The tides

They worship the moon

Little do they know

Like I

We are caused by You

Awakened by death

Life energy in gripped hands

Sunken cheeks

Plummeting catalyst

The birth of new life

Atoms of my soul revolutionized

How could we have known?






Voices drifted out of cafes,

Coiling around the smoke,

That had parted from mouths

Mouths from which smiles hung

The streets became empty at nights,

the soldiers stalking the streets stealthily,

like blood flowing through veins. 

I can only imagine what an entire peoples went through,

One occupation after another,

A revolution which plunged millions into an eternal despair,

Yet they looked at me with a brilliant love,

Love that I had not felt before.


Smog dripping honey

Fires drowning in blue

A city of stolen kisses

And the heavens cleft asunder…



I was his oriental doll –

He dressed me up,

Dismissing my order,

The waiter silently observing.

I think you should put your phone away.

I was an aesthetic ornament for the film roll

Snapping pictures of me on his Kodak

And I posed for him,

Pleased that he wanted to capture me.

And now, for you,

An object of your desire,

A figment of your imagination,

You forget that I exist outside of your mind.


I taste Arabic on my tongue

Like the sun

It rises in the east of my heart

My fingers reach for the book

Perhaps this is refuge.

The silhouette of Moses

A halo running around the moon

Imprints of alif, lam, mim, under my eye lids


Guide me to the flame

Prepare me to surrender


So fearless, so undeniable, your faith to your God.

“My God”, as you often utter:

I pray to my God to save you

But the thing is, my love,

I don’t need saving.

A kiss on my forehead

Your lips I felt through my abdomen

My mind is flying,

You laughed into the madness.

I watched jealously from the rim,

I want to join you, in this madness.

Unable to fall in,

My wings lift me up.

I am hollow.


Fire, light and clay,

One beloved above all –

Surely I suffer.

Job’s affliction – where did he find

the strength? 

My suffering,

It is God’s proof to me,

Of His existence,

Grounding me to the present,

Pulling me back from past anguish,

Nudging me in from future terrors,

To be thankful for the painless days.

The girl who cries to God,

“Let me be your mirror;

Don’t make me perfect –

Just make me clear.”

I pour

Onto my conception of


My unworthiness.


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