Stop scarring your own skin
Tearing your thoughts apart
You are a masterpiece of wonders
Rebuild yourself and be whole again
Write out your demons
And tear the paper instead
I hesitate to show him the truth.
The words I write may never reach his eyes
I am afraid of the torture after rejection.
These feelings cannot be denied,
my poems will never cease to exist
even if i erased these heavy thoughts I typed
burned them alive
the memories of us will float around endlessly
somewhere, out of my reach.
If he sees himself in mirrors
in a monotone and meaningless way
he will not anymore
because reflections of him
lie not only visually in images,
such as projections on clear glass
but in others who admire him too.
We become who we love eventually
Admiration for someone else
makes us melt
covering past pages of who were before.
We're candles that want to burn bright
and wouldn't mind dwindling in the flames.
- this was pretty short -
The heart is clumsy,
our thoughts provoking disaster
when pulling on the wrong strings
before the storm, and after.
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.
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.
We exist in all shades,
converging into one another
calming the anxious souls
that we transport to the heavens above.
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
at an ungodly time of night
striking me like lightening,
thunder echoing between these ears
that long for the voice of an angel instead.
Freckles on your pretty face
or constellations in the night sky
I thought,"what's the difference?"
I travelled to the homeland
to reconcile with my past.
I flew over miles of identities
to find my own.
I like music and catchy tunes
but the song that is your voice
is my favourite one yet.
Rocky roads and crumbling gravel,
Fathers work hard to put bread on the table
Selfless decisions and callused hands
The pain that a mother goes through
is one we yet have to understand.
Appreciate your parents :)
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.
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.
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
Our pens have blood for ink,
scarring these pages forever.
They find better people,
and I become distant and forgotten.
People will replace you, and you will feel bitter for a longggg time.
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 are a type of poison
I wouldn't mind drinking.
It would burn my fragile throat
but I don't think anything
has struck me as hard
as what I feel for you.
You exist to be written and
spoken about in poetry.
I desire madness,
but until then, I cannot forget you.
Maybe if bitterness was not my language,
You would've held on to our conversations.
Maybe if bitterness wasn't in my eyes,
You wouldn't have turned to look at her instead.
white against white
decorated with jasmine flowers
that have witnessed everything.
They've seen the french
speaking the language of love
with weapons of destruction in their hands
carrying our nation's sons
six feet under their footsteps
stepping on honor's history forever.
"Ya worood al yasmeen"
with pearly white petals,
and bright green stems
I've watch you grow over our house
year after year
hanging high and low
gazing at the loss below.
I am now far, distant like a stranger
the homeland has put smiles on our faces
that glow in albums of badly taken pictures
that will haunt my path across oceans.
One day, the heart will ask for home
and I shall listen to it
as it yearns for the sweet scent of jasmines.
My grandmother's house once filled with love
her biggest fears coming to life
pictures hanging on the wall
ghosts of love so short-lived
but remind me to tell her
that she is not alone
there are flowers like angels watching from above.
Whenever I go to Algeria I notice the jasmines that wait for me there every year.
Like a greedy vulture, I pecked at my skin
What is there to accept?
Is it the discoloured patches where plump red blush had settled before?
Rosy and full of life, I will mourn for my past self.
Is it the falling strings of hair giving up on embracing my tired neck?
A backbone that has defied its own purpose.
In a world of exchange and sharing
Nature has found a place in me
My soul reconciles with the desire to bloom
But my body is dwelling in its ashy winter days
Between the night and day
Find me halfway deciding where to go,
It will either be aspiring to be the sun
or waiting for the end to die with the moon.
I have finally written something after weeks of mental exhaustion
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.
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.
Against layers of western pop and soulful jazz,
I find myself yearning for the sound
of traditional music
These ears know well
the tune that reminds them of home.
My blood dances
to the thumping of the tabla,
the melodious clash of castanets
and plucking of strings on leathered guitars.
Traditional music is the voice
of my silenced ancestors;
and the treasure that is the legacy
they have left behind for us.
Each night I will remind myself
of the beauty of Algeria
and the sound that vibrates its fertile soil
and resonates in my heart.
Reaching out to hold the hands
of those who came before me;
we stand united by the melody
of our anthem.
