I Don’t Believe


I don’t believe in the first day we met
It’s all just fables and tales.
We may have bled into each others skin
unwillingly seeped into each other’s lives


we may have forgotten what we meant

maybe we never said hello right


I don’t believe in the way you look at me
Because there has never been a day
you didn’t look dead
And that’s not how it’s supposed to be


It’s supposed to be us against the world

                                      but the world burnt us alive


I don’t believe in a mother’s touch
Because sadness no longer means
find warmth from your hands
It means find shelter in any man’s plan


You didn’t even have to do anything,

I could have brought the blanket


I don’t believe in firearms since
the day you shot me in the leg
and I fumbled by your feet
close to kissing them


I’m sorry for staining your shoes

I remember trying them on as a kid

I don’t believe I saw remorse
When you froze me with your stare


I don’t believe you ever looked at me
standing still when you breathed heavily


I don’t believe humans are from one
because we’ve always been about honesty


I don’t believe we are all connected
All because you don’t believe in me



I Bet.


I prayed for forgetfulness and that’s my last memory of you.


I bet you remember

how many traffic lights it took for me to become bashful

how many horse drawn hearses it took to undo the knots in my gut

how many spans of your hand it took to go from

the pit of my neck to the bottom of my spine

the number of ribs you could stick your teeth into


when you made me gasp for air

the first time we got carried away,

which was some day

a few dozen months ago.


and all I remember

is wishing for the sun

to rapidly grow old.


Go on, tell me you love my birth mark

on the right side of my back

just above my blade,

The one that dug deep into your chest

when I wanted to leave

and you wanted nothing

but for me to stay.


I know you remember

the look of panic in my eyes

when you made me run to the door

with my clothes in my hand

and tears ran

on your bathroom lino


I came back from Babel’s recital

gasping for the same air

in the same room

some time later.


and I don’t know why.


Say it all.

I know you

will never forget.

And you know

I believe in prayer.


I don’t remember

what day we met,

what you were wearing,

how it felt to feel you

beneath my chest.


I don’t believe you’re dead.


How easily I forget.


Go on.

Keep saying

I love you.

I dare you.



As soon as words leave her mouth, love turns to lust.

A Bengal tiger guards the now familiar pavilion

And stretches his elegance as soon as the adhaan is heard

The white silk wrapped around the four bed post tastes the parity in the wind

The red inked walls listens to their breathing getting heavier.

She can hear his clothes creasing, his feet on the dense Persian rug

With passionate modesty she looks away from him

And towards the Fourty Rules of Love she left on her bed

Without a word she feels the rosemary around his neck on her neck.

She feels her straw bed on her back.

She feels his regretful love on her lips. His bridled future on her breasts.

The Opening begins playing in her father’s voice in her head

She trembles in her lace gown when she witnesses divinity

The gold coins embellished with allegory cradles the wind

Creating rich sounds of The First Father.

It hides the vibration of her first unforgettable sharp breath.

But, the Bengal tiger’s ears perk up,

his sunbathed skin going wherever his bones go.

He silently walks through the grains of silk towards the enriched pavilion.

He finds both girl and boy undressed, on the Persian rug

Wrapped in wine sheets

blushes of red in their cheeks, pretending to be asleep.

He looks at her and  counts the threads beneath her shoulder.

And she opens her eyes to look at him

When she no longer felt his eyes on hers.


The Final Post

It’s been a while since I last posted a Ramadan blogpost. I tend to write my posts after midnight but the distinguished last ten nights of Ramadan had me busy at such a time. Plus any thoughts I did have during these nights were more like conversations with my Creator and spewing private conversations has never been a talent of mine. Anyhow, I’m going to treat this post as the last Ramadan blog because I’m not sure if after the sun sets the community will celebrate Eid tomorrow or the day after. Plus last night, I treated my teraweeh prayer (the optional but still very important prayer Muslims pray during Ramadan) as it was my last. Since last morning I’ve been in a solemn mood because I know Ramadan is coming to an end. I was talking to a friend of mine last night about this sadness and because he isn’t Muslim, I don’t think he fully understood it. So I explained it to him in a way most people could empathise.

Now I know that there a plenty of girls out there who are pretty, lovely and decent. If a guy was to be with them he wouldn’t be sad or overthrown with joy. He’d be okay because he doesn’t know any better. But just imagine, one month, a guy comes across this woman. She’s strikingly beautiful, full of wisdom and knows her worth. Now this guy doesn’t feel like he’s in her league. Loads of guys that have seen this woman think the same. But they all want to be in her company. This one guy has a conversation with her. He spills his past and doesn’t want to make the same mistakes again. He wants to better himself. This woman comforts him, makes him feel good, makes all his hard work and great efforts feel worthwhile. She spurs him on and he loves it. He feels like he can achieve anything. Within a month’s time, he’s fallen in love with this woman. But this woman only stays for this one month. She’s gone and he has to try keeping up what she’s helped him do. He spends half the year sad that she’s away and slowly start slipping into his old habits because that strength within him, the encouragement she gave him, is slowly starting to fade away. He spends the next half of the year not wanting her to come back because she’ll be disappointed with him. He becomes used to seeing ordinary girls because they don’t question him like this woman did. He doesn’t have to try so hard with these other girls. But deep inside, he still longs to see her. While this is all happening, there’s another guy who also loves this woman. I mean, truly loves her. He spent half the year sad that she was gone and clutched onto anything she left behind and the next half preparing for her return.

You may have guessed already but the woman is Ramadan. The main guy in the story is what most people do – fall back into their old habits. And the last guy who was truly in love with Ramadan are those who really take everything good from Ramadan and apply until the next time.

I want to be part of the second group of people. But there’s a niggling doubt in the back of my mind that I’m going to become sucked into the lull of everyday boring life. Maybe I should have more hope in myself that I can do this. Maybe I should repeat my goals and ambitions daily. Maybe I should treat my mind like I would in Ramadan. But that’s really difficult, once she’s gone.. she’s gone. People expect heightened spirituality during this month so it’s easy to motivate yourself to get up and do what you need to do. When Ramadan is over, it’s not going to be so easy. When she’s gone, if I truly love her, I’m going to clutch onto everything she taught me. This will be my test I guess.

All I know is I’m going to really miss her this year. And I really hope and pray that I get to see her next year.

The Final Post