Lines – Pt. 2

God said “Iqra”, read.
Lost,
I read lines in the world around me,
Sought love in the tangible blindly,
False validation from one, who, under the guise of sarcasm would chide me,
While loved ones remained saddened by my secrecy.
New faces, possible soulmates, overlooked because of a fallacy,
Passivity placating problems permeating in reality,
Preoccupied with dreams of a loving union and happy family,
Only to regain consciousness with no sense of clarity.
Like a black hole amidst stars, asymmetric feelings consumed me,
An intricate game with swift plays like football in the evenings,
Hollow words akin to missed goals you plated and fed me,
Unsatiated, I returned hungry to your table consistently.
Seemingly delicious conversations lured me with laughter,
Rooted in superficiality up close, I realized thereafter,
Naively hoping the menu would somehow, someday change,
Forgetting that flavors don’t change when ingredients remain the same.

Lines – Pt. 1

I write lines when my heart bleeds,

These solid pages turn translucent as I plant my seeds.

Stripping layer after layer revealing my heartbeat,

Paired with a pain that my weary mind can’t ease.

Healing does not come, because I am utterly confused,

By the juxtaposition of your words and your manifested truths.

I stand naively smiling transfixed by your aura,

While you stand there like an apparition, declaring a moratorium.

Concealing connections very similar to mine,

Kind words devoid of truth like “you are sublime”.

But what more is there to say when the end has finally come,

When trying something new is more valued than something already begun.

Searching for freedom, but still bonded by your tongue,

Struggling to unshackle these chains until they are completely undone.

So, I write lines when my heart bleeds, but this much is true,

I am a gem to be cherished, I remember, 

And one day, one day you’ll realize it too.

Eve

Never give your heart too early,

Or draw a picture of what could be,

For the warmth of the morning sunrise,

May lead to coolness in the midnight eve.

Forgotten

We exist.

Not in the shape or form you’d prefer us to be, Pale skin, straight hair, and eyes as blue as the sea,

Too dark, too kinky, too uncontrollably free. Fear enraptures you when you realize our complexity.

Glistening in the sun, this melanin protects us, Not from UV rays, but the privilege shading you from the world’s reality.

A reality that is rooted in the beauty and torment of struggle. Struggles that make blessings that much sweeter and obstacles seemingly surmountable.

We exist.

Not to uplift your sense of supremacy, but rather to remind you of our shared humanity. Indebted to our common Creator who made us all in the most perfect of forms. Yet, you use His Majesty to justify your scorn.

So restrain your ego and recognize your finite existence in this world.

For when the end comes and we are forgotten. When flesh is gone, and organs rotten. When bones remain six feet under. Our bodies may undoubtedly look the same, but our legacies, our legacies will not be.

Partner in Paradise

My heart has a habit of illuminating certain souls that radiate like the sun and enrapture me with their glow. Stolen glances ensue while I steady the euphoria within, maintaining a stoic facade for the intellectual evaluation to begin. My mind longs to know you and cleave your thoughts asunder, but how to achieve this without looking desperate I wonder? The role of passive spectator conflicts greatly with my nature, for this world is too short to roam like an impartial spectator. If my heart feels for you I will surely make it known, just look to my eyes, this is where my affection is shown.

For I am a heart that beats,
a tongue that speaks,
a body that bleeds,
and a soul that seeks.

But these eyes also uncover truth when intentions are concealed, and sheds tears in isolation when affection is repealed. And though my tongue is not sharp with seeds of contempt, or my actions reflective of internal discontent, my gradual absence from your life and attempts to circumvent are the subtle signs of my heartache and efforts to forgot.

But life goes on and wounds heal,
scars remain and lips are sealed,
the brain supersedes the heart’s zeal,
granting our weary souls time to heal.

Finally remembering that God’s plan is greater than my dreams,
Though my wants are blinding, my needs are these,
I pray for a companion that will love and sacrifice,
And who by His grace is my partner in paradise.

Empty Spaces

I began a complex puzzle the day that I was born,
The macro image unraveling as the years went on.
Personal triumphs and successes revealing segments of the whole,
While challenges and obstacles waged a war on my soul.
Fragments emerged over time that ultimately did not fit,
Yet my heart clung to the possibility, the menacing “what if”.
Empty spaces cannot be filled with things that are innately hollow,
We must take a breath, soldier on, and bear the pain of letting go.
Like a nomad in the desert searching for an oasis,
I too sought refuge in unfamiliar places.
Pieces of my identity scattered across time and space,
A journey towards self-discovery that can never be replaced.
Life is an unpredictable sequence of highs and lows,
Our reaction to these phases determines how it goes.
Carry on I must, until my puzzle becomes clear,
Completed by those final pieces, I continue to hold dear.

Heaven

I ascend above the highest clouds into heaven;

Where faith is a soaring eagle and ignorance is its descension;

Where life is everlasting and comforts are endless;

Where the state of our souls reflects our physical presence;

Where the content of character is the only essential credential;

Where love is perfectly paired like two turtle doves;

Unbound to the restrictions of finite mortal love;

No time or space, no kings or slaves,

Only eternal peace for all those He forgave.

But then I awake, blood still surging through my veins;

Sleeps beautiful ecstasy no longer in range;

The struggle continues, though my soul remains restless;

To return to this paradise on God’s personal guest list.

words on pages

I scribble words on pages.
Not like my mothers painting history with their tongues,
Lips smoldering like embers, spitting fire as they speak.
Listing lineage from memory up to the Prophet’s pulse,
Dictating tribal tales while stirring a melting pot.
Female phenoms drumming beats to release Somali hips,
From the ecstasy and pain of maternal bliss.
Learning legacies from ladies,
As they sing to their babies.
Entertaining the masses with beauty and grace,
Discrete masters of households, humble wives to save face.

I scribble words on pages,
For on the page is where my strength lies,
Unrestricted and uncensored like my mother’s eyes.
Telling tales of truth like my ancestors of old,
Ink dripping with urgency for our story to be told.

Daydreaming

lights flicker in the distance intriguing the eyes,
illuminating the mind with wondrous thoughts.
fingers outline the ephemeral glow,
yearning to define the distant unknown.
soles tread the feeble ground inching toward oblivion,
sweaty palms indicative of an unwise decision.
hearts reject what is for what could be,
for dreaming in the daytime is ultimate ecstasy.

Duality in Humanity

Eyes sting from ash filled particles infiltrating our oxygen,
Shrill cries echo from infants longing to be home again,
Chaotic scenes from fictitious films converging with reality,
We live in a changed world with a duality in humanity.

Us and them,
Here and there,
Familiar and foreign,
Native and immigrant.

Divisions descend like days of old,
When laden ships emerged and slaves were sold,
When camps constricted faith with brutal persecution,
When walls fractured families for political conclusions.

Will we not learn from the lessons of time?
Will we allow our children to die?
Will we let our hearts wither until nothing remains?
Or will they beat strong, catalyzing hope in our veins?