Nooj

My final say on Love

2012-01-30T23:10:00.000+02:00

I need to rescue this pitiful word from
Being a downtrodden rotten ragged rat of
A word , to evolving to the fresh warm taste
Of honey sprinkled on a green apple, sour sweetness
In a complete and fulfilled sort of pleasure

And nowhere do we know love better than
When it is ripped by loss, by the slow regurgitation of every
Morsel of apple in a pool of hydrochloric acid and rejection,
Every convulsion a confirmation, every gob of spit a reclamation
And that wonderful aching emptiness that is left, can anticipate
Being filled by the same sour sweetness, in some parallel future

Matryoshka

2012-01-23T16:25:00.003+02:00

A doll within a doll within a doll within a doll,

Crackless exterior, walls within walls within an emptiness

What lies deep within, no man knows.

Secrets passed from matron to virgin, generation to generation?

A deep red rosy heart full of repressed love and affection?

An identity reaching from grandfather's grandfather to an ancient heritage?

No. Just a tear within a tear within a tear.

And beware, the cracks are beginning to show...

Si vis pacem, para bellum

2011-12-05T19:50:00.003+02:00

Replace your cowering shivering fear,
With weary, dignified submission.
Your love inspired you to risk the world's treasures,
Stretched your every ligament beyond its capacity;
Just so your prostration could lift you to the Heavens

She said He looked at her like she was the answer to Life Itself or Children of the Shadows

2011-10-28T11:23:00.002+02:00

We live and laugh as if we will not live for long

Although we live forever in the nightmares of

Our innocent mothers, as mistakes, as abominations

And regrets. They love us wholeheartedly even without another half

They hide us and shush the gossip, and we wish we could

Talk from the cradle like Jesus and plead our mother’s cases.

But we know that we are voiceless in our shame, we live with

The guilt of a man who brags of his love yet supports not

The product of such. Men who love too much, men who

Cannot control their love, men who sing on stars and expensive suits

With expensive flowers and gold trinkets until.

Until we wreck it all.

Abortion would have been more beautiful than a life without a Name

Where we are condemned to cower to society’s comfort, in Shadows.

Heroes never parting...

2011-10-21T01:34:00.000+02:00

Whispered words, uttered with ferocity

Incantations of hope and despair, remorsefully

Searching, beckoning that universal Force:

Help him, save him, simply with the certainty

That its Wisdom may do either, may do neither

Memories rush by like colliding trains

Of when we worked in the tuckshop and he gave me candy

Of how I raced gleefully, when I learnt three times three

Memories are one of our greatest blessings; be careful who

You choose to share them with. He chose to share them

With those who would cherish them the most, even a decade

And a half later, at an age where heroes reign and live forever.

Every Poem is a Novel waiting to bloom

2011-10-08T00:50:00.002+02:00

The most beautiful love story ever told I will tell one day

That began thousands of years ago in a stereotypical land, far away

This was before lands were grown or rivalries sown,

When souls roamed the world free, remembering all they’ve ever known

So that you may be grateful

2011-09-27T00:32:00.001+02:00

Without realising it

I woke up to the surprise

That your prints had grooved,

Ebbed, wallowed into my perception;

And I shall never walk alone.

"And they ask you about the Soul"... (Quran 17:85)

2011-09-16T10:38:00.006+02:00

The time when Body met Soul,
Shivers of fear and despair attacked its spine
As it realised the immensity of Serving God
Through a creation so magnificent, beautiful and eternal

Every moment then is a struggle for Body to accept
That only through Soul, it too becomes
Magnificent, beautiful and eternal as well

The time when Mind Met Soul, it
Clammed within itself, constricted by
Awe and appalled by apprehension in
Serving God through comprehending
Magnificence, Beauty and Eternity

Expanding your Soul is Impossible
It is the most expansive entity in the Universe
Inspire Body and Mind to aspire to such...

Ishara

2011-09-16T10:15:00.002+02:00

She has
The wisdom of one with the fourth generation
Sprouting from her womb

Generosity of a babe's first smile
And the adventure of their crawling forays

The subtlety of a man witnessing his first daughter's marriage,
The patience of a child whose mother has begun to give birth again

The Love of your second decade with the loyalty of your first
The connection of gestating twins

And the Creativity of The Earth

Ramadhan 2011

2011-08-30T08:10:00.002+02:00

Wading through air, suddenly caught unawares,
We plunged into depths of blue rapids
Salt stinging our eyes muscles, skin, physical agony
Behind us poisonous jellyfish, below us sneaky urchins
What a voluminous shock, what burning pain
Until our eyes adjusted to the misty cloudy spray
And our hearts became our eyes, ears, taste and touch
Experiencing indescribable amazement, wonder, awe
At appointed moments tasty sustenance would approach us
And we accepted with gratitude, lived with gratitude, died in gratitude
We cannot speak about our experiences, but those of us who were there
Sometimes share knowing mourning glances, remembering the day the
Moonbeams penetrated our security and beckoned us back, and we
Forgot most of what we loved. We hope ramadhan invites us, some day, again...

Every teardrop wasted

2011-07-04T09:53:00.000+02:00

There’s a little girl
With long brown hair, in the
Corner of my soul
Sitting with her head on her knees
Weeping with heart-wrecking sobs
For the tyrannical wars, and the starvation, the
Abandoned babies and the unloved teenagers
The wasted food and the heartbroken parents
And I keep hoping that
One day she’ll stop weeping
And do something

Blurred

2011-06-30T10:06:00.002+02:00

I want to paint the human soul

From the bungee leap into a raging rapid

And tasting flower nectar

To the violent death of your first tooth

Dancing on crevices, an eye-locking obsession

This artwork spanning mountains and valleys

Backward cartwheels and a gold watch in your pocket

I want my soul to paint the universe

Satiety

2011-06-28T07:59:00.003+02:00

There was succulent ripe freshly picked grapes

And hot smoking wholesome bread

Pots of tender well-spiced meat

Vegetables to melt in your mouth

Laid decoratively on a gilded table

Tasteful high-backed chairs and sterling plates

But they stood awkwardly with no appetite

For all I could provide. I smiled and showed them out

Closed the doors, and returned to bed

Run

2011-05-24T15:38:00.005+02:00

Interpret the waking

in terms of

the dream

Iroquois

Hey there's a bunny...

