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Tears, Knives, and Blood:

Things I Want To Tell My Mother

I hate myself for not seeing your pain sooner

Knives, Cutting Boards, Knives, Cutting Boards,

You blamed The onions for your tears but it was actually my father’s fault.

He is a good man, but still he is a man. No matter how kind he is, he will forget that as strong as you are, as resilient as you are, you are not unbreakable

You are not unbreakable

There were times when your food was extra salty and I knew you were crying over the stove

Your lips might lie but your food betrays you

Your tears are flowing in my veins

I bleed out when you cry

Tears, Tissues, and Trust Issues

You are the essence of what it means to be a women

You are as strong as steal and as light as air

You are both the flower and the wind that blows away its petals

I am literally made from your blood

I flow in you and you flow in me

And when my blood boils it’s because I inherited your short temper

I am you

You are me

Mother and daughter

Sisters in soul

Separated by time and space

Her pain for you can never let her

be happy for me.

No matter what I do to make her proud,

her pride is overshadowed by her regrets for you.

On the day of my graduation I stood in front of her

in my gown with a tassel

hanging down my head,

a first class graduate

she looked at you

with tears in her eyes and said

‘it should’ve been you’.

I wonder if

on the day of my wedding

she’ll be fixing your hair instead of my veil

and holding your hand instead of my trail.

I wonder if on the day of my first child’s birth,

she’ll come to congratulate you

on being an aunt before

she congratulates me on being a mother.

I’m not jealous,

I’m not hurt;

I just wish she had enough love to go round.

I’m sick of patting my self

on the shoulder when I succeed and

drying her tears

when you hurt her.

| doorkeeperoftheheart

An Immigrant's tale

I visit home

Every now and then

To renew my vows

To assure my country

I’m still in love with it

It still means the world to me

To fall in love with my heritage

All over again

To see the shade of my hair

In the night of the sky

To let the lights

Project a slideshow

Of a thousand memories

Into the back of my mind

To walk freely

Without the glares, stares and whispers

Of curiosity and ignorance

I visit home

Every now and then

To renew my vows

Until the honeymoon ends

And I return

To a guilty love affair

With a country I secretly hate

| doorkeeperoftheheart

Minds, Souls & Hearts

Like robots we walk past the turn styles;

oblivious to who stands in front and who walks behind.

We are even oblivious of ourselves;

our every move, action and word of tongue.

Who are we?

Humans lost without observation, touch, smell, sight, and acknowledgement.

Are we really alive just because we are able to walk and talk?

Are we really free from the voices and assumptions of ourselves and others?

Are we fearless and less worried of what others may be thinking?

Fact is no one knows whats going on inside but why do we think it shows in

faces?

The faces that which we show those we direct ourselves towards; with

happiness, coolness and excitement.

Just for one moment, could we be happy that we made someone other than

ourselves feel so content and less pain from our struggles?

-Aldijana P.

Home

I want to drown

In the ocean

Of your eyes

And lose myself

In your

Laughter

And weave

My fingers

Through yours

And be blanketed

By the warmth

Of your breath

And hang to the

Edge of your

Every word

And climb into a small

Uninhabited corner

Of your heart

And put down my burden

Accumulated

Over lonely years

And finally

Arrive

Home.

