born a sinner,
under crescent moons
and among chants of "talaq, talaq, talaq"
forced to hide behind a star studded veil to be preserved against blood thirsty eyes
glass bangles and silverware replaced the dolls in her hands and the fairyland of her dreams
led on a rose colored path, and into a gold painted cage marked marriage
greedy scars crafted by her lover marred the canvas of her body
only punctured fairy blue wings and dying embers of an electric soul remain
but she rises from the ashes,
sits on her velvet throne
and adorns the bejeweled crown
she reclaims the legacy of her goddess mothers,
durga and cleopatra
this time you don't get to see our strained faces,
this time you don't get to mock the dying fire of our eyes
because now,
we know our rights.
now we're armed with spears of knowledge.
we're the queens of our own kingdoms, unique in our reigns.
we were supposed to be treated like flowers, right?
but you threw us into the mud of your crimes
and we bloomed like lotuses,
reckless and vivacious.
we earned it all.              
                    - standing beside, not against

"that's the irony of loneliness, you see. all of us feel it." said ma with tears in her eyes.
with that, she picked up her bags and walked out from the world she had spent more than twenty years to build for us to a world of her own.

"what's my problem?" he asked.
"your problem is that you've got everything that you ever wanted and now you don't know what to do with it." she said.
"that makes me a bad human then." he looked up.
"that doesn't make you a bad human. that just makes you... human." she replied.

i like to write sometimes, i say.
sometimes.
i like to write when the sun is doing it's daily job of spraying my neighborhood with gold
or when i look up at midnight
and see tiny silver stars thrown carelessly on the black sheet of night sky
i like to write when sadness sits on my chest
or when worthlessness rattles in my bones
i like to write when i desperately have to pour my heart out and
the ink of my pen becomes my blood
and the words i write
become my smiles and tears,
the paper becomes my skin,
full of wounds
i like to write about sadness, happiness, beauty, tragedy, thoughts, feelings
i like to write about the everything in nothingness.

- hiba

beyond this so
called city of a
concrete jungle

lies a field

where golden
honey thick
sunlight

makes my dark
skin glow

bright sunflowers
and red roses

go wasted under
my swift feet

and dreamers
still find time

to look at the
moon

and to steal
starlight

for their
glittering eyes

i'm leaving early
tomorrow

paint me on your
dusty canvas

and make me
immortal

when i'm gone,

floating in space

and suffocated by
dreams i can't
create.

- hiba

homemade strawberry jam.
lullabies. late night rains.
a plum from grandma's garden.
going down the ferris wheel.

scars from childhood.
change. growing up.

colorful swirl candy at the carnival.
a room after a party. slow songs.

your words. your soul. & your lies.
stuck somewhere between
love and friendship.
falling. "almost."
back to strangers.

goodbyes. leaving.

fresh pears and ripe peaches.
coming back. memories; regrets.
the ******. 0 missed calls.

autumn sunsets. revolution.

& you.
        ~ some things are so beautiful they hurt

- hiba