2011-05-22T23:50:00.005+02:00

The idea of time
Is like
Catching raindroplets
In a Sieve

And admiring how
They get caught

Glistening, In between

The holes, until gravity

Claims them

Block

2011-05-16T09:09:00.004+02:00

(Photo by Fatima Cassim)

Silence is the language of God,

all else is poor translation

Rumi

Soraya's beauty

2011-03-27T13:42:00.000+02:00

The most beautiful face I have ever seen
is that of a woman staring calmly,
Ever so patiently and gently,
At her mad abuser's violence,
refusing to cower

Sandpaper syllables

2011-03-07T14:28:00.003+02:00

scrape scrape, every
syllable just needling a
surface for you to polish
out my curves and flatten
my wonks, just rub hard enough and
you'll imprint, your reflection, on my heart

You alone do we worship

2011-03-04T00:33:00.003+02:00

As the warmth shaded the sand, he hid in a shadow,
certain that she had discarded his presence
as she lay, in that sand, her skin
peeling from such exposed passivity
her arteries slowly clotting and burning
her eyes crusting and cracking

Watch out! A vulture's trajectory made him dizzy
as he waited in dismal, slow dejection
rejected and spent, wretched and bent

At some point he had to betray courage, approach and
try to save some semblance of...her and
the excruciating saltiness of her skin
diminished his hope, and bravado

He waited yet, what else could one do, what else,
leave her half-buried in sand, half-baking
in despair, no caressing love could she reach
and any contact would breach his fragility
Wait, wait, and, wait........

Until, a ray,
rounded the horizon,
and the birds
sweetened the clouds into submission,
andthe first soft raindrops precipitated moonlight
and his unease melted into a glimmer of stirring
her skin absorbing the moisture, her
eyelids fluttering in calling, he transcended her
innermost driving, the moonshine guiding them to the
tidal rhythm and they float endlessly with the echo
of nothing but the rhythm and the tide,

nothing but the rhythm and the tide

the rhythm and the tide

and the tide

the

tide

infinitely,

to forever

Our causes and passions and families and loves

2011-01-27T12:29:00.003+02:00

I'd wager we all
Horcrux our souls

Searching for an immortal mould
That elusive pot of gold

Like narcissus we adore precious hues,
That sometimes obstruct our View

Hoofbeat

2011-01-23T22:46:00.003+02:00

As a historian and one no less commissioned by one of the most respected notaries in a somewhat multi-kingdom radius, it has always sat better with me to reflect more on the less spirited side of what has occurred in the time since my endeavours began. As the rhythm of the cosmos would have it, however, one cannot disregard what is also an integral part of the complete narrative. So in the past few curvatures of our northern moon visibility there has much to record of jubilation. And I must admit despite my pessimistic enjoyment of the signs we cannot deny, these are signs our hearts embrace lightly and with as much gratitude as a mother hearing her child's first cry after nine months of much trepidation. It began with the long-forsaken eastern armies making a very unexpected entrance into a lazy noon, a little haggard and sparser, yet saturated with tales that carried the strong tea pouring well beyond the twilight cricket song. They had encountered some difficulty finding an enemy that had been corroborated on assumputous information and in their zest had ventured beyond unkown borders and unseasonable terrain into a kingdom long left to our neighbours' vantage. This had blessed them with four foreign brides, one already with child and a more precious military and yet not as envious in terms of beauty, armament technique. These demonstrations and the women's welcome lasted well beyond the sun's welcome and for the next week or so frantic relations were once again reconnected and much new knowledge was gained over what we had once dismissed as a land too alien to understand. Once again I must admit my pessimism over the initial forecasts and yet again I was to realise that openness is the sign of a heralding revolution and yet that is for someone other than me to document, Iam sure of it. Despite my sterling reputation regarding certain literary achievements my heart feels it is perhaps the victory of another space to express and I will respect such instincts from where they arise.

Arrows

2011-01-19T14:14:00.002+02:00

Having a baby is the most selfish thing, and
Yet raising one, the most selfless

Gratuitious Insults

2011-01-06T08:08:00.003+02:00

His flightful fancy at flirtation was as elegant as a duck tapdancing

You wanted to know why

2011-01-05T15:26:00.002+02:00

Its like strolling across a minefield that you actualy believe is a grassy meadow with calves and mares and hay and all that. And it all explodes into a bloody and painful mess and you cover your face and your fingers are blown off and part of your face is damaged. And you walk around like that until one day some insensitive sod asks what happened to your hands. And you wish you could make a proper fist to break his nose. Its not his fault. But its not your fault. So you blame people for having eyes to notice. And you blame him for asking. Because there's no answer that makes sense to you.

Alice Band

2010-12-07T23:01:00.002+02:00

The answer is in the question you didn't ask.

"No one notices how the steam opens the rose of each mind"

2010-11-29T17:58:00.004+02:00

What if shows me,
The shadowy charcoal etching
I vaguely try not to see
That lives vibrant in your working memory
.
.
.

Of me.

If only you knew then, what
You know now, she murmurs purringly.

I interject:
Then perhaps, they,
Would care more for me?
What a necessary pity.

And she is left unfree.

Lustainability

2010-11-21T22:53:00.003+02:00

Call me cold and unaffectionate but,
I think love stories based on
Bouts of passion after
Tenuous separation are, tedious

The magic for me, is the slow and unimaginative,
Everyday, in-your-face, living, breathing, exhaling
Acclimatisation, patience, sacrifice, confused silence,
Sudden realisation...smile

Feminist narrative

2010-11-03T07:36:00.002+02:00

That night the lights went out. In a little corner that before towered over the other sensitive crevices of her heart. She wished it could function like a phantom limb and show some evidence of life long after suffocation but whenever she accidentally ventured into that blind pit all that she felt was quiet desolation, even years after that night. Ravi looked into her eyes at one of those moments and said, "Ah come now. We all grew up like that and we turned out fine. We're happy aren't we?". And she smiled that smile recognised universally by all women from patriarchal societies, a mixture of bitterness, grief, sarcasm and the tint of humour that kept her going every day, the humour of knowing that there will always be a reality within her, a truth, that no man will ever comprehend.

You are successful...

2010-11-01T14:35:00.001+02:00

if you see this every day.

When you

2010-10-15T00:00:00.003+02:00

Hear that song and it
portkeys* you back to
The day an orchestra crescendoed
though your ventricles
Delicate chords pulled and plummeted,
gutted and teased
Opiate nostalgia now dances through veins
A symphony of ecstasy in the pride of distance
travelled from masochistic agony and,
Yet tickling the enticing risk of tumbling
enraptured once again

*Harry potter refs return thanks to inspiration from http://theartistandthewriter.blogspot.com

Tongue splatter

2010-10-11T07:26:00.004+02:00

Bubbles are a constant obsession here,
from trying to blow the fuzz from my tiny wrinkled
palm in the bath
to the stamping of perfectly rounded spheres
on an airport floor
Always a staggered and crashing flight these ephemereal globes
of airy non substantial beauty and fascination
All those dreams pierced by blades of grass
in fields where the sky preys hauntingly and the soil
swallows whole, where do I put the precious bad ideas lurking
claustrophobic in cobwebby neurons, heroic in their attempt to splatter
on my tongue?
Some questions are better left dead

