We are a long way away from home. So far. Some further then others. The further you get the less it feels like home. Until His words become unclear and forgetable.

Eventually you only walk in one direction; the opposite. If you make it, on the rare occasions all the way back round to home; the final destination is the same as it was first intended. But life is not that simple, the avoidance of obstacles extend your trip. Some do not make it to the end of their journey, remain forever lost in the jungles of their desires. There is mercy in rainfall and calamity. They force you back; they remind you of your destination, your abode. It does not exist on this Dunya. We chase the dunya to get a negligible fraction of what Jannah will feel like (our real home) and to satisfy our needs and wants.

This journey I speak of is one that I’ve undergone. I too could not see my home no longer. My connection, my network weakened so I started to forget. That’s when I said hello to mercy. I’ve been struck by calamity several times and each time I remember Qadr and Jannah. This is not the end. This is the character development, the training and preparation. The grafting and hardwork are needed to appreciate the view. May Allah bless us with this view and not that of fire.

“O my people, this worldly life is only [temporary] enjoyment, and indeed, the Hereafter – that is the home of [permanent] settlement.”





Silence raging war with running thoughts.
Unread messages and missed calls.
Lost moments and endless pardons.
Rhetorical reasoning with imaginative assumptions.
Heedless to the attachment of warmth and care.
But the storm came with warning.
Filtered and dulled to a distant whisper.
Living for the fragments of showmanship,
Negligent to the glass casing,
Left unattended and in the mist of shatter.
Unspoken inner thinkings.
No one reads minds,
Cowardice behaviour to assume I would assume.
Unconditional adoration with the dismissal of wanting.
Clutching on to the flutters,
Loss of focus in bewildered smiles.
But this time cold air exuberates inner existence.
No longer warmed to overlook the faults.
The dazzling specs refined.
Revealing what was seen by all besides me.
At that precise moment; glances to the stars reveal hope.
The moon creates rainbows in darkness.
And remembrance of “the sun will rise again”
Sets free the one imprisoned in the woes of emotions.


Dreaded beating of the heart.
Breathless moments.
Basics of life; too difficult to function.
Facilitating death of the soul.
They attempt CPR.
Throw help in the form of divine light.
And her name hovers in the hostile air.
As the bitter taste approaches,
Familiarity edges forward.
Remembering the pain.
The inner ache.
And she asks,
“How did I get here again?”
Life mapped to avoid this detour.
Yet she returned to the spot.
The spot where it all happened.
Where traumas never die and life never prospers.
Maybe it isn’t a place.
But more like the weather.
And just like the weather it will pass.


Musk of Time


Image courtesy of IslamicartDB.

Musky night sky,
With the lingering smell of yesterday,
And the perfumed scent of tomorrow.
The wrongs of the days passed,
Will be the rights of the days to come.
Lest we waste the time of the past on the condolences of the future.
Be today, to be alive.
Be the seconds, for they add up to the minutes.
If that is true then truely your hours will be your days.
With ownership – lead your life.
With remembrance – He never promised a tomorrow.
With steadfast – like the wind which never stops blowing in spite of its destination.
With Sabr – believe in His plan, and disappointment will steer clear.
With eemaan – illuminate your darkness.
With eyes – lower in humility and modesty.
With tongue – be wary of its evil and keep Dhikr alive.
With hands – give. Always give. Help. Always help.
With heart – Keep Him at home and remain determined to discourage any replacement.
With love – find your way back, call Him, read His words.
And may He unlock the chains around my heart. Ameen.



I asked to climb through his branches,
Looked at his leaves.
Knowing the importance of each one.
Taking my time to read the inscription of his life.
Thinking this is my last chance.
Once, he was so smooth. So young.
But age has roughened him.
Each dip an experience.
Each edge a near miss.
Each bump a memory
At his base, a crack from the woman who tried to saw him down.
She too climbed through his branches,
And caused the shedding of leaves which will never grow back!
She burned his life to the ground.
He lives closed off and never exposes those leaves again.
They no longer grow.
Their secrets hidden in the trunk.
His reluctance to allow me up.
But my siren calls and soothing voice;
Spellbound him.
Moving to the beat of the wind.
As I reach higher and higher.
The branches become more fragile.
If I’m not careful I could be the result of his breakdown.
So I jump down into the pit of his fallen autumn leaves.
And decided to start there.
Learn all his falls, lost memories, all of his insignificant significant memories.
Revising his past endeavours so I could best support his new ones.
Now my dream is to strengthen him.
So one day we can both sit at the top;
Stargaze and be enriched by the sun.

So blessed to have supportive friends. Photo given by my beautiful friend. I don’t feel my recent pieces have been powerful. But I do believe they are building up to something immense. Have a blessed Sunday.

Fruitful hopes,




Trees are beautiful. They are the perfect representation of years of struggle and growth. Growing against all conditions, forever trying to touch the sun. Conditioning their selves to face the light, cast mighty shadows. Being selfish yet charitable.

Their bark, their trunk tortured, broken yet always growing out from the core. Battered and bruised on the hard exterior. Scars never running deep into the core, they are left on the surface. As a display of strength.

Leaves fall and new ones grow. Some ripped, some teared, some broken and some holding on for dear life. When leaves fall, know they grow back brighter, whole and refreshed. If the leaf is only partially there, know that it’s fine to be hurt and in pain. It’s fine to be missing apart of you. Because it grows back, stronger and sometimes you blossom with the sweet scent of flowers. That is when you remember they can never steal everything from you because you still hold on things which you have yet to discover.

The branches are weakest at the tip, getting thinner but more innovative. Never be afraid to branch out to grow further because in the end you will always have your centre if it doesn’t work out.

As we get closer to the top, the leaves stop layering, the experiences all start adding up and the closer we get to our centre you realise the leaf at the top is a total representation of you as it will be the last fall whilst blissfully wishing the world goodnight with no grudges.

Glistening sea breeze,


Love v.s. Lust


This is not love;
It is the can’t breath,
Flutter in the stomach,
Incapable of doing anything,
Mind invading kind of feeling.
Is that not lust?

Who am I fooling?
Spellbound by a few words.
Lost in the games.
Unable to face reality.

This is not lust;
Mind invading,
Incapable of doing anything,
Flutter in the stomach,
It’s the can’t breath kind of feeling.
Is that not love?

Baby cupid’s dragons,