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Poetry

INVOCATION I

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Photo by Idina Risk from Pexels

I beseech Your aid

Oh God

For my heart has become a graveyard

with withered flowers

and weeds of undesirability

I can no longer bear the weight

of the caskets carrying

the deadness of my emotions

My doom-laden pillars crumbling

at the height of my anxiety

and my tombstone

displaying engravings

of all the letters

of pain

***

I invoke you

Ya Allah

This desolation

has brought me to my knees

My hands raised high

to the sky

Save me, Oh God

For my mind has become

a battle field of abrupt wars

and hostile armies

Only this time

I am both the ally

and the enemy

Corpses of my thoughts

lie around like hungry fleas

sucking the life

out of me.

***

I beg for mercy

My Lord,

This affliction

is wrecking my soul

An air hunger seizing my lungs

amid a thunderstorm of craze

A heavy downpour of anguish

floods my entire being

while the strong winds howl

at the loss

of my sanity

***

I implore you

My Creator

For a miracle

When everything seems impossible

Let your

Light

Beam through this shadow

Turn the valley of my wounds

Into river beds

Where your Mercy

Can flow through

If my soul is in the shade that pleases you

Then I ask,

O Maker of suns,

To show me how to bloom.

I pray.

I pray.

I pray.

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Poetry

THE ORCHESTRA OF JOY

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Have you ever seen a nightingale sing?
When the clouds are white
and gray
and orangish blue
When the sun is still peeping shyly
through the sky
like a child who’s still learning
to carry
the weight of her mother tongue

There are some things you notice
only when you’re in glee
When the heart is at rest
with its existence in the world

Like the first touch of fresh, cool air
when it reaches your lungs
Cleansing you of all dust
and ashes
Blowing your noodle-like hair around
Strands of it lingering on your radiant face
The gentle swishing of leaves
dance to the reviving melody of the nightingale

The sun rays,
a strong energy of red
and the happiness of yellow,
piercing through your ebony eyes
glittering
like they were dipped in perfect shades of olive
and brown

Your mother’s honey voice
hums silkily
in the vastness of her love
She sings a song of enchantment
A tune already engraved on your soul
Her maroon white hair rests weakly on her shoulders
You stand side by side
Fingers interlocked delicately
as you watch the tan beauty
perching on one of the branches
in the lush green forest

It serenades your souls
with the procession of rippling whistles,
and trills,
and gurgles
that makes the entire universe stand still
Listening to the powerful performance
of an exquisite bird
A gentle trickling sound
of a river
meanders by
Possessing your entire being
with a solace
unknown

A poet stands to watch
and a writer
and an artist
The muse is in front of them
unraveling
all the magic of dawn

And you stand there too
You glance at your frail mother
as she raises her head from
the wheelchair
to look at you
Her eyes twinkling
as she beams with bliss
And it just seems like God
has pinned you as a favourite today
Because suddenly,
everything has a tune of joy
to it.
On this day,
It feels like the universe
is shining
on you.

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Poetry

THE LONGING OF A SUPPLICANT

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Image Courtesy: https://weheartit.com/entry/334051433

Whenever I miss you,
which is as often
as the sun rising from the East,
the dawn of your thoughts
take possession
of my brittle mind
penetrating through the cracked, glass window
of my soul
like the early sun rays
ready to conquer my heart
yet one more time.
The adhan is but a symbol
of the timelessness
of my love
waking me up from
the depths of my fantasy
The wudhu’s cold touch
hauls me back to reality
washing off me
the residues
of yesterday’s ache.

Whenever I remember you,
a strong tide
of sorrow
takes over the
ocean of emotions
within my soul
pulling me further out
into the embrace of distance.
In absolute agony,
I lay down my mswallah
that you once gave me
and make i’tikaf on it
talking to My Most Beloved
of you,
my beloved.
There is only one pure way
to love
so I raise my hands
to the Almighty
and place you
in His loving hands.
A testament of love
that none can dare
come between.

