Fall '09

What a Night

Karachi, Pakistan. 3 am. Stretched out on the charpai in the open air of the terrace. A slight summer breeze. Lizards climbing over walls into inhabited territory. A slight inhale and extensive exahale. Verses of Surah Tawbah echoing between my ear walls transmitted through my metallic blue ipod. Staring into the clear sky. Aboslute silence. Essence of my sanity. ♥

A Few Lines

He was yanking at my heart, trying to get me to speak. I couldn't. Threats, pleas... only to help me find relief, but I couldn't. Dressed up a few lines from this and few from that, tried to be tactful, but still... no sleep means tons of regret. What goes around, comes around. If what went around, punches me in the face... it may mean death.

Ya Allah.

I Give Up

I have been scribbling, jotting some exaggerated lines. I'm not sure if they've even been from the heart or just a creative unimpressive rhyme. The only catch was that I had to perfect it, conveyed in the mother tongue. See, I've slipped into a timely amnesia, where this rhyming gig seems too alien for me to even attempt. I can't even express to transgress against the rivers flowing in the depths of night while the streets wipe away the good and welcome the devil. It's in that time, with the lights on dim and the sweet sound drowning in a gentle sob, a sincere plea of the heart. It's the first time I say this, but I say it with confidence. It's the first time I say this, but I say it in a timely manner. It's the first time I say this because I need to say it. I give up.

Editeded

I just need my moment destined by God to figure it out
To wipe the slate clean from these dissembled deeds
Sacrifice this diabolical self
To find heaven in mind and freedom in heart
Imprisoned, tortured, abused and cursed
Drought of the clouds from the anger of me
The earth grows brown and the men grow green

Fallible ties in kin and friend
Self authored routes to love and lust
With far too many questions of why and how
Far too much weight thrust down on one soul
Curving a spine, breaking a back, staging an attack
Destructible in instances of master and student
I wanted to say no, but I just couldn't

It is a battle of voice and mind
A war call, a silent roar in thought
Downward strike, upward punch
A roundhouse kick and a jab, jab block

The wounds are only a timely proof
The scars are the trophies paraded to the people
Of a victory, a memory or a defeat of lesson and love
But the words are the lies
An incomlpete story or an overly exaggerated version
And emotions are clouded with biases
But thoughts, thoughts can be true
Thoughts can be thought out and rethought
The mind's work is to find, figure and forget

I just need my moment destined by God to figure it out
To wipe the slate clean from these dissembled deeds
Sacrifice this diabolical self
To find heaven in mind and freedom in heart
Imprisoned, tortured, abused and cursed
Drought of the clouds from the anger of me
The earth grows brown and the men grow green

waiting for this time

I didn't like it. I want to edit it. coming soon.

The Book Club

Delivered by Sincerity

Speech of a lantern brightens a world of pandemonium
Sight of a hawk gestures away the presence of sin
Touch of a breeze swimming through the tropics whispers fair love
Hearts of disease grow ill in mutant affection between good and evil

Possession of any trait perfecting brightness, presence and affection
Creates perfection in existence which cannot exist in the time between breath
Accounted for is speech, sight, touch and heart
Abandoned is the mind and abducted is the soul by knights of vice

Lonesome are the men without maidens entrusted with the secrets of lust and lie
But the night remains after the setting of the sun and the resting of the eyes
Strands of hair lifted from beds, seduced by the call of a lover
Backs laid straight on the ground severed from hymns of vice
That is when, that is when a call to The King is delivered with sincere hearts
By a Jester of noble obedience, that is when it is prayed for hearts to be turned
For lights to be shown and life to owned by only good

Tricky Decision

Clouded Verses

I started writing this on Tuesday night after a horrendous day at work. My purpose was to try to come to some realization of everything going on, work it out because mentally for the first time in my life something like this was consuming me and clouding my judgment. For some, writing maybe therapeutic, but I've always avoided it in times of rage and overwhelming emotion. I hate writing emotion, I prefer to write thoughts. This time around I thought...hey what do I have to lose. Maybe it will help. It didn't. I didn't finish the piece either and I don't plan on because I don't know where it's going as I don't know where all these trials are leading me....

Alhumdulillah alaa kulli haal. Fa Sabrun Jameel... And Allah (swt) Knows what we do not. After hardship comes ease.

