SOURCE; Unknown Smile often my girl, they told her Don’t you ever let the tears win Lift your head up, baby girl Don’t let them see how much you’ve been hurt Wear your strength on your back Don’t let them see how deep you’ve been cut Wrap a bandage around that bleeding self esteem…
The clouds parted and gave way to the sunlight, The dust settled after the battle, Windows opened and gave way to the breath of freedom. Giants got burnt to ashes, Blood stains gave birth to our wings, And so we became more than just caged birds. Bullets were sent right through the core of oppression…
See I have died, too many times. I mean; I’ve lost my breath, Strangled life out of my heart, And watched my soul ascend to the skies. See I have painted too many beautiful lies, Made my scars look like tattoos. I have had pain enslave every cell of my being, That I have walked…
She spends every phase of her life, stitching her loud painful memories into a fabric to clothe her, Strangling her developed hate with her smile, Every thought of her existence sipping pain down her soul, Disgust displaying it’s self on her tainted mind, Flashes of her struggle pushing down boiling tears And as they land…
See, we are of the lost nation Puppets to the western forces We shout my yes sir boss to our leaders Blind followers of the twisted so-called peace Even after we’ve been broken into countless pieces. See, this piece was not meant to carry so much hate and pain But love can’t shine where bitterness…
She was sliced and left to bleed, Her blood painted scars she can’t erase. Her dreams were held up and left to shatter on her face. The silence…
The echo of the victory drums loud enough to shun the voices of our struggle, Of blood stains and fallen heroes. Caged and blinded sheroes. Of our triumph over dictatorship, tyranny and injustice. But see, this has been cut short, The sound of the drum dulled. Our long buried wounds pricked back to life, Our…
Take my hand, Walk with me down the aisle of my heart, Bow to the throne of my soul, Gaze into my bitter-sweet eyes, After the count of three, let’s say it again. The very lines that stitched us together. Bullets we shot at the expression “I”. Trip to the land of love, With my…
curious & listening
Live Vicariously
Shattered choices and stained veils. Crossing paths of Islam, Women and Society.
''In worn out shoes''
Genesis of a literary awakening, a discovery of self, an affirmation of voice. My whole woman journeys.
