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.