My tongue is wet,
heavy on the
Allahu Must3an
because God knows
only He can extinguish
the turmoil engulfing the
heart of a lover
with flames
of grief.
I call on the Lord of Ibrahim
to save me
from the blaze set on my being
I call on the Lord of Ayub, and the Lord of Ya’qub
to grant me
a beautiful patience
I call on the Lord of Yunus
to rescue me from
the hollowness of the darkness.

The hadith says,
‘The guider towards good
is like the doer’
so I recite every letter of the Qur’an
with reflection
with deliberation
hoping that for every 10 rewards,
you get a share of it.
With every mention and longing,
during the wee hours of the night
you are raised in status
With every dua
that I beg Allah
to grant you,
the angels can say
‘And for you is the same’.

If we’re not meant to be
in this world
then I am content
cherishing your very existence
in the same universe as I do
loving you at a distance,
through my prolonged sujood.
Let the ground that I prostrate on
be a witness
of all the times
I ask Allah
of His Mercy
Upon you.

***

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Creative Non-Fiction

I’M NOT A COWARD TO SO DO

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Photo Courtesy: www.ayeina.com

Poem By: Salsabillah Abdulhalim

I glance about but nobody’s around
I look at my knife, a threat to my life
but I gotta go cause time bids me so
what should I do i’m not a coward to so do.

I hold on to life and drop the knife
blood splutters bright enough to show the light
realization dawns while the heart stones
what should i do i’m not a coward to so do

Sympathizers would bluff while enemies would laugh
the cause of my deed will not bear seed
I might have gone but problems unsolved are not yet gone
so what should I do i’m not a coward to so do.

I stagger to my destination after a long duration
snatch my kit and wrap the cut bit
I gotta fight back or it will always be dark
so what should I do i’m not a coward to so do.

A glass of milk before I get sick
I gotta be strong to fight along
I gotta climb the ladder as i’m under radar
so what should I do i’m not a coward to so do.

After the long drive should I arrive
I would look behind to see the enemy’s teeth grind
I would still give them a hand to bring them on ground
cause i’m not a coward; suicide to again do.

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Creative Non-Fiction

TWO INCHES OF AN EGO

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Photo Courtesy: Salem_Beliegraphy

Standing tall
A bold soul
he makes the fake call
and talks the random talk.
Head held high
his nose pointing to the sky
his face sparks with sarcasm
and his laughter;
another word for enthusiasm.
He walks with a bounce
his hands in his pockets
and his hair combed in spikes
He waits for no man
speaks with great command
and he only, can make the demand.
Is he egocentric
or perhaps a bit too eccentric??
He smiles with a smirk
and his tone is always a remark.
He is just an intense mystery
making a profound history.
An obscure being
or perhaps,,
just perhaps…
all he’s got is
Two inches of an ego.

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Creative Non-Fiction

I WANNA BE A BREAKER

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I WANNA BE A BREAKER

By Lubnah Abdulhalim

Photo Courtesy: Salem_Beliegraphy

 

Dreams crashing down

like the stars falling down

my thoughts make me drown

is it just my eyes

or is the grass also turning brown?

My heart makes me frown

I wanna be a breaker

not the kind that breaks hearts in a flicker

but the one who takes a break from the world.

Wings broken, with nothing to hold

alas, my heart will forever scold

of the soul that’s grown so cold

but hey, comes the inner whisper

an inner calling, an inner fixer

You can be a breaker

not the kind that destroys

Oh no..not even the kind that betrays

but the one that disappears

The one who deals with his fears.

Tears flowing

Under the moon, so glowing

is it just my soul

Even in daylight, that falls?

Oh yes I wanna be a breaker

not the kind that escapes

his challenges, his miseries

but the kind that closes on the world

to filter, to absorb.

I don’t wanna be a record-breaker

oh no…not even the one to initiate an ice breaker

I wanna take a break

a break from the screams of the universe

I wanna drown into the silence

oh yes I crave for that kind of presence

of nothing but my soul’s stillness

I wanna be immersed in the tranquility

of peace and spirituality

don’t you get it?

I just wanna be a breaker

the kind that takes a break from the world.

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Creative Non-Fiction

THE PLIGHT OF GAZA

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Photo Courtesy: http://farm4.static.flickr.com/

Can you feel what am feeling?