Under the brown withering bridge
Lived a crone with feathers in her head
The tip of each feather bleeding in black
It couldn't be wisdom, lost knowledge perhaps
Her speech non-stop, her actions in clear haste
Jumping, hopping, from place to place
Unable to enjoy goodness in its sweet taste
The village and its youth clearly despised
The woman's bitter tongue and distasteful speech
The children feared the tips of feathers dripping in ink
No child would dare risk a similar fate
In caution, for a generation, they remained distant
from intellectual similation
Illiterate and ill spoken spread as a pandemic
Black bleeding feathers created a global panic

Happy Days

My recent work. Perhaps I'm getting somewhere? Alhumdulillah.

Cover slide for presentation


sample banner for a temporarily failed project


Fooling around


VHMC event flyer


IR fundraising event flyer


First logo. Risky attempt. VHMC.

April 21st, 2009

April 21st, 2009
I answered the phone
And took this conversation as a sign

With each word
Every sincere advice
I thought of fate
A direction in life

A beating heart
Dead from soul
Resuscitated
Happy days out of control

Words of the wise
Contradictions to lies
A creature with short breath
Staring into the eyes of death

Old leaves dry
They wither and die
And when they return
A lesson in life is learned

An old teacher, an old friend
So good to speak again
Words smothered with ink
Create an unbreakable link

The unlearned say it to be a coincidence
I recognize it as fate with confidence
Beauty lies in the minds of belief
Blossoms bloom in the hearts who intend
A sound life a sound end
A 1000 hearts it may mend

4/16/09

4/16/09
Work rocked today (Alhumdulillah)
Must remember this day.

Achoo + didn't get work done....BUT STILL... it rocked. (Alhumdulillah)
Days like these make it so rewarding.

Improvement

You gotta cater to the client's needs and sometimes what you think looks nice/decent isn't their idea of "nice." With a little patience, it's all good alhumdulillah.

MIST '09

I cannot give up the tradition of writing about my MIST experience. Although I'm no longer a competitor, things were just as interesting as part of the organization team. Things were crazy, emotions and stress were high... but still everyone was chill and I loved it. Alhumdulillah. The only thing lacking was the anticipation I would feel as MIST lurked near.

I did some judging, speaking, and a lot of other stuffage. But roamed around clueless at times. Trying to look important. Haha.

Alot of effort and work goes into such a huge project and within moments it's over. I was thinking about it and I was like... we live from age 0 to 80 or whatever age thinking oh wow I've got a long life ahead of me, but really the birthdays flash by back to back and from 13 you go to 20. It's only a moment, but we work so diligently for years, but it's ONLY a moment because when it all comes down to our evaluation it will only seem to be a moment. But the questioning will be like an eternity. It'll drag on and on and on. I kept thinking... why am I here? Is it to benefit anyone? To benefit my self? Or just to be there and help for no reason at all.

I really think at events like these not only are emotions and stress high, but also one's own spiritual conciousness awakens. One of the most dangerous things one does to their soul is get involved in projects to benefit others/community. It's so dangerous because it usually entails months or years of work and ALOT of work... and all of it can boil down to nothing... meaning no good comes from it when it really counts because intentions aren't sound and renewed constantly.

Then during the awards ceremony while Native Deen was performing... each drum beat reverberated within me. I guess it's cuz of the sound settings but the reverberation was INTENSE! And like I could feel each beat. I was like subhanAllah... it almost felt like the beat of my heart was reverberating throughout my body. And so I started thinking about a poem I could write because it REALLY inspired me so perhaps something to come soon...possibily.

Met tons of great people. Volunteers rock. I seriously realized how much work they do. It's insane. masha'Allah

May Allah (swt) purify our intentions and accept the efforts of all those who helped prior to the event and the day of and guide their hearts to the light of Imaan and taqwa. Aameen.

Ghalti

Na kuch ghalat humna kiya
bas saath nahi diya
ab tanha hai ya dil raat bhar
ya qalam hai mera yaar, yahi mera pehchaan
jo ya dil na keh paayaa
kehdiya mera yaar

Gunnah kay roshni se hum jaagh rahay thay
Naik ki pehchaan hum se nahi hoi
Bas andhara chah gaya aur neend aa gayee

Ab bhi hum kehtay hai, na kuch ghalat humna kiya
bas saath nahi diya
Ab ghaliyoon ko chahn rahay hai
Koi tho hummain pehchanay ga
Har dosray shaks se hum sawaal kartay hai
"Saab zara batao hum hai kon?"

