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R
Nahal Jun 2018
R
Ready
Obviously not
Can't even fathom this going any further
Don't you see?

Ritualistic
Obviously I'm not crazy but
Careless in how I speak to you: tactless
Dubious

Reality
Obviously this is my reality
Can you deal with it?
Doubt 24/7

Righteous
Obviously I am trying
Caring so much about you
Daring to, in this state of mind
Nahal May 2016
Within this semicircle
Lives brilliant sunshine
Lives insecurity
Lives love
Lives awe.

Within another half
Lives the distance of a silver moon
Lives security
Lives love
Lives nothing but love.

And within this circle
Lives you
Lives me
Lives love
It lives.
Nahal Sep 2019
Time slows down.
My heart
in my mouth.
My stomach
a host to the biggest butterflies,
with enormous wings.
Flutter, flutter.
Painful and love sick,
not going to lie.

I can't tell you, though.
Nahal Aug 2017
Don’t you love the way the shower sounds,
Right before you step in?
Water is splashing on the tiled floor of this particular bath
The sounds of knowledge you become someone new
The likeness to shedding old skin
The caterpillar’s cocoon shell breaks away, this newness
A butterfly
Maybe you will smell like pristine nothingness
Or like your favourite branded flower
The water loves every inch of you
And spoils you with its warmth and richness.
Nahal Aug 2017
I want to hang here
In love with this size 12, rotund shape
I want to look at every single body positivity page on Instagram
Until my belly laughs and loves itself
But I want to just be
Be my skin
Without being shamed for the fabric that fits around me
Nahal Mar 2017
Impressionist blackness smudged around my eyes
Look into my dark, marmite irises and you find a deep sorrow
The depth like Van Gogh's sky's fathomless heights into the universe past dusk
Paused but the motion is undefinably disorientating
The rubbing of my eyes
Spreading of stars across my face
I am sobbing forever and ever
Nahal Jan 2019
There's something in
you that I
want to know
better, something in
you that I
think you want
to too but
I'm unsure of
how you'd react
if you knew
I felt like
this about you.

There's something in
the way you
talk to me
look at me
ask for my
approval in things
that no one
else cares about
but I admit
I quite like
the way they
look at me,
your hazel eyes.
Nahal Aug 2020
Look how the trees
Are bullied by the wind
But they still stand tall and firm
Nahal Jul 2019
Her Divine Father named her Fatimih
Graceful, gentle the Greatest Holy Leaf
Likened unto Mary or Táhirih
Branching from Oneness, the gems of belief
Her Father, exiled country to country
To the Servant of God years junior
She forgave hardships with serenity
Comforting her Great nephew no sooner
Tender-hearted nature of kindliness
Eloquent tongue painting language like arts
Her spirited ocean eyes would profess
Love that penetrated souls and cold hearts

After eighty six years of mortal strife
She soared to the bliss Abhá afterlife
Bahiyyíh Khanúm was Mirza Husayn Alí's (Bahá'u'lláh's) daughter, younger than Abbas Effendi (Abdu'l-Bahá). Born in 1846, she followed her Father through all the exiles to Adrianople, Constantinople, and more. She was known for her grace, kindness, forgiveness, amongst many other spiritual qualities despite all the hardships she faced with her family.
Her story is fascinating and inspiring as a woman renowned in the Bahá'í world, much like Táhirih, and other female religious figures like Mary, Fatima and so on.
Nahal Mar 2019
History tells stories of epic truth
This recounts an upheaval in Zanján
The Báb's blazing influence in his proofs
Opposed by the Mujtahids of Iran
I see the light of enkindled heroes
Dissolving ties of worldly attachment
Souls' lives sacrificed through horrendous blows
Causeless bloodshed, we ask, to what extent?
Formidable Hujját, in God, trusted
Struck dead by cannon, wife and young baby
For mere appeal to the Sháh for justice
Her name was Khadíjih, his was Hádí