Limbo

2010-09-28T18:55:00.003+02:00

I shed a tear tonight, for what
I do not know
It could, perchance have been, that
Drop of snow
That crept into my heart, as I had
To let go

It was but a single tear
For something not so very dear
And time tells the tale of greed
Of how one's ungrateful desires feed
When we are all but hollow reeds
Requiring just heavenly fire to fuel our deeds

Curved meridian

2010-09-20T13:45:00.004+02:00

Birth is everlasting through the
Wind on this skin and the roots
On my tongue, my land is forever
Suckling these beats, as a horse
Rolls through hay, I aspire awed
Clay upon clay, salt upon sweat
Hues overwhelm my retinas as
An effect of our mountains circling the sun

Strike

2010-07-29T21:48:00.001+02:00

Most days I feel
I do what I do to make myself feel better

And not because it has any negligible effect on this universe

Still Life

2010-07-01T00:15:00.006+02:00

Food gets consumed

Flowers wilt

Metal rusts and

Paint c r a c k s

Underneath these things

We call real

Is the moment

  When time stood still 

Floating ships

2010-06-23T11:47:00.003+02:00

If this world was a ship race, then I
Would stare dolefully as the rest floated
Calmly past, towards certain generally expected
Should haves, as I lag here
Thank goodness the world is round, and even though
We all converge on the same ports, beyond, we each have
Different tides, tempests, calms, storms and undiscovered islands,
So no, sweety, you are a ship with a Sail
Let the Wind guide you

Time and Love are at times the most bosom bedfellows

2010-06-20T00:46:00.003+02:00

Time, is an interesting creation of our createdness,
and what I find most fascinating about her is simply
the more I require of her bounty to lavish another with,
translates into more bounty in the requirement lavished
Astonishing

Matter

2010-06-10T18:24:00.004+02:00

Her first love, it was murmured
I cringed in aptworthiness
You are, yes are, my first

Firsts are forever present
In childish flirtation and blind exploration
Then the firm glorious sensation of, we are real

And cascading, the understanding, you make me feel
I make you be, it even came to that hurtling pressure
Point where you only made me together,

And those nights where I held your ailing hand
Through nursing wounds I fel pleasure and
Fascination at my presence in your strength

It is love, no doubt that keeps one's heart churning
To the rhythm of even regressive suicide
And smiling in pride at the source

So this is twisting my own flesh, searing my own ecstasy
To look into your irresistible vision
And break, shatter, scatter

Shivering, hearing, yet unresponsive
This path enshrouds towards
Solace, regret, matter

Cyculation

2010-06-05T00:44:00.003+02:00

I worked it out of course
Even if all the privileged, spoilt, carefree people
Like you and I and Jack and Jim
Worked 24/7, All of us, all the time,
It's not enough
Our lives will be toiling, shovelling
Grumbling, and it would still be less
And so we could just turn around,
or We could read the fine print,
And see it stated, one is all you need.
That's all that's asked. One.
So now you have no excuse
Stay. Hurt. Believe.

What are we doing, God?

2010-06-01T21:49:00.003+02:00

Quietly at the back of my class,
He sat, I never spoke to
The boy who shared that same space,
All those years, that same "Muslim" space
Whereafter he moved on, looking for work,
And his mother died and he was alone,
With himself and himself and the alcohol
And then the dagga and himself and the hunger
And just the person who sat at the back of the class
And now he is still at the back,
I with my parents and my comforts and myself
And one self is more equal than another
And all wrongs are more equal
And this sears me as much as the
Cold blooded Israeli murders
And what are we doing wrong here
What are we doing, God?

Pace

2010-05-21T23:23:00.002+02:00

One day you will have to do what you always said should be done.

Beware of that day.

Cement: A corollary to "words should be like rainbows"

2010-04-29T20:35:00.003+02:00

I want to be cement
For it has become ever apparent
Where sticks and stones save lives
Words forever fall short

Naked

2010-03-29T19:54:00.003+02:00

How can anyone express this out loud, despite the drowning noises in your ears? The tearing splitting genocidal urge, to shine the blackboard to the tune of long screeching fingernails, a Hitler urge is what it was not just to purge but to add a profound satisfactory zapping noise to it. She stumbled out of the bathroom, and nearly bumped into one of them. "Sorry," he mumbled. That was it, she covered her face with her hands as the tears streamed unbidden, "God, oh God oh God, forgive this" she whimpered.

And love, my dear, is ordained between you

2010-03-01T19:35:00.007+02:00

Her bible sang volumes of frilly white dresses and coy flitting eyelashes. She looks down now, as she clutches her bag of potatoes close to her chest, smells of the earth and plastic mingle in her overworked limbic system, making her feel afraid and uncertain in the grocery store's all too familiar surroundings. Fear was in her quran too, of uncooked rice and fish that didn't have the tangy spice of his mother's deft fingers. Of what she had to be now, here, at home, in bed, talk to me about your fantasies he whispered over and over and over in that first week when he could do no wrong, he paid for that with two month's salary for the lush honeymoon in an island off the Malaysian coast. Her taurah told her to keep him happy, her body belonged to him and no other now. How thrilled she was when she packed her first bag, only with her things, things meant to please him, thousands of rands of her inheritance easily glutted on seaming her up, on the thinnest eyeliners and lipsticks meant to bring the blush of an English rose to her complexion. No, it was fear that thudded in her heart, like the back of a fist on her perfectly aligned jaw, violence was so satisfying in and of itself, but the fear would not rest. If he can pulverize and affectionately move his tongue over the very same skin, this paradox was then not contradictory at all. If he could buy her a new wedding ring, intricately designed to the tiniest inflection, could he also not leave this marriage for something simpler, less demanding, less mundane. She could kill herself, or the far more attractive option, die, trying to keep him happy. This was the only way to attain Heaven.

"One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious." Jung

2010-02-23T09:44:00.005+02:00

To God, we Belong

2010-02-21T18:37:00.002+02:00

Some relationships can be compared to human bodies suffering from multiple trauma in ICU.

No matter how much you "work on it", sooner or later you're going to have to switch off the machines.

This begs the nonsensical question, do relationship memories go to heaven or hell?

In another news I really want Summer to stay this year.

On staying single

2010-02-16T20:23:00.002+02:00

He's there no doubt, in the corner behind the gleaming glass
A lopsided smile, cargo pants just the right amount of creased
Forgotten while she dusts and spicks and spans, everything for now
But just let another peak through the window, she immediately straightens,
Scuffles to the cabinet and shines his marble visage, admiring how
The years have kept his glasses askew.

Of stolen sunsets and painted patience

2010-02-02T13:05:00.002+02:00

All sunsets are stolen, how can
something so beautiful be affordable
and patience, patience is just something
I have never earned

Wading

2010-01-26T13:04:00.003+02:00

Halfway to the shore

the current kicks up,

sea water drenches my nostrils

and I give up.