| doorkeeperoftheheart

Burdensome Hope

I know. I know where you've been I've been there too I know the burden Of that unceasing hope That at times feels unbreakable And at times Just weighs you down to the Darkest depths of self doubt It comes in the morning As you close the door behind you And welcome the breeze of rebirth 24 new hours and anything can happen Life can unfold at any moment You smile at the prospects Embrace the hope The day quickly wears you down As the sun reaches the midst of its journey You ache for a glimpse A glance You desperately hold the gaze Of a passerby And try to keep the hope afloat It's struggling to escape You struggle to hold on Finally night comes And you can't escape the night You linger a little longer Between the cold streets And the emptiness you call home Phone in hand Silent No incoming call No ring Get on the tube Avoid eye contact Try to be invisible It's easier Arrive at the door Struggle for the keys Carry your load alone Over the threshold Into a darkness that swallows you And a microwave meal for one That awaits you Wash away the day's struggle Scrub the soles of your aimless feet Stand alone and embrace the warmth Of water on your skin Loneliness is not just emotional White clean sheets envelope you And suffocate you all at once That burdensome hope Seeps in through the window Close the blinds Hold the electronic device of your choice In your arms Just for a voice to break the silence Just for a light to break the darkness And that strand of hope Looms over your bed And lingers through the night Like a cloud That won't rain nor leave Awaiting your awakening Zena

The start of solitude

This is it The start of your solitude It always begins this way You attend your friends' weddings One by one You see them off Waving from their cars As they drive towards their happily ever after The clanking of the cans dragging behind them Just married. They soon stop saying It'll be you next Instead they whisper behind your back Poor girl The smiles Become sadder and sadder The ones that are defiant say You will find someone It will happen The concerned ones ask Where are you going wrong? Are being picky? As if you were given A selection of God's greatest creations And you turned them all away As if the choice you make now Won't determine the rest of your life As if you are not choosing a person To whom you will offer the power to Break you But have faith that he'll hold you together instead As if you are choosing curtains for your living room Not a man for your Eternity This is it The start of your solitude It gets easier Soon you will become invisible Just a sad tale they tell Picky girls like you Zena

Why I am Tired of Defending Islam and Why I Can't Stop

The first time I remember ever having to defend myself because of my religion came right after the 2001 attack of the Twin Towers. I remember not understanding why it happened and why people like my family, who had nothing to do with the terrorist attack and had condemned it every way, had to go out of their way to let others know that. We were hurting too. We lost loved ones and mourned the innocent lives taken. And as the country drew quiet for a moment of silent, we did too.

But it became our duty in society to step up our patriotism and prove to others we weren’t the bad guys. And if we didn’t hang an American flag on our front doors and cars, and if we didn’t modify the way we wore our hijabs or dressed, we weren’t American-enough. If we didn’t constantly talk about how awful the attack was or try and convince others that “not all Muslims are bad,” then we were them. We were the terrorists, too.

As I grew older and became more aware of what was going on in the news, it became apparent. Islam will almost always be automatically associated with terror because of the few-crazed extremist who taint our name every time they decided to blow something up.

When the Charlie Hebdo attack occurred, I personally felt attacked, as a journalist and writer. And before the story fully unfolded and before the details of the attack came into light, I found myself praying, actually praying, the attackers were not Muslim. That’s actually the first thing I find myself doing when things like this happen. Please don’t be Muslim. Because that is the last thing Muslims need, another reason for the world to wrongfully hate us. Another reason we must forcibly defend our selves.

I am proud to be a Muslim and Islam is a beautiful thing. There’s no doubt about that to me. But I am getting tired of defending my religion and my people against things that have nothing to do with my religion and my people. I’ll say this one last time (hopefully), Islam isn’t bad, neither are Muslims. We are poorly represented by the media and the extremist who associate themselves with our religion.

There is no connection between the four Charlie Hedbo attackers and I; why must I go out of my way to justify what they did. The killing of innocent people disgusts me. Saying that I condemn these attacks as a Muslim only feeds the misguided and screwed up perception the public has of Islam. That these attacks are “Islamic”. So I don’t condemn these attacks as a Muslim; I condemn them as a human, because these killings have no relationship with Islam, at all. Stop the association, please.

It is a shame that we live in a world where people are so quick and eager to take a stance and make judgments based on the limited information they are being fed. Muslims are not terrorist. Muslims are not ISIS. Muslims are not what the media plays us to be. Muslims are surely not people who attack the innocent.

Those people just so happen to be Muslim.