Sharaabi ki tarha hum ghumson rehtay hai
Bas chalrahay hai issi taraf, kanhin aas paas
Likhtay rehtay hai ek ghazal sunlaytay hai kissi shaer ki tamanna ko

Dil ki baat hai hummari nafs ki baat
Sunnlo hummari demagh ki baaton ko
Ghaltiyon se ya zindaghi chalti hai
Saat deinay se khud sahaara milta hai
Imaan kay saath se dunya ko paasaktay ho
Maghar dunya ko paakar ahsa saathi nahi milayga

Samhjo, Socho
Likhtay rehtay hai hum ahsayhi sunlaytay hai hum aysayhi
Jeetay hai hum waisayhi

Ice Breaker

March 19th, 2009 @ MSA Event
- Only sister (gah)
- nervous
- wrote poem night before 11pm cuz older poem was unappealing
- went second
- I think I did well, or so i was told alhumdulillah
"The Time Has Come"
It was a weird dilemma, I went from a no to a yes through observation of what my MSA really was. From weirded out I became intrigued and interested. Alhumdulillah.
- I had said yes to recording but felt uneasy and subhanAllah something happened and nothing got recorded alhumdulillah
- nice intimate event, funny and good performances and MC masha'Allah
- Intention - tipsy.
- I need to become paper-less.

Allah (swt) continuously showers blessings upon us yet we fail to recognize them. subhanAllah.

The Time Has Come

It's time to free the spine and wrinkle the sheets that have grown old in it's leather cover
To let the ink fade and wash away
It's time to forget the existence of insanity and live with the mental capacity that exists
Because it doesn't take generations, but seconds for the standards of humanity to decline
I've been a teacher, worked with and taught another generation
My first day, just the concept of me sitting there not too long ago was hard to balance
Because what I remember understanding, they could not

You see, the ability of the brain is mutating into malfunction
Hyperventilation of intellect and common sense will lead to a mass grave of ink and pen
With a tomb stone reading, from the cradle to the grave... but only short lived

And so I think of the eulogy an ounce of intellect may write
And so I write

where are the words today
What is the path they tread
Syllables that deem something
words that mean something
poets & scholars who had cling and a sting
and a name to pull the rest within
not just a path of words
that sound good together
but mean nothing apart
Just slang and bitter words
No wisdom against the swords
Not a beat to fill the veins
That pump the essence into the core of the heart
It just stains and stains and stains the heart black
"Yo if you ain't from my hood, you aint gonna know jack"
Racism & prejudice emitting from these verses
The hate, the anger racing from the eyes to the brain to the heart
becoming the people

No words can do justice to the pen that wrote my destiny upon the command of My Lord
No words can do justice to ink that captured my thoughts and relieved my emotional flood
No harm may come near the books of fate, the knowledge of the heart and the wisdom of the mind
No injustice may lurk the sound souls that roam with hope of a noble ending
The Qalam wrote
The Prophet spoke
Iqra. Iqra. Iqra.
But we fall deep, deep into our own destruction and torment.
We drool over the sweet sound of the latest groove
Our sight freezes in the eyes of the devil, with pleasure
Our brain fries, intellect dies and
Admist our state we remain stranded

We beg for help, but we buried the help with our hands... the pen and the ink
It's time to free the spine and wrinkle the sheets that have grown old in it's leather cover
To let the ink fade and wash away
It's time to forget the existence of insanity and live with the mental capacity that exists
Because it doesn't take generations, but seconds for the standards of humanity to decline
To teach kids that all is fair in love and war
And in war it's always fair to drop a ton of bombs on children their own age
Because love obviously means deception and betrayal and fornication and has no real value or responsibility
It takes seconds, moments... to destroy minds

Snow Day

Snow Days put me in an artsy mood.
The night puts me in a poetic mood. (I'm more focused at night)
Rainy days put me in a pondering mood.
I believe Life in all its wonders and mysteries make you submissive and inclined to spirituality.

Quality isn't that great, but I was just fooling around... seeing what I could come up with:

con-vict

Convict is what they call me
I've been Convicted without a blame
Yes, very very lame... but there is no blame
or is it that this is just the con of being a vic... short of victim
Not a victim feeding off of sympathy and pity
A victim of things misunderstood
You can call me a con artist
Perhaps best of its kind
My name be printed in murals and painted in books
All I see are the cons while the pros are stripped
The con of wanting or desiring or living
The con of having faith and a reason to live
This isn't about one of those fantasies
Or what ifs... If I was living in the midst of war what would I write
This is about being a Con-Vict of society
Con-vict of the civil war of culture and religion
Con-Vict of love
Con-Vict of knowledge
Con-Vict of a path
Now that I've been convicted
I'm an "oppressed woman"
I have "no voice"
I can't "speak English"
Heck... "I'm a terrorist"
No sir, I'm not a homicidal maniac, no pedophile or thief
I'm a convict of more than just that, more than the stereotypes
Placed before me is the evidence of danger
My actions are massive to create permanent damage
It's a fear that cannot be disposed of by my words because I am guilty
Innocent, until proven guilty.. but here I profess my guilt... I plead guilty
But in the best interest of the gluttony that is plagued and rampant
I shall take my sentence and live with being the con of being a vic... short for victim

Round II

Open Mic again...