We cannot fight what is

Not in our control, the

Tide has spoken

Ventriqulous Vant*

2010-01-19T22:02:00.004+02:00

In front of them all today, my voice
Stopped, peaked, spluttered, dead
Down the rabbit pit, towards uncertain hell
Like snow white who's prince charming forgot,
and for eternity she screams rage, rage against
the dying of the light, in the midst of decay
you become a burro that toils and tills fields
noticing only the muscular aches and cramps
no idea as to the source, the idea, the belief
with a 5 cent copper piece of change to show
for your day, thinking big means redefining the
limits in your head but limits become road signs
and you pray, this too will pass

*Noojlish word combining rant and vent and pronounced in a pseudo French accent

All men

2010-01-14T07:23:00.001+02:00

*Note to the masculinist brigade: This post is tongue in cheek and has no resemblance to actual facts

All men are the same
When they are tired, they
Bitch over petty nuances
And only when you offer them
Food do they become playful
Again. One day I want to learn
to like dogs

DiVisions

2010-01-08T22:31:00.003+02:00

Wa'tasimoo the Holy Book reads
A rope brought down by the blessed Jibraeel,
Come families, Shia, Sunni, those on the fence
Lets sing in unison, hold each other's hands

Ashura on CNN, underwear on Facebook
Where is the humanity in our human outlook

Soon after the Prophet's demise Husayn was killed,
Armies and soldiers, power just deceives
Minarets inspire fear and wine drunk after Maghrib
Keep to the basics, brother, Halaal and Tayyib

Ashura on CNN, underwear on Facebook
Where is the humanity in our human outlook

I'm a judgemental fundamentalist, loosen up, you say
A little leeway here and there, keeps you on your way
I'm scared, for sure, I keep wanting more,
Ideals and principles and justice just for all

Ashura on CNN, underwear on Facebook
Where is the humanity in our human outlook

Puncturing Rhythms

2009-12-08T22:51:00.005+02:00

Death punctuates Life S.t.o.p. Pause, Belong' Feel! Ponder? Accept... Once again I feel indebted to my culture for the Ritualised mutterings and the close-knit boundarylessness That makes this Real Followers, we are generations Generating and generated Interdepending genesis with nemesis

Spring Garden

2009-12-04T10:30:00.002+02:00

Credit for pic

In the midst of a meadow of sand, she sowed some seeds

And woke early to prepare them for the sun’s rays

Humming soothing remedies for their aches and tender caresses

When they drank, water she collected from the middle of the lake

Such crystal, vibrant beauty a creation never created, and of course

The story begins with the meadow she sought, in a hardened land

Cracked and dry, her coarse fingers knead and crumbled, and of course

She could not know the meadow was surrounded by angst, the bi-annual quakes

She swiftly overcame and toiled and toiled and toils still, underestimating

Her own perseverance, and the Valley’s molten terrored core

"Poetry is to be slurped up"

2009-11-24T09:13:00.003+02:00

Credit for pic

The Examiner
by F.R. Scott, A poem written in the 1940's in Canada concerning
the American schooling system

The routine trickery of the examination baffles these hot and discouraged youths
Driven by they know not what external pressure, they pour their hated self-analysis, through the nib of confession, onto the accusatory page
I, who have plotted their immediate downfall, I am entrusted with the divine categories: A, B, C, D, and the hell of F
The parade of prize and the back door of past, in the tight silence, standing by green grass window, watching the fertile earth graduate its sons with more compassion
Not commanding the shape of stem and stamen, bringing the trees to pass by shift of sunlight and increase of rain
For each seed, the whole soil; for the inner life, the environment receptive and contributory
I shudder at the narrow frames of our textbook schools in which we plant our so various seedlings
Each brick-walled barracks, cut into numbered rooms, black boarded, ties the venturing chute to the master's stick
The screw-desk rows of lads and girls, subdued in the shade of an adult, their acid sub-soil, shape the new to the old in the ashen garden
Shall we, shall we open the whole skylight of thought to these tip-toe minds, bring them our frontier worlds and the boundless uplands of art for their field of growth?
Or shall we pass them the chosen poems with the footnotes, ring the bell on their thoughts, period their play, make laws for averages and plans for means, print one history book for a whole province and let 90,000 read page 10 by Tuesday?
As I gather the inadequate paper evidence, I hear across the neat campus lawn the professional mower's drone clipping the inch-high grass.

On finding something that starts endorphins popping madly

2009-11-19T13:54:00.003+02:00

That light of understanding in your eyes makes the stars shiver at your beauty

The secret of infinity

2009-11-18T09:35:00.004+02:00

Explanation of pic

We need to watch the nafs, the ego, like a cat watching a mousehole. We need to grind it down, so that we become like light.

Abdul Hakim Murad

whisper in the trees

2009-11-12T23:57:00.003+02:00

Credit for pic

Seconds before the rain
with the sweetest smell ever to alight
the fragile sense of scent

The earth shattered

Roots and mortar, hearts and joints,
we fled. we had to. into, those crevices
of mihrab and ostracism,
and decayed. and hid. and cried

Centuries of tears lie within your soul dear human,
forget us not, repress us not, regret us not,
for through us you may taste abundance

All I wish for Us

2009-11-12T09:36:00.002+02:00

"The point is, I'd much rather have my time consumed making my own bread outdoors than kill it watching some reality TV show in a so-called "living" room. Where money once provided me with my primary sense of security, I now find it in friends and the local community. Some of my closest mates are people I only met because I had to build real relationships with others based on trust and kindness, not money"
Read it all here

Post Mortem

2009-11-06T14:18:00.002+02:00

It is only in hindsight that you see how innocent and beautiful
some of the things that scare you in life are.

Veteran

2009-11-01T00:23:00.003+02:00

I am acutely aware of the creeping in of agedness,
In my exasperation at their excitement based on ignorance,
In how I can predict the blooming of flowers, from memory,
In my marvelling respect for those who filled in the clouds,
In my letting go to give their ideas space,
And in my deep sense of responsibility,
To be remembered by Right, and to leave them with Good

Between you and I

2009-10-31T23:51:00.006+02:00

"It was not her fault. She was like the water that freezes inside a rock and breaks it apart. It was no more her fault than it is the fault of the water when the rock shatters" One Stab

This is a secret. We do know. As women we are aware of how we smile and how we look away and how we move towards you. We notice the look in your eyes and your eyes following us across the room. And sometimes, we want more than we need, more than we can appreciate. We can love three different people at the same time, in different ways and want them all to be enraptured by us. We can make our tears hurt more than your pride being wounded. This is more than about relationships. Beyond the world of men and women there is a world of women. Where we have Khadija's, Aasiyah's and Maryams and Bilqees's. They fight, not only for their own salvation, but for the world of women to move beyond games, towards battles, towards purpose and towards independent and free-spirited achievement. And it comforts me that somewhere out there, there is also a world of men that aspires beyond.

