There is this place
It’s called Palestine
It used to be pretty
And peaceful and lively
The people lived as they do
Everywhere else.

Then there came to be this place
It’s called Israel
Which is basically Palestine
But mercilessly occupied
It attacked Palestine
And took over most of its land.

So now in Palestine
Or what’s left of it
Where there used to be quaint houses
There’s just a lot of rubble
With broken and burnt doors, utensils and limbs
Jutting out from underneath.

Where there used to be bright smiles
That could light up the world
There now are tears,
burn marks and bloodied cuts
That can rend any human heart
Except those that are not human.

It is a war, not between states
Not between races, nor between fates
Nay, this is a bigger war, one of faith
At least, that is how it started
But now, it is between
human and non-human.

Tell me, please
Is it human to **** innocent people
For the sake of self, and the sake of  hate?
Is it human then also, to remain quiet
And watch such tyranny be?
It must also be human, to  point guns at 4 year olds.

And by this definition,
Humans of this world, humans that feel
Are not humans at all, because they care
And those that don’t, well
They’re humans at their prime
The most evolved of them all.

Israel, I salute you, a salute full of mock
At your utter humanity, and benevolence
Your bombs when they land
With the cheers of your people,
And your guns when they point
At 4-year old terrorists; surely they can ****.

Palestine, I stand with you, sincerely
Your children, your people, your land and your peace
Are my children, my people, my land and my peace
Their bombs when they land, make my prayers fiercer
Their guns when they shoot, make my eyes water
But know this, Palestinians, we are one.

So when they shoot you, I bleed
And when they bomb you, I ache
When they hurt you, I feel the pain
And when you cry for help, I pray
We are blood, we are one body
We are the Ummah, we will rise.

Until then we pray, we pray and we try
Dear Palestine, stay strong, stay firm…
Help shall come, in ways unimaginable
Do not weaken, and do not grieve
You will overcome them, if you are true believers
Allah has promised, and His promise he upholds.

~Moniba.

What do you do
When your heart yearns for one thing
And your brain wants another?
You listen a little bit to both.
But what do you do
When it is your heart that is in dispute
A half wants one thing
And the other wants another
Is it better to do then neither
Or is it better to mute them both
And listen to the conscience?

What do you do
When your conscience goes to war
With your heart and your mind?
You listen to the majority.
But what do you do
When you know the minority to be true
Because in fact, the heart is forever
In love with the conscience.
It is the mind, the mind it is
That tricks the heart
Into believing that
It is in quarrel with the conscience.

So what do you do, really?
You be a good human
And listen to the conscience.

~Moniba.

A solitary tear
trickled down
her waiting cheeks.

A solitary sigh
escaped from within
her restrained lungs.

She fantasized.

A solitary thought
circled tirelessly
her fading peace.

A solitary prayer
escaped from within
her restless heart.

She endured.

A solitary wish
disturbed greatly
her beauty sleep.

A solitary memory
escaped from within
her buried past.

She stayed awake.

~ Moniba.

The little girl clutched her balloon tightly
Careful not to let it go.
She loved it and wanted it to stay with her
Forever.
Alas, she clutched too tightly,
The balloon flew up to the ceiling of the room.
Horrified, she looked. Determined, she climbed
One height to another, to get her balloon.
Stretching her tiny hands out, she reached the string.
And just when she had it, she fell.
From height to floor she fell
Hurting her fragile frame.
The balloon in her hand, she braved the fall.
And just when she smiled
The sweet smile of success
Her balloon burst.
Her face fell.
The child grew up.

~Moniba.

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me all her secrets
She could not speak, she could not hear
Her fingers spoke, her eyes heard all

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me to always walk straight
Crooked things she said are bad
Unless they're crooked body parts

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me to always speak straight
Crooked words she said plant doubts
Unless they're crooked with natural fault

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me to always work straight
Crooked ways she said dig graves
Unless they're crooked by form

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me how to live a life-
With her crooked ways and crooked words;
In a not-so-crooked manner

~Moniba.

The golden leaves, ardent in their sheen and whisper
Their slender stems, crisp in their sway and grain
The long branches, graced by gold, hazed by willowy pulchritude
The trunk, straight, firm and glistening, exalting the golden
The  hidden, outreaching roots, left to imagination

Suppose the tree is life, its leaves our time
Each falling in its own momentum.
Suppose the stems are relations, and the branches emotions
Golden, brilliant, each prevailing over the other.
Suppose the trunk is purpose, and the roots your belief
The trunk firm, exalting your life; the roots hidden but obvious to the light.
The golden tree for your golden life.

