Don’t.

Don’t.
Don’t judge her by her clothes
Or by the perfume she wears.
Don’t.
Don’t snicker because you can
Or backbite thinking you’re pure
Actually, don’t back bite at all.
Just don’t.
Look beyond what is seen
Perceive beyond observation
Come sit below.
Where your heart is hard, soften
Where your mind is soft, harden
Let divine love enter you,
Don’t resist.
Please don’t.
To blame is not to conquer,
To slay is not victory.
Taste your own defeat.
Burn down these walls of hate!
We’re from the same glacier
Flowing down the same mountains.
Forgive; forget rituals
Don’t defame what is our fame.
Don’t.

Stay by, mum.

I’ve seen too many families this year lose their mothers, and it breaks me apart. Looking at them spending their first eid like that, it is very heartbreaking. My mum is… well, she’s too good for words. And I can’t imagine life without her. I don’t want to. Go give your mum a hug, although she’s worth so much more. You only get one.

The hunt for your missing glasses,
Glasses you seem to lose everyday,
That ready smile and quick laugh,
That starts me off on my way.

Those times when you play around,
Those moments when you’re high,
And when I’m feeling too normal,
You take me to the sky.

When I came into this world, breathing hard,
I didn’t know what this place was,
But your voice, all pained and scarred,
Caressed me to peace.

The many times you saved me from that fall,
I crawled, I cried, I tried to walk,
But every time you made the right call,
And hugged me to life again.

Those school dilemmas, those stories,
Stupidity and silly worries!
But you turned them into glories,
And made me the queen.

But as I grow older, I see more,
I see the times you laugh to hide,
And breaks me to the core,
When you still laugh some more.

Now I don’t want to worry you,
I want to take you away,
Where the grass is green and the sky blue,
Where I can protect you.

I burn inside when I realise,
The times I’ve hurt you and you’ve forgiven,
I scream and shout within,
Because I always took you given.

Mummy, stay by forever,
I don’t know how you do it, but stay by,
You’re the reason I am who I am,
A place without you? I’d probably die.

Mummy, thanks for being who you are,
Thanks for being my best friend,
Thanks for being everything,
I’ll take care of you till the end.

And although I might not show it,
Now I know,
When you’re silently crying yet smiling,
And feeling low.

You’ve been there to sacrifice,
Every time I could turn to you,
Mother, for every need you suffice,
Now you can look to me.

I offer everything I have,
It was never mine, it’s yours,
For you, I’d push the world aside,
Mummy, for you are my oars.

Sometimes, it’s time for the young’uns


I respectfully address the parents out there. I know you guys love your children to bits and would be ready to sacrifice yourselves for anything they might need or want, and I truly salute your patience and love when it comes to dealing with the spoilt brats of today, but sometimes, you need to let loose.
Kids when younger are most vulnerable to every sort of vice and evil in the world, and when they grow up they are prone to swaying wrongly still, because that’s the sort of place this is. That’s the dunyawe’re to be tested for. It’s good you want to protect your children from all that sinister smoke, but maybe sometimes it’s time to not do just that.
Knowing how much to let loose, comes with age and maturity level of each individual kid. No two can be alike. Being confined to your loving embrace and protective clutch has its charms, but kids need to go out and breathe for themselves. To look around and observe what the ways are, how people live, behave, react, feel, think, do. To see what Allah has made and how everything’s been carved with such utmost precision and perfection, that is something of a spiritual ascent and every human should experience that. As long as one is young and still needs parents to support his every thought, yes, the mummy and daddy have to mould him. But as he grows and begins to think himself, too, let him. Tell him what is right and what is wrong, but let him.
Let him explore different thoughts, if he is uncomfortable exploring them with you, it’s okay to let him do that by himself. Although most decisions parents make are better that how the child may express himself, but as he grows he needs to take decisions. He needs to become more confident. Let him go somewhere; let him have some time to himself. Send him to a trustworthy location to help him see around and develop himself a little before he comes back. He will always remain your kid, but to develop that relationship so it blossoms into something more than a parent-child blood link, you have to give him some courage, have confidence in him.
He will have to experience things where you won’t be there, well then, let him. Don’t cover him and wrap him up so much he frustrates to depression and eventually destroys himself. It is naturally a need for every person to think for himself, make discoveries only he would revel in. And his love for his parents will grow when he realizes they’re there, at his back, and he can indulge a little part of his life mentally strengthening himself at a time when he does not have many responsibilities. Listen to your kid and let him do something he thinks he must.
I do not criticize parents, I just want to say, in today’s world, you have to let them live a little for themselves, too, because looking outside through a window is the worst nightmare imaginable for the youth.
So trust Allah and let your child love and respect you more than he already does.