The One Comfort

2009-10-31T00:03:00.003+02:00

Credit for pic

You have to dream about it
Even when you do it every day

2009-10-26T23:41:00.005+02:00

HugsCrush

WantsBunk

DespairImpairs

HopeRopes

Love, Doesnt

Parasputing and Khadija challenge:Tick tock

2009-10-18T23:46:00.004+02:00

she can't wait for him any longer. the buses will have stopped and home deserves her more right now. yes, we must be optimistic, we must be open to this. mums are right but not ever at the precise second when they say it. the days seem to get longer and yet time less tangible. ah but clocks are a fetish she shall not deny. let's stop at kitsch kool on the way home, it's always a pick me up. and it was the inkomazi one more so, she bought it for her domestic, not sure if it was appropriate but spontaneous gestures have more credence, instinct is something deep and yet so altogether stupid it seems. heathen, primitive, lower order, id. who does not love their id. can love exist without an id. she doesnt believe so, love is surrendering to and fighting the id at the same time. loving humans is so silly though, and base and relative and easy. loving ideals, loving for the sake of something that you can taste in the fountain of heaven, like the ability to have pink streaks brightening your morning this is...

Time's up.
I doubt I would have gotten anywhere but where I did though.
I tag Fatima but she must do it in 2 weeks.

No

2009-10-16T01:27:00.004+02:00

Sometimes*
Staring into the tiger's eyes
Forces her to cower, purr and
Roll over for her belly to be rubbed

Don't hide from Love,
Deceived by her apparent repulsiveness.

Beyond appearance lies Faith

*Sometimes you get gobbled up. Life is worth the risk.

I've learnt

2009-10-13T09:21:00.003+02:00

That good intentions are never enough. Here, and there.
You're going to need some resolve and some love and some talent and some absolute surrender and some fighting when you have nothing to stop your good intentions from being fucked into smithereens, and to be your propeller when your toes let go of the clouds.

Aesthetics

2009-10-04T09:06:00.004+02:00

These are two of my favourite actresses based on the sole criterion of loveliness. I don't think its queer that girls can find girls lovely and vice versa- it's just an indication of the type of beauty we appreciate. I deliberately chose a "natural" picture of Keira, I wish the majority of pictures of her on google images didn't feature artificially inflated boobs, she has pretty enough features. Winona has always fascinated me- I remember as a young kid I had those CNA diaries with all the movie stars and she was my favourite, despite the shoplifting charges that came later on. I like how she stars in the non mainstream stuff and didn't go through the "Jennifer Aniston complex" for fame. Edward Scissorhands and Girl, Interrupted for example. I love Edward Scissorhands, I think Tim Burton type humour flushes Judd Apaptow type humour down the toilet. There is no point to this disjointed post, I just found it interesting that the two actresses I find lovely resemble one another, gives credence to evolutionary theory.

I think

2009-09-30T20:20:00.004+02:00

Half of love is

Resting your shoulders and eyes

From flying the kite

(Link with scarecrow explained in this story)

For everyone's favourite video game geek/ punk islam indoctrinator/ pop culture comedian

2009-09-29T22:07:00.003+02:00

The Hidden

2009-09-28T19:30:00.006+02:00

Cancerous blood clots gather in the dusty corners of your soul,
where Fear says you cannot, are not, explore not
The More, the Other, the Me you cannot Feel

Weddings are...

2009-09-26T23:11:00.005+02:00

Flowers,
Scenery,
and Giggles in fitting rooms.

The Breathing

2009-09-25T22:30:00.006+02:00

Now, you have two choices. To huddle within and be who you were, or to let go and allow Life to decide who you can be...

**Blog format ripped from my latest fetish

Potholing cerebral grooves

2009-09-19T04:03:00.002+02:00

On my way, passing the library, as always, I detour past your shelf
Agriculture magazine racks disguise it today, if it was there at all

Typing out a report I click on your playlist, needing some rhythmic rejuvenation
A stuttering burst of jazz perplexes me, did I misplace it?

Smelling pineapples in the fruitress I remember your craving,
Out of season, dearie, smiles the kindly old cashier

Friends take me for Italian, I eagerly turn to the starters for your speciality,
But all I see is a bevy of foreign-sounding soup mixes

Anxiety waves through my spine, am I dreaming? No, I realise, it is just folly to believe
Your presence can exist in my life, yet out of my heart

Being a guest at the Prophet SAW's mosque in Medinah- Picture blog

2009-09-18T12:54:00.005+02:00

The electronic umbrellahs that shield visitors from the sun close after Maghrib in Medinah

Iftar outside the Prophet SAW's Mosque in Medinah- not one person goes hungry in this city during Ramadhan Just before fast breaking (Iftar) in Medinah

MoonLight

2009-08-23T11:36:00.003+02:00

It seems a blogger vogue this year to find an image that conjures the Ramadhan feeling for you and try to atriculate that, a chic spin off from Rorsharch projective techniques. I tag all those that haven't yet to try it. The pic above comes from here, it is a Saguraro or Harvest moon that was named so because it allowed farmers to harvest crops by moonlight. the The moon has great resonance with Ramadhaan for me, as we search for the Hilal and as it keeps us company during the qiyamulalyl. My favourite time of day during Ramadhan and also during Spring and Summer generally, is the half an hour before Maghrib when a content tranquility settles over the earth, as the rush of the day eases, and we can breathe deeper and reflect on our actions for the day. In Ramadhan that time of day for me is a transition from Sabr to Shukr, from submission to Allah's will, to gratefulness for His bounties. We are grateful for having the mental and bodily strength to serve him, we are thankful for his Mercy in allowing us to break our fast with the food and drink He has created specially for our enjoyment.

The verse is also special for me, perhaps because it has the word Noor in it 5 times. It is very positive, encouraging us towards light instead of reprimanding us for darkness. I enjoy Ibn al Qayyim's beautiful commentary. The entire thing is a bit long but here is the excerpt most applicable to me right now:

It is about this light-its abode, its bearer and its fuel-that God has coined the parable of the niche, which is like the breast. In this niche lies a globe made of purest glass, like a glistening planet in whiteness and purity-a similitude for the heart, likened to glass inasmuch as it possesses the qualities of the believer's heart: clarity, fineness and firmness. By its clarity [the believer] sees truth and direction; by its fineness he acquires kindness and mercy; by its firmness he combats God's enemies, and stands firm in his resistance to them and upholds the truth.

In contrast to this heart, there are two other reprehensible types. One is the heart that is hard like stone, devoid of compassion, generosity or social good; devoid, too, of the clarity by which God may be seen-a heart dominated by ignorance, with neither knowledge of the truth, nor compassion for fellow creatures.