~Moniba.

A million twinkling stars
On a purple-grey sky.
A million strands of grass
On a wet brown land.
A million mites of dust
In the air I breathe.
A million specks of rust
On the bench in front.
A million rays of light
From the lamp-post proud.
A million dreams in sight
In the overwhelming crowd.
~Moniba.

Carefully, she placed each brick
Built the walls, fixed the gates
Locked the latch, hid the keys.

Nervously, she touched her heart
She put the keys, where they belonged
To tear her walls, you need her heart.

In her heart, below the trust
Beside her love, lies the key
You get the key, you get the rest.

Find the key, pick the latch
Open the gates, tear the walls
And destroy the carefully placed bricks.

~Moniba.

Black crows, circling the sky
Beneath dark clouds, alone they fly

Coconut trees, with lush green blades
Swaying leaves, and trunks with plaids

Gravel, marked with tire tracks and stones
Footsteps strange and familiar it owns

Along the road, a light turns on
A swing set, a porch seat, a life is born

And here sits the poet, watching with awe
Looking with her pen, writing what she saw

~Moniba.

A nobody is
a person
of no importance.
But you, my dear
are important to me
as you always shall be.

So if you're anything
you're not a nobody.

But if you insist
on being
a nobody,
well then
I'll humour you.

And say
you're a nobody.

But allow me
to elaborate.

You are a nobody
bent on being
a somebody.
And the only thing
stopping you
from being
Somebody,
is nobody.

And hence,
we deduce,
that you
are a nobody
that is a
somebody.

Beautiful albeit damaged
by life.
Strong albeit afraid
of yourself.
Strange albeit familiar
to me.
And very
Extraordinary.

Yes, you're a nobody.

~Moniba.

She said she liked uniting black and white.
To wash the black with the purity of white,
And to swipe the white with black, and make it invincible.
Once and for all.
I told her she was prejudiced.
That white wasn't pure, and black wasn't evil.
That they were colours that,
When united, make grey.

~Moniba.

There's this eagerness in her blood
A quickness in her breath
A pressure behind her eyes
A sea she cannot hold.

There's this agony in her pulse
A lost feeling in her chest
A blur in her sight
A flood she cannot control.

There's this promise in her thoughts
A past reminder in her will
A calmness in her wet eyes
An emotion she shall withhold.

~Moniba.

A tiny presence in the womb,
he listened to her voice
and fell in love
at first hearing.

He heard her and felt her
and tried not to hurt her,
and waited patiently
for nine whole months.
...
His happy days
began and ended
the day he breathed his first,
and his mother breathed her last.
...
The story of his life continued,
first love never forgotten,
second love never known,
third love never owned.
...
Beliefs, hopes and expectations
confused him as everything did,
he yearned and yearned to make ends meet
but never quite succeeded.

His dreams floated
in the river of his Future
where it met his Present
and passed his Past,
like unrequited love.
...
The boy deprived of love,
finally found love
when he stopped looking for it
in humans.

His dreams then ascended
from the river to the sky
and met with reality
colliding with bliss on its way.
...
Thus went the story of his life.

~Moniba.

She moulded them
And shaped them
And coloured them
And placed them
Whichever way she wanted.
Words listened to her
And obliged.

She wished it could be the same with the humans in her life. But there was a reason she got on better with words.

~Moniba.

That black hole
The one that ***** everything in
But still remains empty
Unsatiated.
The one which remains hollow,
Doesn't break, doesn't crack.
It takes everything in,
And waits.
For the perfect time.

Yes, that's the one I harbour.

~Moniba.

There in the state of solitude
She sat, her head bowed down
Looking for the vital signs of life
The soft light of dusk, caressed her cheeks

What misfortune had come to her
She knew, and only God knew
She prayed to God, dusk prayed with her
And then twilight fell upon

She lifted her head and gazed up to the sky
Then felt her worries dissolve up high
Her disquietude just vanished
Solutions came to her

Allah helped her through
She thanked Him for that
And twilight thanked Him with her
She needed this now

Those moments of solitude
Engraved upon her heart
She’ll never forget them
‘cause there, she found God!…
~Moniba.