Silence aches..

Why would I tell you that I wanted you to stay? Why should I Write to you? Why would I take in the silence that would come to me afterwards, and what would I do with it? I have enough silence for me, for you and, at times, I think I have it for the whole world. My life has been stitched together with it. I am a collection of letters unanswered, of people who never truly wanted to receive them, in the first place, of the people I could have loved, but didn't have enough words for me. Of the people who never really loved me, in spite of how hard I tried to convince them it was a good investment. I spend my days walking around the quiet, empty spaces they left behind. A part of me goes away with every silence that stretches outwards from now and into forever. So, tell me, why should I give you the chance? Why should I allow you to become one of them? My dearest, I gave you a bigger part of me than I have given to anyone else and I knew I wasn’t going to see it again. I was fully aware of my loss and I didn’t mind it, but now I fear I might get lost, wandering in the big, empty space you left behind. I keep thinking that,if I tell you that I wanted you to stay, perhaps your words would fill the hole where once lived all the things of mine that I offered you. Then, I would live in you and you would live in me. You see, that empty space, I decorated it and was eager for your arrival. I didn’t give you just a room. I engraved your name on my floor. I gave you corridors and windows and a rooftop. I painted your picture and hung in on the bedroom wall. I gave you a fireplace. I wanted to make it a home for you. But now, it will always feel unfinished, unsatisfied, like desire awakened but denied its release. That is the doing of silence and I know it well. I do. So, why would I tell you that I wanted you to stay? Why should I write to you? Because I don't think I could bear to add more of your silence to all the silences that have come to make their home in my body. Then, why am I still writing?

Ya Allah .. !

I found myself praying for peace today.
I've been in and out of my mind a thousand times
I know You heard me.
I know I wasn't alone in that room,
shaking with the fear of fear,
the harrowing loneliness.
I cried out to You on my hands. On my knees.
With my face pushed down against the ground.
If I could have gotten lower, I swear I would.
Because that is helplessness, the truest kind…
The kind that knows nothing, not one leaf, or tear, or smile can be
without Him.
I learned something today.
Again.
This is dunya. Dunya. Not a place of ease. Only glitter.
The place where you have to feel cold and hungry.
The place where you have to worry and feel scared.
The place where it gets cold.
So cold, sometimes.
The place where you have to leave the people you love.
Where you can’t get attached, because even if you do, it doesn’t make it stay, it just makes it hurt when it doesn’t.
The place where happiness and sadness are only players, waiting for their next line in a play…
Competing for their place on stage.
The place where gravity makes you fall, and frailty makes you bleed.
The place where sadness exists, because it must.
And tears fall to remind you of a place where they don’t.
Where they just don’t.

And isn't that just it? Isn’t jennah that place after all,
that place that Allah describes over and over and over in 2 ways?:
La khawfun alayhim wa la hum yahzanoon…
On them shall be no fear…nor shall they grieve.

But I'm still here, aren't I?
The scar on my flesh reminds me of that.
The burn on my arm left a scar that I love.
I love it because it reminds me how weak I am.
How human.
That I burn. That I bleed. That I break. That I scar.
Yes. It is here that I am. Here that I fall. Here that I cry.
Here, just the same, that You filled that room, and lifted me to humbleness, and an acute knowledge of my own powerlessness and excruciating need for You.
And then you took care of it.
Of course You did.
Of course.
Like Younus, and Musa, and his mother. You took care of it.
You are the Peace of the peaceful.
The Strength of the strong.
The lighthouse of Truth in this storm of lies.
So, I found myself praying for peace today.

I don't want you but maybe my poetry does !

I wonder if I allow those I love to hurt me,
in order to feel the sweet sting of pain.
A masochist trading love for inspiration;
buried beneath concrete secrets, breathing in lust and regret -
the beautiful misery that still bleeds through the cracks.

My love, do you share in my madness?
Are we not all sleeping with insanity and having elicit affairs with insomnia?

I do not need the world to know my name, for it is already
inked into the flesh of those still searching for my heart.
O how naive they are! They do not know that they will
never find it ..

Dear lovers,
Kiss me with your indifference, bite me with your lies;
and with a glacial silence that signals my delicious damnation, 
carve another scar into my soul !