At last, though suffering, he did not grieve
In heavenly blessings did he believe
The Báb was the Herald of Bahá'u'lláh the founder of the Bahá'í Faith. The Zanján Upheaval comes from stories of the Dawnbreakers. Opposing the Báb's new Revelation about the idea of the Promised One, it was a ****** battle killing many of His followers in a village called Zanján, Iran.
This particular sonnet focuses on a key individual who sacrificed his life, Hujját whose original name was Mullá Muhammad Alí. He was an ecclesiastical renowned for his knowledge who eventually came to recognise and accept the Báb's teachings upon investigation. The end, prior to his own martyrdom, his child and wife died due to a cannon striking the home which they stayed. This was because the Iranian clergy and Shah opposed his belief in the Báb. His words were:
“The day whereon I found Thy beloved One, O my God,” he cried, “and recognised in Him the Manifestation of Thy eternal Spirit, I foresaw the woes that I should suffer for Thee. Great as have been until now my sorrows, they can never compare with the agonies that I would willingly suffer in Thy name. How can this miserable life of mine, the loss of my wife and of my child, and the sacrifice of the band of my kindred and companions, compare with the blessings which the recognition of Thy Manifestation has bestowed on me! Would that a myriad lives were mine, would that I possessed the riches of the whole earth and its glory, that I might resign them all freely and joyously in Thy path.”
Nahal Jul 2019
Táhirih, The Pure One, Qurrat al-'Ayn
Poet too, Solace of the Eyes, they say
In 17 the same year as Husayn
Veiled in soft silk proclaiming a new day
Alí granted you a staunch, steadfast Faith
Striking intellect, beauty, and mission  
Vivid dreaming what the Surih saith
The path to equality: your vision
Cover your hair in shame of womanhood
Uncover it for emancipation
Freedom from Iranian clergy would
Prevent your early white expiration

Martyrdom is a choice then it's over
A longing to reach the Friend and Lover
Famously saying "You can **** me as soon as you like, but you cannot stop the emancipation of women!"
Tahiríh, known as the Pure One, was a follower of the Báb and one of the Letters of the Living. She was the only female Letter of the Living, and the only one to not actually meet the Báb in person.
Nahal Jul 2019
Spending every moment of the day with you
would be quite tiresome
exhausting my soul to the point of starvation

I am in need of a spiritual nourishment
a nourishment that strengthens me
feels as healthy as a vegan dhal on a Saturday afternoon
Nahal Oct 2017
"*******"
As he walks away
A tear-jerking movie shocker
Dramatic music watching your lonesome back strut off down the street

"*******"
I say this to myself in my own head when I truly hate my own mind
And now you've said it out loud to my face
I will never forget it coming from your normally sweet, tender lips
Nahal Apr 2018
Some of our problems occurred on the streets
I'll call them street dramas
Your shouts, and my doubts
Homelessness it seems
This love was craving for some change in the streets
A love beggar I was evidently
You left me there once crying
Crying
In the streets
A not-so-subtle drug deal happening in the middle of the road
But an exchange of happiness for depression
What rate?
Some hundred notes per smile

Isn't it odd for you walking down those same streets?
Nahal Nov 2020
Superposition amongst two worlds
Collision of chemistry, biology and physics
An addition of yin and yang
Spirituality
A oneness only a minority craves
An amalgamation of black and brown
Asian strings
African drums
Mud and
Coal
Is that not what makes up our world?
Not trees with leaves of green dollars

Our pain contributes to our art
Two of my favourite songs at the moment are called 'Superposition', and they give me a sense of synaesthesia, but not in the conventional sense of the word. More like an experiential or nostalgic synaesthesia, which is common for most people when they listen to music.
Both the artists come from a background different to the country they were born in. I recognise how I always try to make my accent pronounced when I am in unfamiliar territory, or if I feel like I want to be accepted. It is an interesting concept to consider.
I am reflecting a lot on what it means to be a minority by appearance, being Black or Asian in today's world even if you are born in a dominant first-world country. I am Iranian by ethnicity, but do I still fit in? I believe deeply in the oneness of humanity, and it's often minorities who desire that more than those who already have a sense of belonging.
Nahal Nov 2015
If you say te quiero fast enough,
The beginning almost sounds like take.
That is not to say I won't take,
But I will give so much more.
Nahal Nov 2015
We'll listen to reggae and fall asleep.
Me, in your arms. You, panting heavy,
happy sighs. Inhalation, exhalation, inhalation. I'm beginning
to dream these vivid images of life:
I start, you stop it. It's you and
me, like this incorruptible bond, feeling like
a salad of cables, of intertwined bodies
awaiting passion and love. It screeches
to a respectable halt. You'll play
those strings and I'll strain my voice-box.
No words, just our reggae tune spreading
via our ears, causing these... these goosebumps.
Tonight's ideal. Slow reggae, beautiful
harmonies. I could perish, let my heart
stop to this song: I'd die ecstatic.
Nahal Oct 2019
She understood
Twisting the rusty tap
Trickling water to sprinting flow
Woooosshhhhh
Gravity pulls the earth's hydration intently with purpose
The tub fills to the brim
You pour a coconut-smelling, cheap bodywash
Not even bath gel
It foams and bubbles
Shiny, sparkly, spherical
You're now eight again
Excited by novel luxuries