The other is the heart that is as weak as water. It is devoid of strength and firmness, accepts any idea, but lacks the strength to stand by what it accepts. It is devoid of the power to affect anyone, but is itself affected by everything it mingles with-be it strong or weak, wholesome or tainted.

May this Ramadhan be a process of compassion and strength for all our hearts Insha Allah.

Something I never thought I would understand

2009-08-17T14:42:00.007+02:00

No one talks about this part, the being a leaf in the wind part.
So I'm saying it. You will not care, you will get to a point where nothing can take this away from you even if it just left five minutes ago. And it's totally out of character for your need to control. You haven't become someone else, or forgotten who you are, you just have learnt a new coping mechanism.
If the first person who discovered fire had just put her hand over it to own it, she would have burnt her fingers and put out the fire. So you must be alright with exposing it to the wind, it can only get stronger or fly away and you have no choice in the matter.
Without thinking you trust the wind, because otherwise you'll miss out on the scenery. And that will be missing the whole point of jumping. Jumping with your eyes closed out of fear or ignorance means you didn't really want to jump.
I'm sorry if I appear a little removed from it all right now, because until I crash land there's nothing that can make me care.
Ila yawmil waqtil ma'loom

**A lovely, talented and wordphiliac friend has just joined our cult. Please welcome her here

100:1 is not a War, It's a Massacre: Prof Norman Finkelstein

2009-08-13T15:46:00.004+02:00

Keffiyeh Day: 14th August 2009

In Jerusalem by Mahmoud Darwish
In Jerusalem, and I mean within the ancient walls,
I walk from one epoch to another without a memory
to guide me. The prophets over there are sharing
the history of the holy . . . ascending to heaven
and returning less discouraged and melancholy, because love
and peace are holy and are coming to town.
I was walking down a slope and thinking to myself: How
do the narrators disagree over what light said about a stone?
Is it from a dimly lit stone that wars flare up?
I walk in my sleep. I stare in my sleep. I see
no one behind me. I see no one ahead of me.
All this light is for me. I walk. I become lighter. I fly
then I become another. Transfigured. Words
sprout like grass from Isaiah’s messenger
mouth: “If you don’t believe you won’t believe.”
I walk as if I were another. And my wound a white
biblical rose. And my hands like two doves
on the cross hovering and carrying the earth.
I don’t walk, I fly, I become another,
transfigured. No place and no time. So who am I?
I am no I in ascension’s presence. But I
think to myself: Alone, the prophet Mohammad
spoke classical Arabic. “And then what?”
Then what? A woman soldier shouted:
Is that you again? Didn’t I kill you?
I said: You killed me . . . and I forgot, like you, to die.

Nil magnum, Nisi bonum- No Greatness without Goodness

2009-08-03T10:24:00.004+02:00

I found this in Life of Pi. And it encapsulates a lot of my philosophy of life I feel. This post isn't about me but somehow all my posts need to have an "I" in them. This is called metacognition, I tell students. Focus. I'm trying to find a further origin of that quote without success. But the meaning is still Great, that unless we can feel good about what we do, there is no Greatness in our actions, despite outward fame and glory. A Christian friend once found it incongruent how I can be so conservative yet not judgemental in my religious beliefs. And that for me is part of goodness, of being accountable to Him only no matter and soemtimes despite what others do. This post is about Someone by the way.

A person whom no one realises is great because he is too busy being Good. A person who cares and doesn't ask for caring back. A person who always has more to give. A person who now needs to be recognised because there is something wrong with the world if we don't recognise Goodness. A person who has so much person in him that I fear he might let it go to allow People in. Please, don't. We care for you and want you to keep your Person. Don't let us down ;) *jowk* And in true Khadija style, who has person and opinions enough to go around, and whose island I will always ambush, I leave you with words that shine with colour more than my waffling: "Greatness lies, not in being strong, but in the right using of strength."- Henry Ward Beecher (who is that btw?).

Hey I started blogging again :)

And what he has created in the earth of varied hues most surely there is a sign in this for a people who are mindful (16:13)

2009-07-13T23:55:00.008+02:00

The flora of Malawi and Namibia.

"There are so many colours in the rainbow,
so many colours in the morning sun,
so many colours in the flowers,
And I love Every One"
Dawud Wharnsby Ali

Tweaking

2009-07-13T20:23:00.000+02:00

Please excuse my overalls :)

Useless skin

2009-06-25T13:03:00.002+02:00

Mein ruh ist hin, Mein herz ist schwer

Rape

2009-06-24T23:30:00.003+02:00

Tear his skin under your fingernails, but
The ferocity of your hate
Boomerangs your shoulders into convulsions

A woman's body is a temple, wash your hands and feet,
Remove your shoes, but this was a half-drunk opportunist
Posing as a begar just to urinate on the brocade

I am no Prophetic example, I will not kill
But I cannot forgive

Why I don't have balls

2009-06-23T20:01:00.007+02:00

One of my friends is doing a thesis on a sexist model that paints women as timid and non-confrontational. He has made me aware of what a "girl" I am. So this model says that women would prefer to "tend and befriend" any threatening object instead of the traditional fight or flight model. They say that from an evolutionary point of view it would be cleverer for a woman to look after or become friendly towards things that are out of control based on their roles as carriers of the next generation as well as their relative muscle inferiority. When a stressor enters the environment men will kill it or hide away (sound familiar?) and women will look after it or become its friend. This model has been shown to have many flaws. For me, it all depends on the object. If it was a mosquito, or excessive facial hair, or crime, I would kill it or escape from it. However with humans I'm different. If I kill the bitchy cashier for example, who's going to ensure I get what I want? Running away's not very goal-orientated either. Anyways fighting takes too much effort and is usually the least emotionally intelligent response when it's done in a hostile and confrontational manner. Lol I'm imagining how OH is scrunching up his nose right now. I must comment on his sweet post dedicated to me. So the point of all this babble is I won't kill you or ignore you if I sense you can hurt me. I will accept your existence and try and up the friendly atmosphere. This is in my "sheltered" environment. I hope if I'm getting raped I'll gouge the bastard's eyes out. I dont't know if this makes me a girl or an emotionally intelligent human.

On Music- I accept sometimes the best thing about it is what Was calls poetic license. For example, I love Sunona Sunona in Chalte Chalte even though it was the suckiest relationship ever.

Joie de vivre is also...

2009-06-20T00:07:00.002+02:00

When u discuss Surah Feel and God's images make you visualise the beginning of the battle scenes in 300 and LOTR and you can hear the elephants' hooves moving to the drumbeats.

And you discuss how raindrops were created so mercifully like parachutes and tingle our skins instead of like anything else that reaches terminal velocity would pierce it.

