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the horizons of my doing.

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  احبب ما شئت فإنك مفارقه.. there is so much hesitation in this heart of mine. tiny little parabolas that alternate from fear to doubt. there is so much to comprehend and ponder upon before filling the heart with a worldly commitment. there is an ongoing comparison— is it for God, or is it for the temporary self? sometimes I get too tired when I can’t make a decision. I isolate in despair, waiting for the heart to speak. sometimes my judgement is clouded from all the coping mechanisms I’ve endured and I fear, I don’t always see the truth. recently, I reflected upon how I can’t seem to rely on temporariness to be alive. I do not trust people’s love, even if they claim that it’s infinite. there’s always loss lurking in the corner— I keep my space, always. I don’t get too close to loving eternally when I know that I can’t. perhaps I’ve made this mistake. I claimed infinite, unconditional love was my path. but as long as I’m here, it is not my choice. I cannot rely on myself toiling fo...
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a cumulation

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sometimes, it's not me. those are not my tears. it’s those of a broken one, hidden deep within me. how did I survive those days without a single cry of help? how did I get by without entirely forsaking myself well, I did, didn’t I? the woman I am is but made of shards. fragmented, soulless, painted by scars. this is not who I thought I was. where did that effervescent optimism go? I used to speak of dreams, hopes and brighter tomorrows. now, it is but a golden cage. spiralling in stories of how I was not saved. memories of me scarring my own skin. dreaming of death, a locus on which the path ends. I have so much to be grateful for, I know. yet there is a cumulation of dread named after everything I've witnessed before. never being safe. always trapped. the gush of air needed to survive. I want to move on. I want to put that past behind me. yet, there is so much to undo. so much to feel. earth-shattering grief. everyone tells me to stride forward. don’t you see my vision boards ...
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If We Ever Separate.

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I know I keep writing too many narratives about life. Fictitious narratives on love and grief give life so much meaning and they somehow capture the essence of each and every little experience. While walking in the streets last evening, a vision fell onto my lap. A vision that truly made me let out a few fat teardrops that were silent enough for no one to notice. It was a story so saddening and sorrowful, but I'll write it out anyway. Years forward, it could make sense. Despite making up all those dreams for a beautiful life, I know it is not without grief. Sometimes I wonder if all those dreams would just become reduced to mere pictures and words when the foreordained sequence of events comes to play. Dearest one, I must admit that I envision losing you sometimes. I imagined how it would be if one day, you just weren't here. I imagined how it would pierce my heart with excruciating pain. I imagined how I would not manage to hold myself up from being struck by the notion that y...
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walls.

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invisible. invincible, too. I turn into a fort. this solitude, once saved me, you know. it became my home of dreams and make-beliefs. torrentially heart-warming fantasies. and now, reality . sweet. blessed. but exhausting . once I was a committed audience,   now but an actress. I dream to go home, even while I lie in arms of the one I love. I dream to be where I don’t anymore. when I don’t have to make this real, when my dreams could float into scapes of reveries. how can I be who I am? how can I be that unspoken, that chimerical? but I’m expected now to live up to love. with courage, through my flaws. but this is not what I want. my solitude tastes of abandonment, but the bitterness is what I crave. the over-indulgent spiral. and never wanting to be saved. he looks at me with his sober eyes, his words sweet, his arms safe, still I let go. still I hold on to what I know. tortured, left behind, invisible. almost a figment from a faraway land. I want to be like that .
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attachments.

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  in my new life, one of the most starkly noticeable changes is the evidently increasing number of worldly attachments I am chained by. perhaps it is what makes life so different. a nostalgia drapes over me when I reminisce how it was like before, having let go of everything this life has to offer. I had and wanted nothing. my soul was close to death all the time, envisioning it, embracing it. I didn’t have anything to live for— everything and everyone I loved was a bridge to the hereafter. now, there is more to live for. a beautiful home, a warmth I was starved of. an angelic kitten. a bicycle. and all those beautiful roads by the countrysides and forests. I get why Sufists let go of all worldly belongings and attachments. they do it for the world acts as a violent veil, blinding the soul from seeing Him. it’s such a treacherous enslavement, to love the world deeply but forget its Creator for a while. it hurts my heart everytime I return and remember. I wonder what it would take t...
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