The Dua Story

one headache here
an exam fail there
she feels obscenely alone
without an inner home
her though process broken into
and the robber is shaytan.
embarrassed before her Lord
humbled by sin
the momentum finally
emerges within.

~

Dua starts with praise
and durood for sure
we finish our petition
as we begun
and by putting our hope in the repentance law

-By Laila Ali Haid

Be a woman

contorted into an image
birthed from a mind
infected with misogyny
be a woman
everyone has an opinion
about your next performance
shall you be dainty or a tomboy
its all the same to me
never unique
we are one blended shrieking mass
oh, but we can't do maths
the 'men' say
large and in charge
they trip over our hems.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Donald Trump Blues, Theresa May Flu

In the West

an axis of evil

crystallizes

and threatens
all life forms.

the worker toils
many tears
cascade down his cheeks,
or maybe it is sweat.
I'm bewildered of,
counting down to,
the journals, blogs, fake outrage.
well paid media professionals
over chai tea latte discuss,
forecast his tantrums.

Back in Blighty,
we have a lady head of state
but don't call it progress
I label it a fool's process.

Why bother?


- By Laila Ali Haid

Surah Naba

Surah Naba is beautiful. In reading this chapter I feel a mixture of gratitude and amazement  - all power belongs to Him.

78:8
And We created you in pairs
78:9
And made your sleep [a means for] rest
78:10
And made the night as clothing


- By Laila Ali Haid

Glass Mind

transparent and caught

within my mind 

human livestock graze

they know not better

and I know not at all

they sow for fruitful

destruction.

I am vulnerable to their steps

they drown my cries

all throughout the night

the foghorn sounds

it tapes me down

to the sinkhole

of despair.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Breakthrough

I float midway and sit
in obedience
to the ever-longing screw-with-yer-mind
-ers
they cannibalize,
stuff down,
yer vital bits.
treat you like pic n mix.
you are 'living' in an air-balloon, so mediocre
through sheets of plastic hastily painted magenta
hot air is puked in every direction.


- By Laila Ali Haid

Flu Blues

I've the flu blues,
a chest full of avoided situations
that could have been chucked
in an altered reality
or medicine.
a sticky mess pushes through
stubby knuckles flail
she fatigued retires to
the fever boudoir and stiff chair.

- By Laila Ali Haid

The Big Bad World (out there) Part 1

I live with a homebody family. They like the indoors and spending their hours joking and shoving, but within the private realm of our four-walled home.

They - or shall I say 'we', spend hours on gadgets and television - the prospect of going out and meeting peoples seems less gratifying than the internet matrix we virtually own.

I'm not shaming anyone here; I am just as guilty for this home becoming a multi-generational, introverted and tech-absorbed enclave.

However, I want to know if I can ever return from my 'dream state reality' (which my blog is a part of).

For constructively leaving in-the-air ideas to a more practical life style.

Yes 'real life', is the tangible and feel-able sheep in wolf's clothing that I am frightened/unsure of.

--

But What could be out there for me? Moving out would inevitably mean losing touch with relatives which means losing the human contact freely 'there' at my family home.

I am not brave at all.  I am very content with being used to things and abiding/living by it.

I sometimes imagine what it would be like to live alone. My live alone fantasy always cuts itself short when I realise I'd be (drum-roll) ... alone!

To be continued.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Exit Matrix

I want to break free
we shall overcome -
many a song say. 
the chains made me adapt to this life
of hyper blurring 
Is my mum really a mum?
Or an alien in the finery of a Somali lady
What am I?
I ask everyday since 15 days ago.
I thought of every conspiracy theory under the sun
settled on the Truman Show for a few days
I was a living walking reality show
for those few days
now the blessed red flower has appeared
it appears my troubles have temporarily 
crept under my bed ready to disturb
after the cycle expires.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Repentant Soul

She watches their moves
She here. They there.
She can't go back in time
The Laws of God forbid it
And they don't want her
She smiles with depressed glee
Goes back to her real identity
Well, the one acceptable
to society
And finds solace in reality.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Do friendships matter?

I can think of a few friends that I can semi-rely on, perhaps one that is thoroughly consistent. Having and maintaining relationships outside of family whilst going through personal issues is never easy.

Keeping and finding friends whilst diagnosed with any serious problems is a strain and headache in itself. 

Sometimes I wish I could be friends with no-one. That way I wouldn't have to deal with the 'friends' that treat you beneath or as competition, or a joke. 

Their behaviour is an insult to who you are - your essence, which is made up of both the soul's disposition and inner neurosis.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Post-Ramadan

little black dots connect
to create a tortuous movement
inside of my body

- This is me spiraling into emotional pain only to climb out and to be pushed back in again. It not good that it isn't Ramadan anymore.
In Ramadan, we Muslims believe that all devils are locked up, therefore automatically decreasing that amount of evil during the blessed month.
A miracle, because straight after Ramadan I found myself falling in good deeds and mood.

no hope in dunya
trapped inside my own body.
i wish to be liberated by paradise
But afflictions - do they bring me closer or near?
No longer enslaved by the dunya
but tormented by it.

nowhere woman
with her gaze forth to nowhere
and nothing, in particular
she casts her eyes to the foggy distance of the white walls
she has romantic ideas
about her thought process
dead or alive?
The public laugh from the gallows

- By Laila Ali Haid

The fasting story part 4

The sky is grey and she is blue. The red roses no longer grow from the front garden bush. She is glad to be alive today, which makes a difference to her mood. Her mood - rueful.

