Falling

Love is the sparks of excitement you swallow

Between each kiss.

Love lies in that empty space next to you

in bed, after they’ve gotten up.

The space you crawl into to keep their warmth

and how you secretly smell their pillow as a reminder.

Love is being vulnerable, even when your afraid.

Love Hides;

in between screaming, tears, and slamming doors.

Love is dancing without the need to hold on

for balance.

Love lies in the birth of a sunrise.

When the stars lingering in the clouds fade.

Morning Shines.

Painting sky in colors of dawn.

Ever growing brighter.

“Love is like falling and falling is like this…”**

Lost.

Yet at home, in the middle of the universe.

Butterflies surround your stomach.

Drifting

you feel more free than ever before.

Laughing flows out like rivers

and when your eyes connect

it is as if the other is

Soul Searching.

When I fall this time,

you don’t catch me.

Instead, you too allow yourself to fall in.

Love.


**Quoted from Ani Difranco song.

I wrote this poem on 10/04/01.  I was asked to write it from a good friend Hannah Smith to read at her wedding.

I love this poem but looking back I feel my life has changed so much that I was barely scraping the surface of Love.

This is because as humans we evolve constantly, particularly when we reflect on our lives.  I am a very reflective person and those who know me well know that my life has done at least a 180 degree turn since 2001.  All thanks be to God.  I laugh to myself because at the time of this writing I was still in awe of 9/11.  I remember vividly flying somewhere and checking out all of the other passengers on my flight fearing a terrorist was among us.  You see, I believed the hype.  I was afraid.  There were some men who looked like they were from India that I was skeptical of, then some darker skinned others that I thought may be Arabian.  I had no one to give my fear over to, as I do now.  I also had not broadened my horizons yet, growing up in one of the whitest states of the union had taken its toll on my view of diversity.  I did not yet know about my “knapsack of white privilege”.  I had just begun to study sociology and some of our articles blew my mind into a whole knew way of thinking.  More specifically I had not yet found religion and within it peace.  I had not yet met my husband and really found that true love that was destined for me.

I am so grateful for my personal evolution, revolution, awakening and revelation.  I am grateful for my family, my friends and everyone I have met on this path.  I am grateful for light and deen (religion) and I pray that my path may be forever illuminated by it.

Alhumdulilah, I am forever grateful.  🙂

From my heart.

LOVE you all.

Peace and Blessings (Assalamu Alakium).

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My Opa.

Opa, you will always be the man with the perfectly manicured lawn, the weeping willows that blow in the wind.  Waving a top your big John Deer tractor; in shorts and white socks, that covered your farmers tan, right below your knees, on your skinny little chicken legs. 

You will always be the man so jolly with that glimmer of mischief in your eyes.  The teaser, the walk-behind-you-neck-pincher.  The man who built our whole lives with his hands: my dolly’s bassinet, my mom’s toilet bowl cover, all of our musical piggy banks with our names on them that were impossible to open.  Even that weird woodpecker toy thing with one of your chickens feathers as its tail.  The swing in your back yard, the garden that I learned to pick, shuck and love peas in.  The multiple clocks that would keep me up at night…it was either that or your monstrous snore.

One could look at your life as a child of the Holocaust, an immigrant, and now a victim of Alzheimer’s as one of tragedy, but I prefer to think of your life as the beginning of your legacy.  We may not always have the house you built but we will always have the family that you built.  Your hard work ethic, your craftsmanship, your mischievous spirit and even your laugh will be echoed in our generations and those to come…forever.

For my Opa:  Henry Najman Newman I love you forever. 

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Written for his memorial in August of 2010.

A Dam Breaks

Cracked like glass
The break travels
Deeper into my soul.
Separating me from my beloved
My beloved knows the true me
Closer than the views in my neck is he.

He choose me
Lifted me from the darkness
Lifted the veil
From my heart.

Allahu Akbar.

I used to be lost
Stumbling towards the fire
Like a moth,
Entranced by flame.

I still loose my way
Stumbling, I fall off the path.
But he never gives up on me.

Shattered
I crawl to him,

beseeching forgiveness and mercy.

Time and time again he picks me up,

dusts me off and tells me to not give in

to giving up.

He reminds me how blessed I am,

however close I have come

to the pit of despair.

Trembling I loom on the edge.

Just as a lean forward
cowering
About to fall

His love fills my eyes with tears,
My heart opens
As a dam breaks inside my soul.

Alhumdulilah I am forever grateful.

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My Hijab

Bismillah: In Honor of #WorldHijabDay and dedicated to my Muslim sisters all over the world being oppressed because of their choice to cover. I have wrote this poem for you, making my intention pure for Allah alone in sha Allah.  Ameen.



 

My Hijab:

A response to Eve Ensler’s “My Short Skirt”.


 

 

 

My Hijab.

 

My Hijab is my crown.

I am a queen, and like a queen I don’t shake hands with strange men.

 

My Hijab.

 

My Hijab is peace.

This piece of cloth that covers my aura.

Is serenity.

A sign of submission.

They say it’s a sign of submission to my husband.

I say:        No.

Submission to Someone much more important.

Omnipotent.

Allah.

Lord of the Worlds.

 

My Hijab.

 

My Hijab is a reminder.

A reminder to myself to behave in the manner I am supposed to:

With integrity.

Peacefully.

Respectfully.

Honestly.

Auspiciously.

Humbly.

Modestly.

 

My Hijab.

 

My Hijab may serve as a reminder to other people of how to treat me:

I am not an ornament for your eyes.

My beauty will not be cheapened by using pieces of my body to sell your:

Body wash

Cars or

Power tools.

I will not be used in some misogynists’ music video.

No.           You may not have my number.

 

 

All that man covets is hard to reach;

Gold and Jewels must be mined.

Oil must be drilled.

Pearls lie

Sealed

In shells

At the bottom of the sea.

Why is my body any different?

 

 

My Hijab, believe it or not, has nothing to do with you:

Your laws to ban it.

Your opinion that I’m oppressed.

Your view on my style of expression or belief system.

Your hateful heart and your hands that rip it from my head.

Your not in charge of my fate

My destiny.

My.          Maker.          Is.

 

My Hijab is my Piety.

My non con formation to mainstream.

 

I will NOT let YOU make me AFRAID.

This is who

I AM.

 

 

Before you made it something for people to fear.

And attached words like “Terrorist” to it.

Before you attempt to

Try to make me

Take it off,

or Assimilate.

 

My Hijab:

Get used to it. It’s not going away.

 

My Hijab is happiness:

Tranquility.

Serenity.

I am here.

I am empowered.

 

My Hijab is a liberation.

The Flag in the Muslimah Liberation.

The first movement of ‘feminism’;  started by the Prophet Muhammad.

May Peace and Blessings be Upon Him.

 

I declare these streets

Any streets

My Hijab’s country.

My Hijab’s Universe.

We are free and answer to God Alone.

But mainly

My Hijab and everything under it Is mine.

Mine

Mine

Mine.

My God Given Right.

My Freedom.

My Protection.

My Liberation.

My Dedication to My Maker and

No One Else.

 

 

niqab