I wish I didn’t have to feel obligated to write this or tell it to someone near the water cooler at work. I wish I could mourn and grief over the innocent lives taken, like everyone else in the world. But I can’t. Because if we stay silent about events like this, the world will continue to link our name with theirs. And as a Muslim, I cannot allow that.

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I walked around Empty streets Looking for a place To call home Until I finally realized Home was a box of Memories I stuffed in the closet Of my mind.

Memories of smiles. Memories of smiles.

I look through them Like torn photos And laugh to myself

As I walk around Empty streets.

-akh.

Sea and sky

I sat down near the sea, It was now sunset. The sea was orange and blue, Just as my feelings were so true.

I was thinking of today, Another day had pass. Time had passed so fast, Without any last.

Soon, the darkness had appeared. I gathered all my thoughts of the day, And buried them all away. I stood up and walked by the bay, Feeling the cool breeze, So soothing I wanted to stay.

But there came a touch upon my shoulder, Which felt warm yet colder. I turned and my mind crashed of thunder, Because ‘Why have you approached?’ is all I wondered. The notions caused bolts of lightning, With that my eyes began to rain, While the pain started to entertain.

I tried to turn away, But not a chance of a slight sway. My eyes met yours, like the wave meets the shore. The creeping pain, deep to the core. You stood before me, Like a tide of misery. As your fingertips rested on my cheeks, To wipe the tears that flowed through like creek.

You embraced me so hard, My nerves and neurons started to spark, Like the fireflies in the dark. Your voice, your words echoed in my heart: ‘It’s me, my pride and I To please you, be by my side Or my existence will collide.’

Finally, you realized. I looked into your eyes, And words with which I replied: ‘You threw me away like a tide of tsunami, And now you pick me up like a seashell. This love was never that compelled, But I knew you oh very well. Like an old magic spell, Could you not tell?’

As the hours flew by, We cried over what and why. In the aftermath of an emotional tsunami. We sat down near the sea, It was now darkness. The sky was stars and moon, Under it you and I. Now, we will never have to say Goodbye. - Aqila -

Assalamu alykum, I submitted a poem earlier titled 'Sea and sky'. But made some changes due to some errors and resubmitted a new one. Kindly delete the previous entry and accept the latest one. Sorry for any inconvenience and Thank you for your time :)

walaikumaslam :)

no worries at all.

She Was - A Poem About Khadija

She was an army within herself.

The right balance of strong and soft,

Like refreshment from rain when

The land had been too dry for too long.

She was the hand wiping sweat

From his brow when coiled fear.

She was the first to believe.

She was support like pillars upholding faith.

She was motherhood like petals falling

Into themselves to protect.

She was a wife like wild flowers

Blooming in a battlefield saying

“I’m here! I will always be right here.”

And when they’d ask him to recount

On her behalf, he would answer saying:

“You’d have to have been there to see it.

She was far too extraordinary

To paint with words.”

Like a shooting star, flexing and molding.

Like a date tree, giving shade and relief.

Like the hope that follows fear.

Like the comfort that follows destruction.

Like the irony of being cut so deep by

The absence of someone, but somehow being

Repaired by their memory.

Like Khadija.

Like the love of his life.

City Nights

City streets,

The night is your bastard child.

And since police sirens

sound nothing like mothers' wails,

Take care of her,

Take care of her.

Adopted Muslim

I am no writer but I came across this blog and fell in love. I was adopted when I was 9 months old by an Indian Muslim family. My biological mother is black and a prostitute and my biological father is eskimo and is no longer allowed on U.S grounds. I am now 20 years old and I am so grateful that I am Muslim. I thank Allah SWT everyday for blessing me with an amazing Muslim family. I may look nothing like my Indian family, but they sure make me feel like I belong to no one else but them. Growing up they had put me into a Muslim private school and I had fell in love with Islam. If it wasnt for my Muslim family who knows where I would be right now. May Allah bless my parents and all parents around the world!