Room temperature vs the bath water
Your foot burns as you put it in
Acclimatise foot, acclimatise
And now the total dip
The complete embrace of hot water

"The longer I lay there in the clear hot water the purer I felt"
From the Bell Jar
I relate
Nahal Mar 2019
The nature of my being
It's absolutely worth you seeing
I'm sporadic and unfocused
My brain swarms with ideas like locusts
The passion and subjection to spontaneity
When I'm sad and lost I pray to a deity
I can be doubtful of self
In these times, my emotions are stacked away high on a shelf
It's almost a cliche, it's a dusty bookcase
You wouldn't even be able to read my, generally animated, face
But get to know me, truly
I will feel everything in a manner: unruly
Right now it's time to know who I am
Ghormeh sabzi tastes better with a meat, such as lamb
Because I'm not vegetarian anymore
I used to be, with conviction, I'm sure
Don't tempt me with your lips
That's if you're looking for relationships
Tempt me with your personality
I want a sense of familiarity
Nahal Jul 2019
The Gate opened Truth
A herald of Unity
Eighteen Forty Four
Nahal Mar 2016
So you showed me your kite
It was green and red,
Contrasting,
Yet quite beautiful.
We'd sit on the edge of a bench
And fly it in the fields.
Watch it floating away
High into the universe.
It felt it was part of the majestic clouds:
***** of melted marshmallow.
You let me try to fly it
But I knew my strength
Wasn't enough.
I trusted you though.
As soon as I did
The kite pulled me firmly,
Brutally.
I felt sick.
My arms were weak.
Why, when you did it
You looked so strong and
So candidly powerful.
But when I did,
My life flashed before me:
The potent pull.
After a couple experiences
I chose not to fly it,
I just watched you
Time and again.
It got tiresome.
Tedious and mundane.
Dull green, faded red.
Kite high in the sky
Commanded by the unrelenting wind.
No longer did the clouds appear majestic,
Merely grey, an obnoxious grey.
And once they created raindrops every night
You carried on.
I stopped.
Even with the rain
You carried on.
Nahal Jul 2020
If I pour the entirety of self into a poem
Does it give the poem an ego?

If I pour nothing into it
Does it mean it's superficial?
Nahal Jul 2019
The smell
It made me well
Up

I realise
There's a guise
Behind those

Eyes, tears stream
An azure beam
Emotive

Dreams, this odour
It made me colder
Feel

Older, a nostalgia
A fear
A dear

Friend
Of the past
That didn't last

A smell that haunts to bits
A mix of smoke and musky perfume spritz
Nahal Sep 2020
The longing to receive feelings, the canvas craved
a mishmash of personality and purple anxiety.
Prime colours meeting new tones
smudged over palm and fingernails.

Back and forth from the murky water,
brushing intimate with the whiteness,
forging a new two-dimensional genesis.

The face became asymmetrical of
a female ethereal figure
surrounded by deep green, full-of-life leaves.
The purple surrounded her,
consuming her growth and trying to contain it.
It became the backdrop for her life.
This spiralling out-of-control thoughtlessness
this, in fact, deep rumination and self-destruction.

Sat painting for hours...

Paint all over hands, clothes, and sofa...

The backdrop of her life...

The backdrop of my life...
Nahal Jan 2019
Eight mere syllables to pour out
Pour out the melody of my
Poor little, worn out, ****** heart
It does not sit well on a sleeve
Do some cardio exercise
To pump real lifeblood around it
It demands drama and passion
Considering its outer life
Has not even a slight rhythm
Nahal Jul 2019
I'm walking snail-like and steadily
from rock to rock,
pebble to pebble,
aiming not to fall flat on my face

A friend holds out their vein-laden hand,
and another holds their their back strong
I grasp on tightly
pushing my palms into the muscles of their shoulders
and clenching the assertiveness out of each finger

Supportive, marble statue friends
I am as a test for them to help me waddle
across nature's obstacle course
to the beautiful, bountiful waterfall across the seemingly small stream

I can't tiptoe
I want to dip my toes in
I want to let go and just walk and flow and be free
something inside gives me a push
stop, don't walk
you may fall and cry
or ominously die

I arrive at the waterfall
climb
strengthen my limbs
I made it
I'm in

Wave frantically from across the rocks
from a seemingly gigantesque cave
take a snapshot of ten minutes' ****** effort
and calorific expenditure

This is worth it
this is nature calling
the soul is swimming within the earth's loving waters
bathing
savouring
happy
Nahal Jan 2020
The women I know
and their nostalgia.