Hearing a story of the rich miser who had a beggar pestering him all the time. He finally relented and got the beggar the yoghurt he was asking for. Then the beggar asked for bread and he got angry. That night he dreamt he was in the beautiful gardens of paradise and he was hungry and he looked and looked and looked for food. And finally an angel brought him some yoghurt. And he said I'm really hungry I want bread too. And the angel said that's all you sent here...;)

And Ibraheem AS abolished human sacrifice, God needs no sustenance.

And snapshots in my head that don't project here.

I think my Joie de vivre obsession is about understanding life through living it instead of letting the understanding stop me from being alive.

Joie de Vivre....

2009-06-15T20:45:00.003+02:00

Pic: Amelie (my supposed alter ego) as a child.

is a freshly baked rye slice sprinkled with canola, layered with cheese and garnished with a home made organic fig preserve, presented with the utmost sneaky intent.

It is also making assembly lines at fruit and veg and wanting to bury your masie's jewellery box in the garden to be a pirate.

Where is now?
Be there
MII

Fragmented but not fiction

2009-06-13T15:22:00.002+02:00

Sometimes when the world locks you up in your own mind,
It's the safest place for you to be.

Act 24 Scene 1

2009-06-11T00:36:00.002+02:00

This was our soundtrack in the first year of Uni.
All reflections through my other life anniversaries were as a typical rollercoaster ride.
This is different in one respect. There IS more.
Instead of the usual agonizing climbs and thrilling rushes towards the ground, there were more climbs. Just when I wanted to stop and catch my breath, out of nowhere appeared higher peaks with no reverse options. I learnt patience. I learnt fear. Fear that my body would kill my soul. Fear that there would be no confidence to translate opprotunity and potential into success. Fear that the peaks of responsibility and obligation were insurmountable. These fears shall be my companions forever now. But I have got my wish, there is more to Life...

Act 23 Scene 365

2009-06-11T00:22:00.003+02:00

Elysium leaned in the doorway.

She looked up and immediately down again, to hide the shame of the angry blush that rose to her cheeks. "You lied", she said the words slowly, determinedly, to hide the desperation of needing him to prove her wrong, to live up to her heart's desires. "All that you said, you never became. When I was in battle with all you taught me, you were nowhere to be seen. Deceitful hypocrite."

"You cannot believe in people, komitrou. Remember Dumbledore and Mandela, the countless humans who were just one rung. What you call deception I call being gentle. What you believe to be your enemies, would remain so in my presence as well as my absence."

"I began to love you," she whispered, "I mended your flaws with my every precious and painful emotion".

"That was not my intention." He left her chamber and they never met again.

Of poisonous projective identifications and cathartic castrations

2009-06-10T11:03:00.007+02:00

The paradox of Buridan's ass as Kyria Pelagia knew well enough was that there was a lack of roubola and her father's literary travails in the rum cake for the goat. Rosemary hair does not always conceal a brain that is better left where koritsimou Lemoni digs in the ground for snails and yet does not get sent to Piraeus. The day was a paradox because she realised that Antonia was the closest she would ever become to being alive and also because hate was just as misplaced as hurt. We direct them at others and they boomerang back with the velocity invertly exponentiated by Mussolini's honesty. Va fanculo is all he can say when I confront him in my mind.

Imagine having Greek and Italian blood. Imagine fleeing religious or political persecution instead of economic. Imagine.

On the 8th of June 2009

2009-06-08T18:22:00.002+02:00

Leadership is the art of getting someone else to do something you want done because he wants to do it.

Dwight Eisenhower

My greatest leadership failure.

It was a cold blistery afternoon...

2009-06-08T17:22:00.002+02:00

when Mikaeel decided to look after me as I was "fick". We switched on animal planet, and cuddled undet the blanket. And the conversation went summin like this:

M: Look, Look, Look, Look!
N: What?
M: Bear. I bear. Roaaaaar!!!!
M: Hide now! I bear! Roaarrrr!!!
I go under the blanket, he comes under with me.
M: Bear coming. And wolf. Roaaar!!!!
Pulls my by the hair out of blanket.
M: Look, look, look, look!!
N: What?
M: Pretty hair
Points to my hair.
M: Vrrrom vrrrooom (squashes his knuckles in a circular fashion on my hair)
M: I drying hair. Hair wet. Hair shiny, smells nice. I wash it.
Vrrrooom vrrrroom.
N: Look, loook, look!!
M: What?
N: Nani!! Nani wants to watch TV with Mikaeel now.
;)

Inspired by Soul Soap Season One Episode 4- The Clot

2009-06-02T15:24:00.003+02:00

I Pray Openly (to the tune of Natasha Bedingfield's I bruise easily)

The world is a prayer mat, with one centre

I expose my shame, but it’s so uplifting

So I cover up, banish arrogance, my body is a shroud,

I fall in Your Love, trust easily, leave the world to be

I pray openly, let them stare in incredulity,

There’s flight in my bowing, like nitrus on a Ferrari,

I pray openly, don’t ignore the submission you see

Everywhere, I pray openly, I pray openly

My knees imprint on the stone of a parking lot,

Fitting rooms, restaurants, even the outside of a movie theatre,

But this is my truth, my flame I return to, away from the cold,

So I can’t miss one Salaah, there’s no other truth calling me

This prayer, keeps me alive, living

God is great

Forget the world

Far away

I will fly

The world is a prayer mat, with one centre

I expose my shame, but its so uplifting

So I cover up, banish arrogance, my body is a shroud,

I fall in Your Love, trust easily, leave the world to be

I pray openly, let them stare in incredulity,

There’s flight in my bowing, like nitrus on a Ferrari,

I pray openly, don’t ignore the submission you see

Everywhere, I pray openly, I pray openly

not Practising what i Preach to students bout Procrastination

2009-05-31T13:25:00.004+02:00

I want to be eating Dew's cake and cackling with her and Saals :( Instead I'm, proofreading words that have ceased to have meaning. I bet if I do a graph my posts are positively correlated with thesis deadlines. Sorry, Dew hope I get this opportunity for food poisoning again ;)(jj I'm sure Dew trumps Nino's desserts. Empirical evidence Saaleha?)

Ta to Waseem, Jauhara, Rae, Mj, Shaaista and Mazozo for the great-looking and tasting food and unstoppbale banter. One memorable moment is when Was is describing the high of inhaling tobacco and tasting caffeine at the same time, and Mj says 'Two vices, thats hardcore, man ' :) Oh and Saaleha is saying something about space cakes and Mj says: "But they're artifically vacuumed so that they can exit earth's atmosphere" :) Disclaimer: these are not exact words, coz I forgot to try out Joe's dictaphone.