Cover do I still


I don’t cover,
To hide my hair,
I don’t cover,
To never let it show,
I don’t cover,
For a statement,
I don’t cover,
To be labelled,
I don’t cover,
Because it makes sense,
I don’t cover,
To be judged outwardly,
I don’t cover,
To make their thoughts turn,
I don’t cover,
To become saintly,
I don’t cover,
For people,
I don’t cover for that,
But cover do I still,
I cover,
Because that’s my identity,
I cover,
Because I don’t fear,
I cover,
Because God’s love is difficult,
I cover,
Because the path is rough,
I cover,
Because He says so,
I cover,
Because He wants me to,
I cover,
Not to show my piety,
I cover,
To please the One,
I cover,
Because His love is true,
I cover,
Because He rewards,
I cover,
Because He does too.

Tribute to Dadabus galore

To know someone’s sitting by forever,
And they lose their patience never,
To know they love you, but might not show it,
Understand, though we might not know it,
To know there’s a silent hero among us,
Though without all that popularity fuss,
A miracle from the heavens in the sky,
Even in misery, the streams of life never dry,
To know someone who’s had an individual past,
And a personality which in history shall last,
To know amidst us sits someone grand,
Who knows how to take a strong stand,
To know all this and to know that he,
Is our Dadabu and shall always be,
A miracle from the heavens in the sky,

A spirit which shall never die.


Because my Dadabu truly is one in a million 🙂 I gave this poem to him, and his mixed emotions were adorable since he isn’t very expressive emotionally, something I get from him.


Forever perfect

It’s proper lovely weather we’re having these days, the kind of weather one wishes for and perhaps imagines only in dreams or heaven. But now, the cool winds and cloudy skies make me fancy I’m somehow living in a fairytale. A fairytale where the weather is absolutely perfect – where it’s never too hot and never too cold, where the air itself seeps into one’s body and soothes it down, chasing out any worries and anxieties of the time. It’s the kind of atmosphere one wishes one could have all the time, that grandiose aura enriching the happy mood of the house. The birds sing, and the trees dance, the leaves play a soft music and blend into this beautifully synchronized melody with the soft gales.
A twitch at the back of my mind though, a tiny twitch that seems to grow larger and larger till it encompasses my entire being and knocks me down into a valley of despair and discomfort. My wary eyes dart to the sides, my hands stay balled up waiting for the impending disaster, the disaster that would once and for all devour me whole.
Nothing really happened, though, nothing happened physically that is. But if we go deeper, dig into the complex folds of human mentality, we see that is exactly how we live every single day. In a trance does everything else pass by as we watch in confusion as to what reality is. It’s like a rollercoaster, a rollercoaster ride that ends before you realize what happened to the days you passed by.
But that’s only the case if you jump onto the rollercoaster, for it takes you into the very heart of the world, where people stuck now feel abandoned and in their desolation curse the moment they decided to take the fatal ride. The constant attention to detail of all things that do not matter when you give them a thought is what eats these people up.
We’re lucky. Lucky in the way that we do not need to take the rollercoaster. We know we were sent here for a very tiny amount of time, a time that was to be spent as God told us to, and that even for this time He sent us every good thing we have today. He sent us excerpts of Jannah, so we know what we are looking forward to. But to find those excerpts, we need to let the mind let go. Let go of those incoherent fashionable statements, that greed and hunger, that want but not need.
For the time we let go, Allah shall hold us up and keep us going. Then can we look forward to the kind of perfect weather forever, because the realization that this is temporary will keep us going, keep us fighting.
I sit by my window and enjoy the weather peacefully, I’m not stuck in that dark abyss of actual nothingness, I am at peace with the world because I’ve let it go. It can go wherever it wants, because when I let go I fall into His hands, and His hands shall take me to a place which I shall happily call my abode, the abode that was always destined for us.

Harsh Hearts

Striving to continuously cope,
In a world where the heartless reign,
I try to extend my sphere of hope,
And allow His Bounty Rain.
I’ve been pushed off the ledge at times,
And stomped over by the crowds,
Accused of the most heinous crimes,
Only because I promoted Your love.
I try to live the way You say,
Lonely, but mercifully content,
I await the ark to anchor at Your bay,
And slowly see the dawn of what I dreamt.
Harsh hearts made me brutally suffer,
And mocked the way I behaved,
I broke down, though turned up tougher,
Oh Lord, the cost of being Your slave.
I know it’s worth it, in the end,
Those spiteful fingers, jeers, words,
But I stayed strong, I wouldn’t bend,
Finally immune to those malicious herds.