Like insects on my skin are walking

i can feel in me the chill

of the cold blood being spilt

This is for the small kid in Gaza wondering,

what’s happening? They must be figuring…
All they see are the lifeless bodies
and all they see is that death is calling..
Then who are the real terrorists??
The instigators,the war catalysts?
Its those tears that break my heart
their small smiles that pain hides
When will freedom come??
When can they finally call home-sweet home? </3
#FreePalestine #FreeGaza

#Whoever you are,Wherever you please pray for these innocent souls all over the world! Allahuma nsurhum ya Rab!

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Creative Non-Fiction

BEWILDERMENT IN THE DARK

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Photo Courtesy: http://www.herald.co.zw/

A catastrophe

A catastrophe indeed.

I was only four by then,

So innocent, so naïve…

When the beautiful blue horizon,

Turned into a dark pond,

And everything became misty.

The rain drops went drip-drip-drip

With the wind blowing in gusts.

The people sang with gusto,

As the children went frolicking around.

The guitars were played smoothly,

As everyone danced freely.

I looked at papa

And I felt real proud,

A sergeant-in-chief

Was real worth it.

Honorable guests,

Commanders,

Generals,

A great party it was, indeed.

I moved with papa proudly

As he made me meet his allies.

“These are your uncles,” he said,

And I nodded in agreement.

So innocent, so naïve,

I didn’t know what to say.

One of them held my small hand tightly,

And said briefly,

“Won’t you like to have a walk with uncle?”

But that wasn’t a question,

Yet rather, a short request.

My father let me go off me,

And I followed ‘uncle’ sheepishly.

We went far and farther away.

And when I asked my fate,

He hoarsely said,

“You will right now know.”

As we went on walking,

He insisted,

“Your papa should never know.”

I cried in bewilderment,

As he took me to the river across.

So dark and quiet the place was,

Like a narrow cave it was.

Next, he betrayed me,

And I painfully cried in agony for papa.

I was in a sudden frisson,

As the blood oozed down the floor.

I didn’t comprehend at all,

Neither did I want to,

I just wanted papa again

For the pain was too much for me.

Four was my age,

So innocent, so naïve.

My tears couldn’t stop flowing

And I couldn’t stop saying,

“What have you done uncle?”

“What have you done!”

It’s the pain of betrayal,

The pain of mistrust,

The pain, of rape.

LET’S FIGHT AGAINST RAPE.

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Creative Non-Fiction

A DROP OF MAGIC INK

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Photo Courtesy: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/

To commemorate the completion of my one year at Coast this Week, I’d like to make this edition a special dedication to all my fans and all the amazing writers that read our paper each week.

Take a tight grip on the pen,

Have ready a paper that is plain,

This is not just about the pain,

But about all your dreams to have you claim.

Let the ink pour its magic,

The story full of tragic,

With so well painted a tactic

Gently, without being much frantic.

Oh what’s a pen and paper without emotion?

Word by word with so much precaution,

It could be about that devastating explosion,

Or perhaps your inner most expression!

Keep the words flowing,

And your memory, loading,

Touch the heart of the one mourning,

And one who is always frowning.

All you have to do is create happiness,

In this world, full of madness,

Let your words bring the brightness,

To celebrate all world’s greatness.

Venture into the puzzling history,

The things that were always a mystery,

Or maybe of the grand victory,

Of that incredible outstanding missy.

Let your mind wander far and wide,

Into the open and what’s in hide,

Could be of the runaway bride,

Or of the downfall of manly pride.

Imagine, imagine, imagine

Let your ink fill between your margins,

Narrate of the famous assassin

And even in politics be sure to indulge in.

Go capture that inside story,

Even if it means going up the storey,

Or maybe even to the quarry,

Can’t you do that much for your own glory?

Be sure to be nothing but the best,

All people’s attention ensure you arrest,

You just have to keep away the haste,

And continue with the spirit of great zest.

A hand I give to all those who think,

Who take a risk to be on a new story’s brink,

Whom we always want to mimic,

With a drop of their magic ink!

To all the aspiring writers reading this, I salute you all!

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