Lee was a willful grandmother who held my hand with the lightest grip. Often times I forgot that I was being led into a new path in life while following her footsteps. Whenever we crossed the crowded road on the street I noticed her stumble a little.Her legs were growing weary at this time and I thought it was because she didn’t get enough rest. Lee woke up early in the morning to draw circles sometimes I would ask her why but she never answered. I was too small to understand that she couldn’t hear me every time I would laugh or cry. Yet I did both of these things and she would understand me. The day before she passed away she was taking me to a toy store. The cars in front of us would grow impatient. I watched as the windows to cars went down and many heads shouted angrily. Yet Lee my willful grandmother kept a smile to her face as she strolled her way to the other side. I pulled her faster as the honks grew louder and louder and I fell. I fell in the middle of the road and I heard it for the first time. I heard someone discriminate her race. I heard it once and I heard it twice I pulled my grandma to the other side. I was afraid. Lee’s lustrous eyes didn’t move from their settled place in the corner of the block. I buried my face in her pattern filled salwar kameez. She was a spice that had to go but she filled me up with a wonderful experience. At home, she prayed on her islamic janamaz rug. Prayed beautifully that she kissed the prayer rug, my grandmother was islamic. I was catholic yet I watched her closely because she fell in love with a catholic. She broke the chains of stereotypes in her own culture. Lee didn’t hear the evil of the word she felt it
She felt it as she was pushed around, she felt the vibrations of the people around the corner would stomp their feet and clap their hands in protests. She saw the people on the streets hunger clouding their eyes.
The girl with the geographic scars with plains that were bumpy and skin deep had paths that connected across her thighs
and she loved me.
Whose blood vessels tightened as if to erupt.
There are volcanoes that erupt on her wrists.
Her eyes they see forecasts of gloomy clouds.
Her nose inhales the polluted insults and I look her way, she has turned into a tornado that twists at everyone’s touch.
She has turned into a hurricane that has put my pieces back together instead of destroying me.
She turned into my lover.
I healed her with the magic I dug out from the soil in my backyard.
I watered her geographic scars with my tears at the accomplishments she made.
I wrapped my roots inside her skin
and i sewed
until there was no cut left her.
Little people on a floating rock in a big universe. Trapped inside huge vastness’ of black space. Black matter longs and awaits for any warmth. Two little people and millions of possibilities brought by fate. Huge yet tiny among space. Two humans two poets who feel calamity and beauty at the palm of each other’s hands. Indeed thy are little.But of great significance creating immeasurable impacts on the surface and melting cores.
In a world that is lived in by many things.
It is instinct and human nature to wonder.
It floats, this hijab.
It carries the vibrant colors of red-
Splashed with war.
Speckled with strength.
It is not wrong. Immoral is our actions towards the people
with different religious views.
See more than the cloth!
Direct your eyes
Towards the girl behind the hijab.
Whose beautiful hair is treasurly tucked.
She wears it not for us but herself and Allah.
Let us learn to compliment her mind!
Not her body.
Ask what she values and her beliefs
soften this world that free flows with biased assumptions-
You should be to.
To the girl with the hijab who floated in an ocean filled with judgement.
I love you.
Beauty is like the moon
moving all the humming heavens to an angels voice.
The way the stars with their wounded knees and scared bodies burst
into endless songs.
Perhaps it’s you swaying in the air to all
the songs you know and do not know
turning modest flowers loose,
Is it I? At the end of the telescope
admiring the way you
I’d like to point out that school hallways are indeed like crowded interstates.
From the beginning of time I held a tight grip on my school backpack. I watched out for the signs and the guides. In kindergarten I cried I saw cars many cars zooming.
4th day of kindergarten I had a leak. Leaks were very common in the route I took daily but this one was of quite embarrassment. I remember the sirens the drills ringing in my ears when they’d play the drills. I didn’t like that my arms above my head as if I was tuning out the loud noises. We all ran towards the playground. I held my pebble in between my tiny hands, my light up shoes slipped within the pavement and I fell. My pebble of life got lost, I searched and searched
it took years of searching. Year by year I grew to love those other pebbles along the sidewalk until I found closure.
10th Grade I’m holding my hands around a steering wheel. On the interstate my smile sparkles on a rainy day.
My friend exclaims, “how can you possibly be smiling when it’s raining?”
“She’s taught me how to love the rain.”
The rain drops run down the silky windows. I don’t have to look to the side. I know she’s there. She watches out for me, I don’t have leaks because she reminds me that when I spill she’ll help dry the tears. There are cracks in pavements but I know they’ll be filled in, there were cracks in me but her soul is what makes me alive. There are guides and there are signs. I see the speed limit and smile. I don’t think I can possibly get a speed ticket for my accelerated heart beat. My speedometer of life roars. I’m not slipping my shoes press gently on the brakes. She reminds me to stop and when to go. When I run out of the car on a rainy day I don’t fall. The pebble of my life isn’t in my big hand grip now. I don’t have to rummage through. It’s somewhere it won’t be lost. She won’t drown as long as I keep her beside me in the warmth of my heart. She’s in my heart.