I.

The heart is clumsy,

our thoughts provoking disaster

when pulling on the wrong strings

before the storm, and after.

II.

You

and I,

encompass the sky

that hovers above us

holding clouds that serve purpose

to embellish or destroy

waiting for the wind

to mould us into strange shapes

tugging at others’ curiosity

not knowing what we are

or where we’re going.

III.

Muffled speech,

blinding weather in his eyes,

today we are not raining together

drop by drop

He falls and changes,

beauty into anger,

I await on a lonely ground

to catch him.

IV.

We exist in all shades,

unpredictable,

beautiful,

converging into one another

calming the anxious souls

that we transport to the heavens above.

V.

I watch the sun and moon alternate,

natural occurrences, I notice

just like the thoughts

that feel like clouds in my head

when my heart reminds me

of him

at an ungodly time of night

striking me like lightening,

thunder echoing between these ears

that long for the voice of an angel instead.

I dedicated each shade of sky blue to him
with every darkness I remember my heart's aches
but the luminescence of light blue
with the sun shining life into my eyes
reminded me of his beautiful soul.

Ramadan opens door of mercy each year
reconciling all our hearts on goodness, generosity and forgiveness.

We are all clusters of sins awaiting repentance
holding on to a book bonded with threads of faith
Encrusted with pristine words and reminders from Allah (swt)

When our heads hung low,
And our eyes dripped tears and despair
The pillars of Islam held us back up.
They are the backbone of our lives.

Ramadan leaves us with empty stomachs during the day
But with that our tongues are heavy with thikr
And our hearts are soft from patience.

I pray that we find the right doors to open, and that we remain among the faithful believers.

Ramadan Kareem to my muslim followers x

What a blessing it is
to find the right words
to describe you
because for far too often
I find you
hanging at the corner of my lips
and settling on my numb fingertips
unable to be released
into the realm of art.

Our pens have blood for ink,
scarring these pages forever.

They find better people,
and I become distant and forgotten.

tonight there will be a storm
listen to my pages raging
with all the anger
i've culminated inside
i will no longer be satisfied with silence.

You exist to be written and
spoken about in poetry.

I desire madness,
but until then, I cannot forget you.

Eighteen years have passed me
I still marvel at picturesque clouds
They pass us overhead, with grace, like the ground they face isn’t rotten.

Find me that girl who smiles every day
Exchanging her three am thoughts
Into golden plated words that are beautiful
They belong in her poems.
Sadness stained cheeks covered in blush
She’s so lovely, people think
but she’s just glad her mascara is waterproof.

My grandmother has dainty hands, unlike mine
and I was jealous.
until I realized that they were covered in blood
years before I was born and knew what pain was,
making a living and treating her blisters at the same time.
Six children but it used to be eight before two passed away
“Sofian, he died before your grandfather by a few years”
Her heart broken in half and tears encrusted in her skin
But she still has delicate and pretty hands right?

People say they love one another,
But I can’t even count the knives on their backs anymore,
There are too many.

When I find myself in solitude,
I subsequently lose myself in thought.

You know,
I am ashamed.
These angels that watch us every day
I know they weep at our state
And I am done pretending it’s fine.

This is a world where the ground shakes in anger,
The sky cries out of despair
And the air thickens out of confusion
I am all of nature’s catastrophies
In the shape of a woman.

You will see me in the corner
Praying for lost souls
Including my own
Hoping that one day we’ll reunite in a place
Where words don’t drip blood
And authors find that writing is easier when happy
But for now, we can’t get enough of pretending.

my eyes were never ready for a fleeting sunset
that shone into them with splendour and magic
then drifted away into a far horizon
leaving me with my sombre reflection
the water looked so dark, inky and bleak
and my hands after that were drenched in black ink
i had slammed the pen so ******* this cursed journal
i thought that maybe, everything in my head would collapse with it

you were pretty but it never stopped at that
my name may have tasted like honey but you got sick of it
you got sick of me
you had a way with words that left me weak
all the strength i had culminated through the years stood no chance
like porcelain with intricate designs, fragile, timeless

now who will accompany me in the night
to plant our memories in stars on the sky?
or did you find another one to remind you of the taste of honey
the taste of love
the taste of promise

leave me now with the reality of frowns and uncertainty
leave me with the dark inky waters of a night once spent accompanied
one day i will lay your indifference to rest
but for now
let me throw it out to the horizon, to the sky, to the earth
so it can swallow it to nothingness.

The moon's modest nature is entrancing
It's splendour is never fully displayed for long for our eyes to indulge in
It transforms itself every night
Leaving us to outline its curves
while it encrusts light in a sombre sky of darkness.

If our souls were oceans,
how many divers would take the risk
to brush against the seabed,
an urge to discover the unknown,
or just someone to call home?

Children awake to sizzling butter and fresh eggs
Birds chirp and settle on their windowsills
Greeting them with the sound of nature.
How lovely it must be!

Childhood is all about the games and the play, they said.
Buttons are pressed,
Video games begin,
because violence is but a pixelated projection for them.

Two extremities of this earth are facing each other now.
Darkness lies on the opposite side.
What a shame!
Home now bleeds images of destruction.

Childhood is non-existent there.
Children awake to the nauseating scent of gunpowder,
Anxiety has filled their minds,
The future remains vague
Lives hanging on a thread
The drones set off missiles to cut it.

They are worth the entire world to their mothers
Young souls who are the lens from which their parents see happiness
but sadly,
survivors scrape the rubble off their ****** feet
scavenging for the roots they once tried to protect
wetting the ground with utter despair.

Home now bleeds destruction
and constant chaos.

Life chokes my neck
as I endlessly try to breathe.

If the moon has any secrets to tell,
I would be sitting tonight
with silver linings around my irises
waiting for it to spill
its blood red musings.

You are a memory
that leaked from my mind
onto my shoulders.
You are now a burden.

You are the moon,
and I am the waves
that will never settle
because of you.

I haven't been posting here for a while. It's been really long I understand but it's also been long since I last spoke to him and I don't intend to go back to investing my heart in him. Often we are completely engulfed in the moment and we overlook others' faults and convince ourselves that they are the right one for us. They might not be bad people, they might be amazing and perfect but if they are not perfect for you then it will never work out. It didn't work out between us and I don't think it will. I don't want it to. I've been speechless and unable to produce any form of proper writing due to stress from exams so I will try my best to write what I can. Anyway, pain and heartbreak are ingredients for art. As heartless as this may seem, it is a truth. I don't regret anything.

He was afraid of the reflections of hell
that could be seen on her fiery red lipstick.

Forgiveness that is unlikely,
her last words to him
burnt him from the inside.

Her heart was a game to him,
and now he'll have to beg for his life
to win it.

I look at these blue veins of mine

existing against a thin layer of fair skin that does little to protect

but if it’s all I have to keep my blood moving, pumping me back to life

every second I refuse to open my eyes

then I will have to deal with it

because we’re all like paintings held up high on walls to be admired

whether we decide to be like Monet or just ourselves.

With my hair unleashed,
strands fall to meet the crevices
of a sweaty neck.

See the black dye mirrored,
hands stained with disdain -
she watches.

A rendez-vous so scented,
slick with gazes squandered
loose after I wandered.

I wish I could let the infinite sea know of my problems -
of you
it would wash you away from me
one wave at a time
and the shores would start pulling harder and harder
your essence sprinkled on every corner
and the storms that would arise out of you
would let me know that finally
the world understands what it means to be in love.

maybe we like to write about nature
because there is a hidden longing
to be in harmony with it again.