I signed up to be 8th or something and at that point everything was fresh in my mind and I was kinda hyped and stuff... but the night started dragging on and I was like... Uhh... why have they still not called me because people that signed up after me had already gone. I went up to find out and saw that my name has been checked off mistakenly. So I went up later into the night than expected and was exhausted. I lost the rush that gives me energy and drive to perform better. But alhumdulillah apparently I did better than I thought... but HAVE done better in the past. My usual niqaab was in the wash so the one I was wearing kept rising up and covering my eyes... so basically I didn't have my "reading niqaab" (pun-ish). Pulling it down every 2 seconds was awkward-ish. Good times in general Alhumdulillah. I'm glad I didn't look toward our table and see the girls laughing or I would've busted out laughing too like I did at a past performance. Bad.. Bad thing. They laugh at me for some reason and hate the length of my poems lol. The mic freaked me out... it echoed my voice too much. I didn't like that. I hate mics. I also hate cameras... esp those of strangers... and brothers... and cameras that record video. Yeah. Awkward.

I realized this is becoming too frequent. The more frequent it's becoming the more uneasy it's getting and the more I'm losing interest. When you have the thought in mind to "perform" a lot of thoughts and intentions follow it. I was literally talking to myself yesterday and had to clear my mind to focus only on doing this for what I say I'm doing it for. Things done in excess become unappealing real quick.

Night of Sawa
Daily Grind Cafe
Jan 23rd
To Remind One
HS, NY, MS, NS - Present :D
Oh and MSA ppl = eeek. Seriously.

To Remind One

Okay. I completely deleted the other post to the poem because I've been editing it while in the midst of practicing it. A lot of the inspiration came either at work or while doing the laundry lol. I still have the original saved, but I prefer to put up the final (for now *smirk*).

Convicted stones
Shackled forces
Flaming corpses
Mute existence

To be is too different from living
To speak is too different from conveying
And to feel is too different from lashing

This desire to step into the war zone
This desire to raise fists with stones
This trajectory of fiery
And for every chant with every march

Intertwined transmission of objection and motive
Lays the grass green and feeds the seeds of blooming stones
Builds tanks from the rubble of houses
Guided from the misfortune of lost souls

Shields a flesh with veils of thorns
Numbing with each prick
Faith imprinted in bold

Splatter of blood and waves of heat
Explodes on the surface of voices
Leaves these feet moving
These souls staring into the debris

An imprisonment of flesh
Where the gazes are only raised with each explosion
Where voices are lost with the loss of limbs
Psychological trauma that has no cure
Because the land is looted of life
Anorexic are the walls that have no soul
Brain dead are the corners where the worshiper has been slaughtered
Where the bricks of faith have been demolished
Malnutrition-ed are the streets which are bear from footsteps leading to prayer

Death has become life
Risking each breath to raise from each night's rigid sleep
The slave's journey has only prevailed in truce
The diabetic soul has no risk, but to live
But the wealth of life is to be dead
A dear old friend, from the shoe strap to the veins

1300 it takes, to remind one
Such emphasis on a hand full
While the enemy digests lives of a thousand
Playing St. Nick in some warped pagan dream
Handing in each innocent palm a piece of coal
What war is this where help is betrayal
What war is this where a generation is destroyed

The birth of a child on this trembling soil
Bears the weight of great martyrs
To live only long enough to smell the sweet scent of his mother's milk
Before drowning in the tears of strangers
Where the name of Allah is elevated with the sight of each grave
And the earth sheds a tear with each crack in it's spine
For a victory that is nobly divine

Ya Allah, Your Will is a Mercy
For these trials have caused many to bow in prayer
To break from the seduction of dreams
Cured from paralysis
To link souls in firmer faith
Where your remembrance has put trembling limbs to rest
You Know what we do not
Enslaved to destiny
We submit: obey and listen

