#shihab

[rune-arts]

"شوفت وشك نور ازاي" -شهاب

Otmar looks so adorable 🥰

[syuuper-archive]

human designs for my skyfolk kids! i figure they visit earth for vacations sometimes, and have fun trying to fit in

alya: they/them, 5′11″, asleep or trying to sleep anjam: they/them, 5′7″, training for a triathalon shihab: they/them, 5′7″, personal trainer anwaar: they/them, 5′5″, trying to make everyone call them sunny d. no one will qamar: they/them, 5′, reads history and sociology textbooks for fun

[explore-chat]

Burning the Old Year

by NAOMI SHIHAB NYE Letters swallow themselves in seconds.   Notes friends tied to the doorknob,   transparent scarlet paper, sizzle like moth wings, marry the air. So much of any year is flammable,   lists of vegetables, partial poems.   Orange swirling flame of days,   so little is a stone. Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,   an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.   I begin again with the smallest numbers. Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,   only the things I didn’t do   crackle after the blazing dies. 

[syuuper-archive]

and so the sun was born, and learned of their first sin, and learned of their first virtue -

[syuuper-archive]

The Official Height Ref

they dont have canon heights and never will but this is how they all are In Comparision

shihab looks angery but theyre just rlly determined

also none of them have genders so they/them works fine

[syuuper-archive]

shihab and anjam race a lot, which is pretty silly bc there’s no destination and they’re the same speed anyway

[syuuper-archive]

they all have names now!

Anwaar is the oldest, then the twins Anjam and Shihab, then the soft Qamar, then Alya. Anwaar loves telling stories of the Old Days, despite the fact that they’re much too young to have been there. Thier stories are pretty good anyway.

[explore-chat]

Kindness

by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth. What you held in your hand, what you counted and carefully saved, all this must go so you know how desolate the landscape can be between the regions of kindness. How you ride and ride thinking the bus will never stop, the passengers eating maize and chicken will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho lies dead by the side of the road. You must see how this could be you, how he too was someone who journeyed through the night with plans and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow. You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore, only kindness that ties your shoes and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread, only kindness that raises its head from the crowd of the world to say It is I you have been looking for, and then goes with you everywhere like a shadow or a friend.