Your town is where I long to live

Take my hand,
Let’s fly over the moon,
My feet on this burning sand,
Run smiling for you,
I’ve learned to take a stand,
So fear no betrayal,
I was empty and bland,
But not anymore, no.

Take my hand,
I’ve waited too long,
I’ve walked through the fire,
But it’s made me tough and strong,
I need your answer, acceptance,
So I can make it through this throng,
I need your mercy,
So I don’t go on wrong.

My accomplice, be my friend,
Stay around till the end,
To you I’ll devotedly tend,
No lie is what I’ve penned.

Do not disappoint, do not drown,
You shall always hail the crown,
But I’ve been up, I’ve been down,
And I forever see your town.

Fireworks on Eid

I winked at Jawayriyah and Rehana and waved to them. They grinned from ear to ear and started racing towards me with all the might that two four year olds could muster. They jumped over broken walls like skilled athletes jump over hurdles; then again, it wasn’t new or surprising for them. They had played “Dodge the bomb!” for as long as they could remember. Swiftly they reached the doorstep of my home, if a couple of shattered windows and hardware pieces can be called a home, and clung to my legs.
“Eid Mubarak, Deeja!” They shouted at me and started pulling me down to their face level so I could properly hug them.
“Eid Mubarak, my little friends!” I cheered with them, “Don’t you look absolutely lovely!”
Both of them shied away from me then, smiling at their torn shoes and fiddling with the ribbons on their battered pink dresses. They might have been wearing clothes more suited to homeless and poor situations, but their faces glowed radiantly with the joy of eid. I fished a couple of sweets from my back pocket and placed them onto the scarred, bruised hands of the girls. Eyes shining excitedly, they quickly pulled off the wrapper and popped it into their mouths, savouring the sweetness and then giving me a big, toothy smile.
“Thank you”, they angelically said, and ran back to their makeshift rooms under the big advertisement board that said “Coca Cola” with a 3D bottle of coke. I leaned against the shaky doorframe and watched them, smiling after what seemed a century. They were so adorable; I could see them rummaging through a pile of bricks and pulling out a ragged old doll with one eye. Laughing, they skipped outside and started playing, Rehana pretended to be a police officer while Jawayriyah was her assistant officer.
‘Jawayriyah, lock this old girl up!’ Rehana ordered in her girly voice, ‘How dare she speak against the Jews!’
‘Sure, officer,’ Jawayriyah replied, ‘she has been a bad girl.’
Each of them took an arm of the doll and threw her into rubble of glass, stones and pieces of wood. My eyes opened wide, horrified to see what they were imitating. Determined to finish this game, I walked to them and called out,
‘Hey! Let’s play catch with the doll!’
They screamed and ran towards me with the doll, and started to throw it to each other. One of my neighbours came out with her month old baby in her hands, and she stood watching us.
‘Eid Mubarak!’ she shouted. We shouted back at her, too.
In the midst of our happy game there appeared a tiny, black ball. Mesmerized, Jawayriyah and Rehana moved towards it, but I pulled them back. I peered at it with narrow eyes, but I couldn’t do so.  They started to sting horribly, and while I rubbed my eyes and tried to breathe in the oppressive cloud that had appeared, I could hear the girls screaming and choking. I followed their voices and covered them with my jacket, then ran to the nearest shelter.
“My baby! No, my baby!” I heard the woman screech as she ran towards us. She bumped into me, and started begging.
“Deeja”, she used my nickname, “Do something! My baby, he can’t breathe… I can’t hear him! No!” she screamed as it dawned on her that her baby was no more, “No! My baby…” She fell down, crying wildly.
“Deeja, I hear something”, Rehana choked. I could hear it, too. It was like a plane flying too near. It seemed to come closer and closer.
‘Rehana! Jawayriyah! Baji! Run!’ I grabbed the girls’ hands and fled – I could hear the shelter blowing to pieces and then Jawayriyah couldn’t walk anymore. A couple of bricks from the explosion attacked us and hit Jawayriyah, who was already short of breath. She fell down and hit more rubble, her already blood stained face now a bright, oozing red. She looked at me with the eyes of angel as she asked for my hand.
‘It’s okay, Deeja, it’s okay.’ She said to me as she held my hand, ‘I’ll tell God everything. I’ll tell Him Eid Mubarak from you too, Rehana. I’m going to Mama.’ She closed her eyes.
Rehana and I buried our little sister on Eid, with the ragged doll with one eye.