Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sam Bowden Dec 2017
My heart does not race;
my palms do not sweat.
The knots in my stomach are gone.
My mouth forms an easy smile.
My arms fold gently around her.
Her curls float in the wind
while I count clouds
and my blessings.
I am steady,
like tranquil waters.
Let comes what comes.
Let go what goes.
Allahu alam al qadr.
This isn’t a manic, impossible love.
It doesn’t burn with a fury;
it doesn’t have to defy all the odds.
This love is serendipitous and sweet.
It is simple, and soft,
like a summer breeze
gently rocking lovers
in a hammock to sleep.
For once,
I don’t have it bad.
I have it good.
nsw  Dec 2019
nsw Dec 2019
Last night I had a dream
..It was more of a message
A letter from my father
I haven't seen him in years
His voice was unknown
But hearing this note
And seeing his visage of joy
It took away all of my fears
But brought me my fate
You see.. my father passed away
Just about six years ago
But in that vision he was full of life
It was like he arose from the deathbed
Soon I woke up
And the only thing I could say
Was alhamdulilah

- 12/12/19
Sam Bowden Sep 2017
This is a thoroughly post-modern phenomenon.

[Breathe, don't be nervous. It's fine. Wallah, you're not doing anything wrong.]

Digitally arranged meetings with ostensible strangers yet with more familiarity than our ancestors could imagine.
An arranged meeting,
a warm greeting,
a sensing,
a feeling.

“Are you Sami?”
“I am,” as I posture for a hug.

[She’s actually more beautiful than I expected. Her ample curls smell like conditioner and sunshine.]

“So you’re Kuwaiti?"
"Yea, I moved here when I was 18, to Kansas of all places."
"To be honest, I had to look up the emoji flag from your profile. My Muslim WhatsApp group helped me out.”
“Oh, okay. So you’re Muslim?”
“Yea, I was raised Muslim; my mom married a Kuwaiti in the 80s, blah blah blah.”
“What? Your mom lived in Kuwait?”
“Yea, kinda crazy, I know, but it’s a small world.”

[Small worlds make the gaps between souls smaller.
Who knew such a small place could leave such a big impact on so many lives?
Certainly neither of us.
Allah y3alam.]  

“Why do lesbians discriminate against bisexuals? You’d think of all people, they wouldn’t be so judgmental.”
“You’d think, but you’d be wrong. It’s like we have a plague.” Her voice goes on, but my mind drifts off.

[Tortoise-shell glasses, beautiful lashes, manicured eyebrows that frame flickering dark eyes, encased in a forest of curls, legging laced thighs, oh my. ::Deepsigh. Pay attention to what she’s saying! Oh my, she’s my type. This is bad. No, no, hamdilah, this is good.]

“Do you want another round?” the bar keep’s inquiry snaps me back to reality. I interrupt to suggest a change of location. [Perhaps something less commercial, less public, less straight, more private, and more intimate.]
“It’s only a short walk.”
“Yea, let’s do it.”

[By short walk, I mean three doors down from the bar. The perks of suggesting the venue.]

“Shoes off?”
“Yea, it’s habit, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”

She sits, crosses her long legs, and gives me this look. My heart flutters; I remember my manners:
“Can I make you a drink? What’s your poison? Gin or *****?”
I mix our drinks and think:
[She must like me.
This is good.
I’m glad we did this digital dance to find romance.
What a treasure, finding this post-modern habibi.
Lucky me.]
Alas! Nomenclature deviated.
Now, for exploitations.
Phew! Whenever I recall
The emergence of rosary and tesibiu
That makes the Oracle beads
Lose fist in the days,
I summoned pause to my tears.
Fine chaffs have cover our eyes
That all we sight is good but lies
Jesus is beautiful, Mohammed is strong
Hmmmn! Devil is ugly and weak?
Luther king dream I reveried
Marxism: archived in my cafe
Have and have not classes
Religion: ***** of the masses
Trauma flows in the atheists' blood:
There is no God but fate

Oh! Our priests in robe
Covering their heads with load of scarfs
A self torment to the brain.
Their beards touched their chests
While their trousers fight
3rd world war with the ground
As they open ajar their mouths
To chant alhamdulilah recitations
For saka and yummies beckon.
Is that what Mohammed taught them?
Oh! Our Priests in lucre suits
Yet, their protrude bellies peep through,
Heaving high and low
Like that of the narrow escaper.
Mouthach of Herbert Macaulay
Curved like a bow wield.
Halleluyah starts their incantations
Their lips released the splits,
''Dance to the front
As you drop your offering and donations,
Sow big so that God can bless you like David''.
And we gullible oaf sow in their basket.
How many candles have they told us to buy,
It is to solve your qualms
Or bring stable electricity to Nigeria.
Who are they emulating! Christ?

They are allies to the fiend
Politicians in disguise
We build that school
That we can't afford the price.
Our pennies bought them wings to fly
While we crawl on our knee
Struggling to get d ruins
That fall from their tables.
They rollick on our sweat
Forgetting the horse that ride them thirst
Though, we are the bunch of ignoramus.
But the Holy books they carried
Shall fall them to their grave
If they don't stop enterprising...
(Contemporary issue)
It will end in praise.
Composed by: St Ylexinho.

— The End —