We sit here chanting: Change has come... Change has come
Then why for them has change succumbed
Change has come, dreams have been lived
As this error is removed and an era begins
But back there, the sun never rises... the day never ends
Take this change off its pedestal and put it to work
Because there is no change for the world without a change in the people
There is no change for the mind without a change for the soul
And there is no change to give when each wallet is in debt
For this change that has been born can only survive
With faith in that no human is God

An Era has begun
To unshackle forces
Revive Existence
Prove what is true
To freeze these tears as a symbol of History
Voices calling to the heavens show acceptance
And these words show concern

It's times like these I wish to go blink
Because I can clearly see
Not through tainted windows or tainted doors
But through clear glass, everything I don't want to see
I see a widow on her knees begging these thieves to spare her child
I see orphaned children crawling to a corner
Feeling around for their mother to only lay a hand on her amputated hand
Not being able to absorb a mother's warm with a limb fallen cold
It's times like these I wish to go blind

The beast screams
While the angels lead the way
When the dreams sing
When the heavens speak
Surrendered glory of time
Where the willow tree raises like the ever green
Forgotten are the villages that have been raped of the young
And the skies of the clouds smothering the stars to their grave
In the sight of night until the reckon of the sun finding
Finding breath between the scale of pain

Submit

as-salaamu 'alaykum,

Changing the world entails refining the self. (Character, Certainty, etc...)

I felt obliged to put this up. With all the recent questioning of
"Should I lower my gaze?"
"Do guys/girls feel uncomfortable when someone does that while speaking to them?"
"What should I do while speaking to the opposite gender?"

And the statements... Ya Rabb:
"I feel awkward when a brother lowers his gaze while talking to me. JUST LOOK ME IN THE FACE," Says SisterX

"I feel like I'm telling a girl she's hot if I don't look her in the face," Says BrotherX

These aren't random Janes and Joes... these are WELL INFORMED people.

It's not rocket science. It's a struggle, but the answer to these questions aren't buried deep beneath the seas on some distant island. If you wish to protect yourself, you're willing to listen and submit. "sami'na wa ata'na" Listen & Obey. Clear cut motto of one's life.

It's a struggle for me and the rest of the Muslim population who is trying. But I find it absolutely absurd when facts are questioned. I don't care if someone finds it disrespectful, if I'm not looking them in the face. Why expose your limbs, eyes, ears and mind to moments of unlawful pleasure or entertainment when it will only lead you to an eternity of pain and resent. A reminder to myself first before any other. I am at blame. That which is sound is from Allah (Swt) and that which is flawed is from my own shortcomings.

No rhythmic explosion here, just clear facts and observations.

“Tell the believing men to lower their gaze and be modest. That is purer for them. Lo! Allah is aware of what they do” (Quran 24:30).

“And tell the believing women to lower their gaze and be modest, and to display of their adornment only that which is apparent, and to draw their veils over their bosoms...” (Quran 24:31).

Trying Times

"The eyes tear
The heart is in pain
we will not say anything other than that which is pleasing to Allah (swt)"

"Hikmah is better than emotion (act upon)"

"Do Justice, it is closer to Taqwa"

- 1/13/08
Hikmah in trying times
Online fundraiser for Gaza
Collaborative effort - AlMaghrib & Islamic Relief

The Times

SubhanAllah, the stuff going on in Gaza is something that can never be expressed in words. The stuff going on around the whole of the Muslim world is something that can never be expressed in words. The first hand accounts can never be summarized in a few words. The pictures can never be described in words. The end that is near cannot be stopped by these words. The victory that is near can not be called upon so soon with these words. These words are meaningless without faith. And death is hungry for more souls. These words on these keys can only tell stories. These hands raised with words flowing from the core of the soul and not the tips of these fingers can move mountains by His Will, can change history by His will, can do... by His Will.
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Du'a recommended by Sh. Faraz:
http://www.bogvaerker.dk/NasiriDua.pdf

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MIST Talent Show'09.
My performance sucked. Period.
I could use the nerves as an excuse
I could use the minor food poisoning I was suffering from as an excuse
There were five other things as an excuse.
But I won't. My performance sucked. Period.
I Too Have a Dream
I really don't like going backwards. I wrote this poem literally a year ago. Since then I've written many others, once I write a new one... the past one seems unappealing to me.
But Alhumdulillah, it was good times.
Saturday, Jan 10 2009 2:00pm-ish
Usual support crowd wasn't there.
I love the many pronounciations of my name.
I got no beef with losing.
Alhumdulillah 'alaa kulli Haal.