Amor Fati

You can’t cheat the truth

It lurks in your hiding place

It hides in your dreams

It’s carved inside your eyelids so that it’s the first thing you see when it’s dark

It casts a shadow on the faces whose gaze you long for

Relentlessly it pursues you

Diligently it embraces you 
It won’t let you go until you let go of the folly that you can outstrip who you truly are..  .

pause.

barren hearts, barren lands

cold blood dried up by hot air fans

botched minds sowing  murderous plans

clenched fists shaking hands

righteous tongues nefarious clans

shriveled compassion possessive demands

the earth may remain, the horizon weaved with sunset strands
but without a vast plain and a blue sky where the sight can expand
we die – homeless, blinded and damned

all ya gotto do is say yes

i want to take my husband on this cross-country trip I’ve been wanting to make for 2 years now, through Somalia. lagoons, canyons, mountain tops, hut cafeterias, bumpy truck rides, sunset watching on rooftops, evening gatherings with newly acquired friends sitting on a mat on the house compound swatting away mosquitoes in between intense listening to juicy storytelling and belly laughs, carwo-shoppin’, aroos-hoppin’, relatives shukansi eavesdropping on us wondering why we haven’t grown disillusioned with the honeymoon phase not knowing that this is where we discovered each other, in that honeymoon zone of the soul intersection, listening to downloaded rain sounds through the phone as we lie in the dark waiting for the electricity to come back on, car drifting in the outskirts of town, trying and miserably failing to start a fire in charcoal stoves, washing laundry by hand in big basins, taking turns reading classical Somali romance novels aloud, mosquito nets coming undone in the scuffle of love making, stargazing,spontaneity abound

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Possession

my lungs, my limbs, my head saturated with fumes from the pain

emotional flames billowing through to my consciousness
restrict my movement
cancel appointments 
just lie down, swim in this sea of fragmented memories
Floodgates
it’s like a place beyond time where my past and present and future meet 
every emotion, every thought, every belief, every reaction that I’ve been evading for over two decades come rushing in
like desperate mothers fleeing war with their youngins
i look myself in the bathroom mirror, a zombie.yet for the first time I feel the pain but I’m not the pain.
there’s a door between me and the pain
maybe that’s why I’m reliving all these memories and horrors
I’m secure enough to not succumb to the ferocious currents
My soul is bottomless, so emotions keep pouring in
i’ve learnt that keeping them away is like trying to contain the monsoon season by holding a bucket to catch the raindrops
i realize​ God intended me to be a blank canvas, a wanderer without destination, a vessel through which magic manifests
Rudderless
So this is the first time I’ve finally made peace with not being able to be free of that creative vortex
I’ve had to mourn and make peace with all the dreams and goals I imagined
Everything I detached from refused to part without ripping off a piece of me
my ego left threadbare
tattered
dragged
peeled like an apple, like clementine, like everything delicate protected by a tough outer shell

these floods bursting through my unconscious have come to clean off all the traces of everything that died in me
and to water the soil of my soul

when you’re damn good at visualizing alternate realities to dissociate to, it’s difficult to just be, awaiting the worst case scenarios your imagination has cooked up. 
when you have 8 lanes of thought traffic so that you won’t have to see what’s in your peripheral vision, it’s difficult to park to the side waiting for a tow truck to take you god knows where.

And truly, God knows where I’m headed. I didn’t realize how difficult it is for me to trust when I had to let go and trust in the unknown. I only discovered my inability to receive goodness when I asked and did not receive. I had a lot of pent-up anger towards God for putting me in situations that I felt I had no choice but to either suppress or avoid. It took me a couple of years to wade out in that scary place of exploring my relationship with Allaah. But because I was sincere in discovering the truth, I felt supported. I’d have ironic conversations with Him like “ I know I’m resisting becoming immersed in the religious/spiritual realm because of how I was burnt and shackled to people’s poor perception of who You are, and it’ll take me a while. But o Allaah, I ask you to keep me afloat until I reach the place where I’m able to sift through all those years’

and He did. Because I’m writing through one of my worst bouts of PTSD. Because I can feel a brighter future even as I’m not attaching myself to any desirable outcome. Because I can fathom an end to the pain. Because I’m marvelling at the beauty in pain. Because I have given up everything.EVERYTHING to live my truth, to make the most of my soul.

All because He didn’t give up on me even though I’ve been posed to jump the ship more hours than I’ve ever slept.

shore

I write to clean my heart. i write to clear my mind. i write to have a conversation with my swarming emotions that just buzz too loudly for me to make sense of them. I write like an anxious parent pacing back and forth in the hospital waiting room . I write like an absentminded student chewing on the top of the pencil. I write like a dressmaker verifying the body measurements of the client.

I don’t write all the time. Mostly I let emotions well up while I try my best to give them free passage. Sometimes I crack and retreat to my mental caverns where I dissociate. I try to not be harsh on myself when that happens. I often fight the urge to speed up the process, to just stick my hand in and grab all the yarn I can and just pull pull pull. My teenage years and early 20s were lost in the rabbit holes of my unconscious, and I stored all these yearnings of lost dreams and milestones like tivoing my dreams or queuing up life experiences.

My emotions come in either intense short bursts, or milder waves. When the wave has all but receded, I start to soak in my senses around this. I start to process what I’ve experienced, if it was a flashback or a reaction to a thought that had slipped me by. That’s when I start to thread the emotions through words, slowly, meticulously, intuitively. Some threads take weeks, months, years even to complete. Some threads are trains of different waves of emotions that somehow have a cohesive meaning.

I have webs of these threads that run the entire length of my being. It’s only when I take a step back to view my finished handiwork that I realize that there are parts of me that have never seen the inside of another’s mind. How do I know that something is real and not a dream if I can’t experience my thoughts bouncing off another person?

I can’t talk to people about most of what I experience inside because I’m afraid they’d get lost, like I have. Or I’m afraid I’d bore them out with my mechanical thought processes that are quite compulsive in the way I’ve filed them away and made sure I know where each starts, leaving no loose ends. I can’t bear to have my self-doubt confirmed through the thoughts of another. Even if they don’t speak it, I can hear it in their moment of silence as they search for the ‘right’ words to say, I can see it in their flickering look, I can see it in the furrow of their brows.

So I write. I write like a newly married military wife writes handwritten letters daily to her deployed husband to keep the fear of him never returning at bay. I write like a stranded seafarer wishes on a star. I write like a door ajar inviting passersby.

I’m going to continue to write like a nostalgic heartbroken lover sitting on lonely dock watching the waves roll away to the beckoning of the fading sun, just like my life.

i made space for you


You can’t stick to a desert that once was a green meadow, in the hopes of rains returning. Don’t let your seeds shrivel in vain. Don’t die of thirst waiting for something that isn’t yours to wait for. 
Go where your seeds are awaited by fertile soil, and rain will follow you. Go where your fires are fanned, and the breeze will cool you. Go where your light is allowed free passage, and lofty trees forming a dense canopy will shade you. 

Don’t linger in an environment that is abrasive to you. Don’t seek out your graveyard.

Please.

Death growing inside of me

I’m locked up in my squalid life because I don’t want others to come in and look at me with that look I’ve been avoiding mirrors for. I’m locked in darkness because the dark protects me, covers me, buries my existence, and with it, the painful reminders of my life. I don’t see much that is redeemable. All I see is what’s wrong with me. All I hear is the muffled wails imprisoned in my throat. All I feel is the jagged edges of my being. All I know is the echoing of my thoughts.

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