Waseem tagged me in the 25 Movies meme that Azzy started but I don't get very attached to movies as they're part of the illusory reality that marshmallows and jelly beans create. Then Mash asked me for book recommendations and I decided to do a top 25 books. Speaking of Mash he's presenting Soul Soap online tonight if anyone wants to join please message me for details. Here are my top books in approximate order of when I read them:

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - 6 years
A Summer to Die by Lois Lowry - 9 years
Rainbow and Mr Zed- 12 years
A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth- 13 years
Moving Pictures by Terry Pratchett- 14 years
Good Omens- Neil Gaiman and Terry- 15 years
The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand- 19 years
All the Harry Potters- campus years
Running in Heels - 20 years
I dont Know How She does it by Allison Pearson - 20 years
Desperately seeking paradise by Ziauddin Sardar- 22 years
Shantaram - 23 years
Journey to Makkah- 23 years
The Other Boleyn Girl - 23 years

Perhaps one could devise correlations between my ideological views and the books I have read at certain periods. I freaking hate AND love correlations right now. I tag everyone who loves books including Khadija, Dew, Waseem, Saaleha, Mash, Zub Hab, Azmarita, Irfaan and h and whoever wants to procrastinate with me.

T.e.a.r.s

2009-05-26T21:12:00.002+02:00

I practise in front of the mirror. Conjure up my most horrible memories. And they stare back at me, clear, unblinking, victorious.

But when it happens (and it always does),
They swell like bulbous poisonous mushrooms, oozing out stinging venom...

Do we get what we take or do we take what we get? (Ala Daniel Francois)? A Confusing Call

2009-05-25T20:00:00.004+02:00

These are the conversations that could be avoided by nicotine-induced mini-euphorias. I don't smoke, you see. That's why there are these tricky questions itching up and down my cortical wiring. Only one answer: It just feels right. No postgrad theorems or corollaries or freaking citations. Just a simple plea to my inborn insticts. That my Musallah (prayer mat), my hijab (head covering), my beautiful intonations in Arabic, they all feel right, like this is what I'm supposed to be. Yes I will admit it is a question of identity, of things stirred up in my mother's body before my conception and every second thereafter. Yes that is not very convincing, a social psychologist will say, this is just a simple function of the human need to belong. And so I internalise these things because I want to belong. I do want to believe there's more. I do feel a universal truth here. But I cannot promise more rationale or logic or evidence. There are scientists who have proven these things over and over, but for now. I pray that if I had been born in a different era, in a different caste, in a different faith, my Path would lead to total Submission to the Mighty Power- in other words Islam. This is all for now.

A squirrel

2009-05-21T22:21:00.004+02:00

I want to draw a huge, cold icy cage.
Inside is a squirrel scratching at the bars.
Remembering rabbits and chipmunks and lots of other furry things.
But no squirrels.
And yet believeing without ever having seen another squirrel, that they do exist.

Sticky Tape Friendships

2009-05-21T18:47:00.003+02:00

I declare it the most wonderful act in friendship, the offering to share a book one has read with another. More so when spontaneous, taking the time to imagine what they would enjoy, and then trusting them with something that had co-owned your self. With your fingerprints and coffee-stains and little markings...Thank you.

Irfaan always cheats

2009-05-20T21:09:00.003+02:00

In Jannah I want to crawl around inside people's minds. Starting with this one.

Namesake or Happy Birthday Aysha J!!!!

2009-05-19T14:37:00.003+02:00

You know the world loves you when Cape Town gives you awesome weather on your birthday :)

I met Ayesha when I was young :) at my first Msa camp.
She was quiet and unassuming and little did I know the courageous personality that would be unleashed. Like her namesake Aisha Radiallahu Ta'ala Anha she is a courageous warrior. Also she has a travelling spirit. A'isha (R.A) migrated with the Muslims to Abyssinia before they then migrated to Medinah. Like A'sha RA, she is always ready for adventure and having fun, at the same time as having scholarly prestige. Marriage to the Prophet SAW did not change Aisha RA's playful ways. Her young friends came regularly to visit her in her own apartment. "I would be playing with my dolls," she said, "with the girls who were my friends, and the Prophet would come in and they would slip out of the house and he would go out after them and bring them back, for he was pleased for my sake to have them there." And likewise even though Aisha found her soulmate at a young age, she always stayed real and accessible to all her firends. So many of the stories of A'isha RA remind me of you. When the Muslims were favoured with enormous riches, she was given a gift of one hundred thousand dirham's. She was fasting when she received the money and she distributed the entire amount to the poor and the needy even though she had no provisions in her house. Shortly after, a maidservant said to her: "Could you buy meat for a dirham with which to break your fast?""If I had remembered, I would have done so," she said. Her nephew Urwah asserts that she was proficient not only in fiqh but also in medicine (tibb) and poetry.Aisha not only possessed great knowledge but took an active part in education and social reform. As a teacher she had a clear and persuasive manner of speech and her power of oratory has been described in superlative terms by al-Ahnaf who said: "I have heard speeches of Abu Bakr and Omar, Othman and Ali and the Khulafa up to this day, but I have not heard speech more persuasive and more beautiful from the mouth of any person than from the mouth of Aisha."

Dear Aysh, may you always be my inspiration and my comfort, wherever and however we exist Insha Allah.

Nooj

My final say on Love

Matryoshka

Si vis pacem, para bellum

She said He looked at her like she was the answer to Life Itself or Children of the Shadows

Heroes never parting...

Every Poem is a Novel waiting to bloom

So that you may be grateful

"And they ask you about the Soul"... (Quran 17:85)

Ishara

Ramadhan 2011

Every teardrop wasted

Blurred

Satiety

Run

Hey there's a bunny...

Block

Soraya's beauty

Sandpaper syllables

You alone do we worship

Our causes and passions and families and loves

Hoofbeat

Arrows

Gratuitious Insults

You wanted to know why

Alice Band

"No one notices how the steam opens the rose of each mind"

Lustainability

Feminist narrative

You are successful...

When you

Tongue splatter

Limbo

Curved meridian

Strike

Still Life

Food gets consumed

Flowers wilt

Metal rusts and

Paint c r a c k s

Underneath these things

We call real

Is the moment

Floating ships

Time and Love are at times the most bosom bedfellows

Matter

Cyculation

What are we doing, God?

Pace

One day you will have to do what you always said should be done.

Beware of that day.

Cement: A corollary to "words should be like rainbows"

Naked

And love, my dear, is ordained between you

"One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious." Jung

To God, we Belong

On staying single

Of stolen sunsets and painted patience

Wading

Ventriqulous Vant*

All men

DiVisions

Puncturing Rhythms

Spring Garden

"Poetry is to be slurped up"

On finding something that starts endorphins popping madly

The secret of infinity

*whisper in the trees*

All I wish for Us

Post Mortem

Veteran

Between you and I

The One Comfort

Parasputing and Khadija challenge:Tick tock

No

I've learnt

Aesthetics

I think

For everyone's favourite video game geek/ punk islam indoctrinator/ pop culture comedian

The Hidden

whisper in the trees