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.
When the night is at the brink of shedding its darkness
I open my eyes to welcome the sound of the caller.
The vibrations echo in my head and bounce off the walls
Whispers of lazy devils attempt to interrupt
However, i cannot remain still and watch my faith corrupt.
With arms sprawled across the comfortable bedding,
Stepping on the cold hard ground can seem rather upsetting
but what is coming is indeed better than what has passed.
Nothing beats the soft slide of the forehead on velvet
showing devotion, muttering prayers
because on Him we are dependent.
As if we were stopping by during busy hours
to kiss the forehead of one's mother as a token of gratitude.
He has allowed me to breathe another day
and I will use almost every single one
to thank Him for the blessings
I was not denied.
A poem about Fajr prayer - my favourite.
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?
When a seed germinates,
It needs several conditions to initiate its growth
but a flower is different.
A flower only yearns for rain to cover its drooping petals
and sunlight to embrace it from every corner.
As I grow up,
Material objects become useless.
Only certain people matter,
and being able to hold them tight
would be the best birthday gift ever.
its my birthday and i feel like crap because those i want here are so far away.
Drowned my eyes with light,
I am blinded by you.
Shouting at the sky,
Dear, the clouds will not cry for you.
Earth will continue spinning,
Ignoring the burdens of the hell
you carry around on your shoulders,
in the darkest part of your mind
and under your eyes.
If you need to talk I'm always here.
We help others because
the same sword can cut all of us
and leaving a friend to bleed
is to fail as a human.
Life chokes my neck
as I endlessly try to breathe.
i cant do this anymore tbh
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
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.
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.
We sung the anthem of each year
wishing our friends a happy day
commemorating their existence
but deep inside,
we know that this
won't fix the broken
or bring back life to their breaths
because I am now rejecting
every expansion of my chest
and deafening my ears
to not remind me that
I am yet stuck here another day
swooshing like wine in a glass
in these vicious cycles.
I have grown accustomed to the way
silence forced itself upon my social interactions
like a guest who wasn't invited
but was let in anyway.
My eyes have memorised the dents
on these four walls
that I could draw infinitely
on maps of this bare surface.
Pencils have worn out,
I'm running low on graphite
so my life decides to turn itself
into the same shade of gray
that I use to write about it.
Books are doors to another world
but their handles have broken,
"Help!" I screamed,
I am locked into this lonely reality.
A social life
filled with ghosts,
and empty souls.
Nothing to give ,
Nothing to receive.
My social life atm
Don't let the pain infiltrate and condense into your skin.
Let it be a layer
that will soon fall off
when it is ready.
dont let it become you
She held onto the cigarette
quivering hands and ****** veins
it lit up and scorched the leaves
infiltrating in her tensed lungs.
It reminded her of him.
Breathing in the grey smoke,
she suffocated from
the air that they weren't sharing.
Hugging the cigarette,
with his shapely lips
she knew that any attempt
of kissing him
would **** her
but yet she longed to die
at his touch.
- she loved him so much-
I saw the universe in your eyes
but have you ever cared
to look into mine?
I guess I was a star
about to fade,
into the sombre abyss
of your forgotten memories.
You are the moon,
and I am the waves
that will never settle
because of you.
The power of the listening ear prevails.
Their worries in words
Turn to dust that eventually scatters
But first and foremost,
Unclench their wrist
Untangle all knots
Allow their peace to find its way home.
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.
All these shades of colours have brought vibrance into my existence
Painting each day with their unique aesthetics
I think you affect me in the same way.
The night and I are best friends.
Our darkness coincides
and I find myself confiding in the moon
more than I ever did with anyone else.
I live on free verses
because how can I order my poem
if the ink that fuels the pen I write with
I wish I could let the infinite sea know of my problems -
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.
my soul is still getting used to sensing hesitation in his words
sometimes i wonder why we can't be together
at first i blamed myself
i always blame myself
but i've come to a conclusion -
it is in fact my fault
it definitely isn't his
that i am a dreamer living in a reality of nightmares
and that the meanings behind my words are often too dense to comprehend
so his lips and mine can no longer speak common sense
our circles forming awkward edges to avoid overlap
like oil and water and we can never become one