Our future comes from the past and the end is contained in the beginning. And so, life is but the unravelling of a stillness. Life began with a sharp inhalation before the sentence was read, and it ended in a soft sigh. One’s life work can only be read in the darkness of the grave.

Move… Meant

Vessels have been handed down the generations to be filled by a woman’s essence

To have her desires and soul urges extracted

And with each generation, the vessels become deeper and the women more hollow

The echoes of their hunger pain reverberates the depths of their being, but never escapes their lips like a shameful secret

Silenced by a stillness that absorbs but doesn’t reflect

My biggest battle has been one of void, absence

I’ve been ravaged by my acidic essence needing to fill, not knowing how to be still

Or perhaps it’s not my essence that is acidic, but the sensation of feeling my being is so foreign and unheard of that it stings me

Emptiness lines the sides of a woman, I was not prepared for this

I wanted to empty myself of my self, but no vessel could hold me

Even dissociation abandoned me


Like Bertrand Russell, my life has been characterized by the longing for love, learning and empathy. Yet, Allaah postponed my finding the objects of my search, so that I could embody my essence before giving it away.

I sought love, instead I became intimately entwined with it in all its depths and magnitude. I came to live in its nesting during the long winters

I sought the apex of academia , but instead I was taken down the ancient paths of phenomenology and into contact with unadulterated realities and truths through experiential knowledge.

I sought to help people and for years I felt helpless and powerless because I couldn’t do much about the pain I’d feel in them. So I sat with their voices, let them carve out deep caverns in me like rivers

And I found that instead of filling, I just *am*

Instead of covering up my hollowness, I brim over with love, even if a bit loud and clumsy

Instead of wishing on an outcome to redeem me, I flow flow flow

In timelessness and yet I’m still

A stillness that doesn’t sting

A stillness that holds but doesn’t oust

A stillness that reflects but doesn’t absorb

A stillness that is silent but doesn’t mask pain

A pain that doesn’t hinder but signals to me when I need refilling

From the divine fountains

Knowing you was a divine encounter

A million years ago

My truth is all I own in this world, please understand that.
It’s the only space in this world that no one can oust me from
it’s the only thing that nourishes my soul
And it’s the only thing that I’ll take with me to my grave

I’ve found that anything I add to my truth, detracts from my essence
So I travel light, in preparation for my next call to adventure
My soul inherited the somali nomadic proclivities that my homebody and introverted self vehemently rejects
My mind is always wandering, my heart wondering

I really hate travelling, I do. I hate change because every day I awake to new truths that I have to try on outside my comfort zone
So it’s a counterbalance I guess
The worst part about being a nomadic soul is that no one can accompany you.
Most people would never see what I see, nor could I explain to them in an inviting way because it’s an experiential knowledge

I’ve always been afraid of that, since I was 4. I sensed this immense inner universe that would force me to part from others and I spent half of my life blinding and numbing myself to it because it’s the scariest shit ever. What if I get lost and never come back? Or worse yet, what if I come back and I’m no longer welcome?

But like a nomad, my soul’s survival depended on me moving and everytime I would move to new truths, I had to die to everything I had until that moment
I always have to move from a zero point field
A place where all the lessons are absorbed, obstacles dissolved, incongruencies resolved

When I write, it’s never to make others,you, understand because I can hardly understand it myself. But my writings are landmarks and souvenirs I leave behind to remember the vast truths I’ve traversed and to honour everything I’ve sacrificed, suffered, sought.

Writing is a séance I perform to channel the ghosts of everything I’ve been
Writing is a balm for me, a soul no one understands, a sensitive soul that needs to know that there’s something bigger in me than my fears and doubts
No one else can do that for me
Writing is my Nightingale
My dream catcher
Nightmare comforter

The map of my soul is only intelligible to the naked eye seeking to be whole.

Zero point vibe

I recorded my life on my bare truth
I know that every emotion that stirs me to rise to an occasion will eventually take me all the way back to whence I began: my soul
I know that impure intentions laced with fear or lack always lead to being entangled in the spider’s web
I know cobwebs like the back of my hand
It’s taken over a decade, but I’ve reclaimed my power and cleansed all my corrupted files
So I know that the root of every thought and feeling and opinion will lead me deeper into my own core, enriching me because I’m not being consumed by others as a way to pay for the power I had outsourced

I own the masters of the music of my soul

Every single night

She lends her pen,
to thoughts of him,
that flow from it,
in her solitary.

For she is his poet,
And he is her poetry

— Lang Leav, Love & Misadventure


Only come if your path ends at my doorstep

I’ll only let you in if it was your heart that led you here
I keep my world warm and shielded from the drafts of a skeptical mind
My sensuality is sacred
My love is self funded
My being is lined with invisible ink
You’ll see me when you believe in me

My heart needsa live either way
My passion burns deep all the way
My soul will outlive alla y’alls favourites
I operate in my own matrix
Don’t you filter me through your filthy aggregates of averages
Don’t forget that I’m the descendant of reer mudug savages
I love deep but my reflexes don’t flinch, I don’t hesitate
I’m a vessel for peace but I can pour you a tall glass of mayhem

To my rover

Who am I when I have nothing to look forward to?
Who am I in the depths of my being, which no one has experienced?
Who would I be to people if I didn’t make them feel good?
Who would I be if I spoke a language no one knew?
What if I saw things no one else had caught a glimpse of?
What if I were to be pulled by a strange force that addressed my heart alone – who would I then be?
If I were drowning in a river of imagination, would my death be real?

forget our conversations, the hours we spent laughing at the absurdity of this world, the long silences that weren’t awkward at all – would you recognize me by vibe? Because I do. I can actually remember my soul and yours standing next to each other in a life prior to this. I tried to forget you but my heart knew you before it even knew my own name. My name!
My love for you transcends time and space, and that explains why I’ve failed to shut the door on you. I’ve spent years travelling towards the horizon of your soul. I never thought I’d ever arrive, so distant and unfathomable was the connection. But it persisted and resisted my deviation, like the northern star.

And yet, I sailed away because I thought your soul had gone dim for me. I didn’t hear your echo, I didn’t see your reflection. I couldn’t endure the torment of the possibility that this secret I’ve carried in my heart for years would remain a secret. That’s too heavy a reality for me to endure. I’d rather make peace with the thought of never speaking to you again.

I’m usually good at disappearing and deadening the traces of others in my heart. But it seems like you came pre-installed. At this point, I’ve come to terms with spending the rest of my days alone because my heart does simply not have space for any other. I sleep with you on my mind, and I awake with you in my heart.

I write this more to myself, to come to terms with what I’ve tried deny and suppress for long. But I realized I couldn’t do that without suppressing a part of me. You’re forever ingrained in my soul and although I’m mortified at the thought of you ever coming across this, I can’t deny the truth. My truth.

So, I let go, of it all. What I am, whether you’ll ever return from that red planet of yours, what it all means. I let it go, flow, float into the ether.

May Allaah pull us back to our shared orbit. ❤️

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