The traditional habits of immigrant women
culture gleaning from their pupils
a yearning to go home
language beckoning from their tongues
past their turmeric teeth

These are homemade women
I love and admire them
their history has made today stunning and golden
I am the admiring sunflower and they are the sun

Together let's warm up leftovers
and eat them for breakfast
Nahal Dec 2015
Can you feel it right now?
The development of something quite wow
You called me a wave,
I leave the shore, come back, and save
You from this state
I call it fate
I describe myself as a tide
I thought you could confide
In this tidal wave of emotion
Derived from the ocean
Nahal Apr 2017
I have gnarled, uneven branches
Crumpled leaves, some of which sit at my feet
I am a thick tree
Grown this way since I was a sapling
I am nature's poetry
I am brown and cultured, wrinkled because of laughter
Too I am marked by burn scars and deforestation
I may find my worth in the summer
when my leaves are more beautiful
But I am learning I am worth myself
Majestic in size,
Provider of shade,
Perspective,
And open to life...
Nahal Dec 2015
And as I was admiring your beauty,
You were melting away...
Nahal Jul 2017
...what has **** sapien evolved into?
Because your psychology will forever fascinate me
The beta, alpha, egos, emotions
You have been by far my favourite category of being to analyse
The solidarity is bliss
Smells, touches, kisses, yearning
Remembered like a stain on my sullied glass mirror
This spectrum that exists of masculinity
The disease of gender roles to be eradicated
The vaccination feminism to be prescribed
Nahal Jun 2016
The waterworks of my eyes
Perform regularly;
Filling every pore in my cheeks.

With a simple sentiment
A tear will shed
And another, and another.

Provoke my inner sensitivities,
And more rivers will flow
Until they reach the ocean of my lips.

With blunt scrutiny too,
My eye will hasten
To water the flowers on my neck.

And love, and love,
And hurt, and pain
All like a citric juice in one’s eyes,
Or the sharp sting of onion,
But not a sad film,
For it should caress the heart
To destroy the stability
And bring forth rain and thunder.  

The waterworks of my eyes
Perform regularly;
Filling every pore in my cheeks.
Nahal May 2020
I'm stuck.
The tears I cry
don't turn into gold.

Kintsugi
I thought if I was broken
I would be replaced with gold.

Selfish earthly tears
state of emergency
more like sterling silver than nine carat gold.

Films romanticise tears
only on beautiful faces
Oscars and Golden Globes.
Nahal Nov 2020
Sometimes love forces us to create.
Other moments in love, we're obliged to live.
How much can you rely on fate?
Who does that leave you with?

I used to find my mind was a star
shooting poetic verse
at speeds that led it afar,
across the entire universe.

Today, I am uninspired to write a poem
What even is poetry
without love, I'm questioning why I'm

not as inspired as I used to be.
Now it's one, it used to be some.
Love is blind and now, I cannot see.
Nahal Dec 2020
This is December,
Seeing one’s breath in the mist
In the midst of conversation.

Snow may blanket paths
covering crispy leaves, feet
Crunching on them with each step.  

A fire may seek
The roast of marshmallows
And the oven, an abundance of roast veg.

Hugged tight by coats and
Scarves, and loved ones
Whilst ink darkness blotches the sky by early evening.

This is December,
A frosty cold permeates the outside,
But a loving closeness permeates inside.
Nahal Mar 2020
Despite letters appearing the same size on a screen
The size in terms of profundity of a word
Differs completely

A short word
It can carry so much more weight
Than a long word, metaphysically

Love for example
Its meaning infinite
As it binds peoples, universes

God for example
Obviously starkly contrasting for everyone
But its meaning inexplicable

True for example
What does one know
Truth is one, therefore complex
Nahal Feb 2021
As I awake,
my lids bloom open
like flowers, like

irises, and pupils
like mini planets.
I have universal vision!

I stretch,
arms extended to either side of my body,
and I softly exhale love.

A oneness of breath,
oneness of heartbeat,
all synchronised and the same.

I run to the sphere, we know so well:
its greens and blues,
and embrace it.

— The End —