chose to face it. And I grieved. Until the tornado passed and calm took over.

(This post is dedicated to my beautiful cat, Cotton who died couple nights ago. May we meet again in Jannah.)