On rare occasions, I still pray
When it’s dark, I slip in one more prayer or two
I stand facing the qibla, saying God is great
I bow before the one and only, glory be to God, the Most Great
I stand back up, to God belongs all praise
The ablution cleanses me, the prostration humbles me
Glory be to God, the Most High
I wish for peace and mercy upon the angels on my shoulders
When I am done, I understand why people are believers
Because there are no angels on our shoulders in real life
The rest of the world is there in their stead, weighing us down
As if we are Atlas, cursed to carry for eternity
But the Lord is our shining beacon of hope who can absolve us
Of course people are believers, why wouldn’t they be?
Are faith and devotion not a small price to pay for reassurance?
For peace of mind?
On rare occasions, I still try to convince myself
When it’s dark, I slip away to find that light again

‪I am no woman of god, but watching you fall sleep is a religious experience‬

I am no believer in the afterlife, but I’ll end this lifetime just to know you all over again in another

I am not of strong faith, but before you my entire soul kneels

I am no Greek goddess, but I will drink every last bit of you until you flow like ichor in my veins

‪And I am no temple, no mosque nor church, but call me your sanctuary and lay your prayers unto me‬

‪You know I am no holy woman, but with you, I never want to be one‬

The anxious mind carries memories in a basket
and drops a handful of them along the way.
I can't recall everything;
I find stray memories in jars and nostalgias.
But it has become my favorite thing to say:
"I remember."
And what a gift it is, to remember.

These days I contemplate the meaning of home
When the last breaths of my childhood are taken away
With every adult who had to leave
When the last of my teen years slip from my grasp
Along with friends who stopped coming over after school
What is left? This house, it stands empty
A new void I've never known
But I look around at ghosts of the past and I see
The pillars of this house creak, but they are sturdy
Changes matter not when the foundation is strong
Home changes its shape every so often, but you can always,
Always live here

I love you.
I love you and I don’t know what to do about it.
I love you so much, it hurts to think of how I’m capable to hurt you.
It hurts to think that I have hurt you in the past.
I love you so much, you render me speechless.
Pretty, coherent prose no longer comes out of my mouth at the sight of you.
My knees go weak, they buckle when I look at you.
I miss you even when you’re right in front of my eyes.
I miss you even when we’re kissing.
I’m always trying to close the gap between us but close will never be close enough.
I miss you especially when we’re separated by kilometers and a wide spread of sea.
I miss the moments we spend together and I curse the ones we spend apart.
I reach for you in the dark and in the light.
I can’t breathe at the thought of losing you.
Your love is choking me.
It’s not letting me breathe, it’s not letting me stand.
With you, an ‘I love you’ is never just an ‘I love you’.
It’s ‘I would die for you’ and ‘I would live for you’.
I think the stars live and dance in your eyes.
I think the love I have for you is debilitating.
I think my entire universe revolves around what you are.
I know, with absolute certainty, that losing you would ruin every fiber of my being and every stardust that makes up who I am.
And that terrifies me to an extent greater than we are.

With a heavy heart,
what is born from the womb must return to soil; to the waves; to the flames.
What my grandmother had given, death takes away.
Age 54—two months shy from 55—
in the arms of a brother,
under the same earth your parents returned to.

Where are you now, Dad?
I kept kissing the prayer mat hoping God would pass on my love to you,
wishing God would give you strength.
Did you feel it?
I whispered a secret to the ceiling each night:
I am terrified to live in a world without you.
Have you ever bargained with God like I did?

Where are you now, Dad?
Are you somewhere in the sky? I go out to look every day.
Are you in the pauses between storms?
Are you under the wings of the parents you lost too soon?
Is that really you in my dreams? I hope it is.
You can’t be decaying under the earth, Dad. That’s not you.
I’ll keep looking.