Poetry

...🚪.Like I said, it's been 3 years since I'm ✊🏼 knocking on your door.. and I still can knock some more.. eew, girl eeww, girl, is it feasible for I to knock some more?..

Some people apologise with words.

Some never apologise at all.

And eventually, you learn that your healing cannot always wait for either.

There are things you may never get an explanation for.

Questions that will remain unanswered.

Endings that won't feel fair.

At some point, you have to give yourself the closure you kept hoping someone else would bring.

And quietly choose peace.

Excerpt from my novel 'Apricity'

CHAPTER SIX – WATCHFUL EYE (MAMOUNIA LOUNGE, MAYFAIR)

Zac walked into the restaurant. He saw a waiter standing by a desk, her eyes scanning the
screen on the computer before her.
The waiter sensed his presence and looked up. “Hello, sir. How may I help you?”
“I’m looking for a Hugo Dahiru.” Zac stated and gave a slight smile. “He’s a friend.”
“One moment.” The waiter raised her hand and then checked the screen.
“No problem.” Zac fiddled with one of his cuffs and cleared his throat.
“Yes, he is in the downstairs part.” The waiter grinned. “I will escort you, sir.”
The waiter opened the door to the downstairs area of the lounge. There were huge golden chandeliers dripping from the ceiling. The walls were a deep scarlet with dark purple lighting. Plush long red leather sofas decorated the floor and were accompanied by dark mahogany tables. The tables had spreads of bowls of fruit and various desserts. Men and women from all over London would come to the well-renowned lounge, famous for its
expensive shisha and décor. Loud Arabic music played from the speakers.
There indeed was Hugo Dahiru in the distance. He sat with legs spread wide apart on a sofa.
He possessed an air of nonchalance and despite this, he was constantly surveying the room.
In one hand, he held a shisha pipe and took a deep breath from it. He exhaled, the plume of
smoke covering his face at first but as it dissipated, his startingly handsome features came
into view. He had deep black skin, short black dreads, and curious coffee eyes. He was
dressed in a black suit and black dress shoes. The top buttons of the shirt were undone revealing his defined chest. His black blazer was draped on one side of the sofa.
The table by his sofa had bowls of rose and orange blossom Turkish delight, cut upwatermelon and strawberries. There was also a stacked silver teapot containing mint teaand a pair of thin vintage glass cups with matching saucers. Only one cup was filled, the other was empty.
Hugo grinned wickedly before saying in his signature baritone, “Mr Zac Durrani. To what do I
owe the pleasure?”
“Can’t I see one of my best friends without an immediate inquiry?” Zac folded his arms and
tried to make his expression calm.
“You may, but still, it’s not like you to turn up unannounced.” Hugo explained, scratching his
chin. “Men like you have a plan for everything.”
“You’re saying that as if we haven’t known each other since school.” Zac’s face finally relaxed as he took a seat next to Hugo. “And I knew you would be here out of all places. It’s one of your favourite hideouts.”

Love is gentle, love is pure.
If he loves you, you become his princess
he pays attention to your emotions and cares for your heart.
If she loves you, you become her world.
If it’s mutual, you earn your paradise on earth.
But the purest form of love is that which is done with the fear of Allah.

hamster wheel

I can’t find even one wife because even though I don’t want more than one wife, she wants to make sure I only have one wife and so she wants to own me which leaves me unhappy
with one wife and

I can’t find even one wife…..

I found that majority is here, just to enjoy

“Maybe I’m not asking for too much; maybe I was just asking the wrong person.” 🖤

Any anime fans here? 🦁☀️ This is my poem about Escanor in "The Seven Deadly Sins". For context, he represents the sin of pride, getting maximum power at high noon and losing it all at nighttime.

‎O Solar Titan,
O stubborn,
stone-like man.
Day by day,
you rise,
night by night,
you shrink.
A brute’s boots,
a beggar’s bed.

You bathe the earth
with every beat.
The sun lies
scorched
in your palm,
your strength—
it brightens skies,
it blinds the dark.

O vessel of might,
in pride’s own shell.
You scorch the world—
but where do you start?

I, I, I—
your voice, a snare,
a shattering ballad,
a sweeping symphony.
Of all the men,
no one was
worthy enough
to behold you
at the summit
of your brilliance.

A monarch’s clasp,
a brutal bliss.
he must bear
his heart with him;
and his heart is fire,
a raging blaze.

Your eyes:
burnished orbs
that never grow dim.
How blind you are,
oh pride,
how brilliantly you burn.

I, I, I,
you hit the earth,
you’re on fire.
A kingdom built,
but no one to break.
By noon,
you are supreme,
untouchable,
towering.

Every step you take,
the very skies shudder;
everything in its time
comes crashing down.

But it changes
when the sun
starts sinking.
You lose your crown—
your ego is a wink.
The flame has been whittled,
your power is weak—
you wither, you die,
you slither from it.

What was it then,
O golden warrior, beast?
To wear a crown
or to crave a feast?
Was it your pride
that stood in the way
or some other twisted
compulsion
that held you fast
to an empty shell?

At night, you lie,
and that is weak,
small man.
A pauper’s soul
where once you ran.
"Who decided that"
Do you remember this line?

O wretched form,
as I dream of battles
with the sun.
And in your ashes,
what do you gain?

Oh, oh, oh—
a heart is cold, you say.
A flame which burned,
has burned,
and faded away
into darkness.

What now?
A man who wore the sun,
but to what end?
What have you won?
Oh, master of noon,
you were the supreme
ruler of power,
but pride is nothing—
nothing.

Perhaps I Am Selfish
Perhaps I am a coward.
Perhaps there is something wrong with me for still wanting what Jannah has already taken.
I know You have her now, ya Rabbi.
I know she is somewhere beyond pain, where her tired heart has finally found rest.
And still,
I wish You had been partial to me.
Just once.
I wish You had bent the rules of Jannah and left my mommy here.
I wish You had seen how desperately I needed her and chosen, for once, to be unfair.
Let her stay.
Let her grow old beside me.
Let me have one more morning, one more ordinary day,
one more night hearing her voice
I know how selfish that sounds.
But I am selfish.
I don't want memorie to be the only place where i can meet her.
I don't want photographs to be the only place that her face once belonged to my everyday life.
I cannot bear the thought of becoming accustomed to a life that has no place for her
I want my mommy here.
Not someday
Not in another life.
Not only in my heart.
How cruel is it
that I have to call this healing.. begining to adapt to her absence,
and somehow, that feels like another kind of loss.
I am selfish.
I am a coward who doesn't know how to accept this life.
A coward who cannot let go, because letting go feels too much like loosing her all over again.
And perhaps the most selfish prayer my heart will ever make is this --
Ya Rabbi, I know she belongs with you.
But I wish You had let her belong to me
Just a little longer--
long enough to grow old in my arms, long enough for forever to have meant forever.

'Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard, are sweeter'
'Ode to a Grecian Urn' by John Keats