#<3 #youre amazing mashallahashallah #submission

You had me at hello

There is no measure of love that you have created for yourself. You are worth so much in this life to your family and your friends; which gets me wondering, how one person can be this strong, this influential, and this distinct in their actions and their words that I go on for hours during sleepless nights with them on my mind. Please do not ever think you are alone, as you will always have me for support. You are my motivation. You are my inspiration to achieve that which I had no desire to achieve. The way you affect my life and my decisions, I can unequivocally say that it is for the better. Your existence in my life has made tremendous my passion to realize myself in the future with my family and friends and hopefully with you. Life doesn’t usually go as planned, and if you marry one and I another, I will always remember you as that one person that was more than just a blip on my radar of existence. You will forever and always be a landmark in my insignificant, unworthy, and humiliating existence, and I will always feel blessed and honoured to call you one of my very few but deeply loved best friends. Please do not try to be modest, as you are the epitome of perfection. You are the only person that makes my heart beat faster and slower at the same time. It’s because I’m scared that you mean more to me than anyone else or maybe because there’s only one of you in this world. However, on the other hand, I sometimes wish that I had never met you. Then there would be no reason for me to impress you. There would be no reason for my feeble attempts in making you smile, to try and make myself even close to comparable as yourself, to try and bring myself to your admirable level of accomplishment and excellence. You are witty beyond measure, you are wise beyond reason. You are humorous without limits, and I’ve heard you’re actually not that bad of a chef. My darling, there is no woman that is as beautiful. You are radiant and majestic, and yet you remain reserved and humble through even the toughest experiences. Your patience and perseverance is unmatched by any. Your benevolent sympathy supports in the most arduous of situations. Please do not play coy, as you are the embodiment of prestige. You are the one person that is in my thoughts from the second I wake, until the moment I fall asleep; and still while I’m dreaming. And sometimes, more than anything, I want you to think of me. Sometimes, more than anything, I want to proudly proclaim to the world that you’ve chosen me for a friend. You’ve chosen me and my foolish and naive and stupid mistakes that have no place or purpose in your life, as someone that is worth your affinity. And I thank you for that. I pray for you to become the best you that you can be. I pray for you that you strive to make your Baba and Mama proud. I pray for you with which sincerity I have not for myself. I pray for you regardless of what happens. I pray for you now, and will pray for you until I pass from this world. Please, do not forget about me no matter what path we take in life. I am extremely thankful to God every day, that He has given me a priceless blessing as your friendship and existence in my life. And thus I strive in this life with revitalized vigor to make myself of capacity for myself and hopefully someone like you in the future. Please accept this crudely written piece from me. It is by no means special, the pleasure is all mine to have the opportunity to be writing this for someone that means more than the world to me; because quite frankly, you had me at ‘hello.’

#this is so sweet #submission

Bown Down

Breath a little deeper,

smile a little wider,

laugh a little louder,

forget the loud voices,

dismiss the dirty looks,

close your eyes to the bad,

bow down to the Creator,

prostrate until you can no longer,

bring yourself some peace,

do yourself a favor,

let yourself free

Anonymous

My father wishes I was born with a penis. Years I spent shrinking below his gaze, slooping shoulders forward, pushing breasts inward. My femaleness is a source of shame. My hormones, my moods, my body, always over scrutinized. My father would yell at me when my jaw cracked too loudly when I chewed, though he himself broke my jaw when I once wore a skirt too short - at age 5. My father wishes that I was born a boy. I was never called beautiful or called a princess like the other girls. I was told to study, study, study, get a degree, get a job, make money. Why? I am a girl. I am meant to be pampered and adored. Why should I chase vulgarities like money? My father broke all his promises to me and to this day I cannot truly trust a man. I'm sorry I was not born a man so I could beat you when you beat my mother.

#thank you for this submission #thank you for being so brave

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