The weight loss pricks her behaviour into a jolly sadness, a nice pain. Seven minutes to Iftar.

- By Laila Ali Haid

The fasting story part 3

Cogs, wires and jellies, useless at standstill, are put to task by the ghost in the machine.

Bones creak and teeth grind, she stands up heavily and winces at her reflection. Loveless and happy she puts her hopes in some vague truths. How can she fast with that ghost in her ear, she can function but forgot how to.

She drowsily stares at the screen.


- By Laila Ali Haid

The fasting story part 2

She was lonely, it was past midnight and some ruqya audio was keeping her sane. Random flashbacks challenged her to keep her fast clean; the kindness of handsome strangers adrift through London evenings.

She remembers her dark impatient face versus his bright and tempered one. He doesn't remember - though I relished the moment of sincere human contact.

The hateful weekend day awaits and promises to abuse, she lacks the filter to act accordingly.

- By Laila Ali Haid 

The fasting story part 1

She took a sip of the green drink and breathed in. It was twelve am ; three hours past iftar time, or the fast-breaking hour. She felt an unwelcome burning sensation in her throat, which did not distract her thoughts. Her mood - contemplative.

She thought of her sins and how she tried to keep them at the fray of her fast, failing to do this at times. She blinked as she tried to predict her future. Another failed year.

Her family ignored her for the most part; they used her former glory as bragging rights - and they buried her present self in back-garden soil.

- By Laila Ali Haid

A sin for dinner

Sin O'clock

its ticks

to countdown to when you can 'relax'

and get back to the usual 

A toothpaste smile for breakfast

mask on the piety with your 

hungry belly.

but actual insincerity,

when do we learn?

- By Laila Ali Haid

Partner-In-Piety

Moses had Aaron
I don't have you 
whatever you are
pious people are like ...
insert impressive sounding praise 
the best way of describing this -
there are hardly any camels suitable to ride
I am alone in this pickle jar 
that froze me in time
that made me a case study
and a problem to be neutralized. 

- By Laila Ali Haid

Expression

faceless facial non-movements lead others astray,

emotionless and hassle free

pray tell

if this monster has a heart

worth striking your acid soaked arrow for?

or is she-monster only a vessel

of obscene whispers and projections

of other's hatred and carelessness. 

- By Laila Ali Haid

I might do this

but psychedelia overtakes
and sits a top
my eyeballs and head
it tells me to run through the glass
into the green grass
breath in toxic atmosphere
and breathe out health.
A faded photograph from the 60s
I wish to emulate
those shimmying girls
in their paisley overalls and see-through boots.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Needy Girl

I hate myself for loving you.

I remember a passage from Yasmin Mogahed's book, which basically summed up my relation to other people - from family, to friends and even complete strangers. In her book 'Reclaim Your Heart', she described the confused feeling of emotional attachment that she had for her friends and her family. She would feel strong sense of closeness to people around her, only to be excruciatingly devastated when they left her. She, in her words "couldn't let go of anything".

Today I had an argument with someone 'close' and even though I think I was mistreated by them (as usual) in the fight, afterward I felt an uncomfortable sensation in my stomach - one of sorrowed humiliation and guilt. Not only that I participated in hurting their emotions but also since they abandoned me too soon afterwards.

How do some people look as social butterflies, heck, even moths (dabbing hastily around any shiny thing/person) yet still keep in their airtight, emotion free shell?

I ask the reader, how do respect our sense of self-respect?

- By Laila Ali Haid

Schizophrenia

I had a purple twin
the joker
my parents named him Jack
and left him in a stack
of cards 
to be dealt with
in smoke rooms.
Mirrors entertained him
he could fly through them.
i bumped my head on the ceiling
pomposity  
and portals denied me
from bouncing off to 
Dreamland.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Unmarked Stone

the lover laments,

and aunties shrug

not a beautiful lass -

with no known heir to shame

at the unmarked grave

is little girl blue, at her final space.

the lover - rendezvousing,

with the wild of the

cemetery gates, forgets her name. 

- By Laila Ali Haid 

Untitled

she loves the jabberwocky
she wanted be Lennon
her life didn't make sense anyway
in her head she was a dead white poet
her blackness slapped her 
through reflections
like cold water to a sleeping soul
she was subdued on her first year of uni
a decade later
just a piece of paper to show for her intelligence
and grey matter 
that transmits "I still exist". - By Laila Ali Haid

the cycle

the cycle

your face puffs and lines disappear
blood of deer
i race to the third floor 
finding inner beauty there
I was once a girl ya' know
legs were straight and so were the highs
euphoria has swallowed this old lady 
whole
and no ol' man is seen here
not anyhow
for biscuits or tea, nothing
i have sweat and a demented mind for good company

- By Laila Ali Haid

Beauty

the curve of your hair
and spine,
stretched belly button.
the hot line bling
doesn't excite much now
the deadline
six years -
looms and glooms
she's biologically anti-clockwise
your aunties natter.
the academic stacked against her,
a thesis survey
negative positive its all the same
especially when you're neither sane either way. - By Laila Ali Haid

State of the Ummah Address

She said
hard-work pays off in the end
and they say that so and so clan
are natural leaders and innovators.
but this is not advancement
Here I make a stern address

For this nation is convulsing
and the earth has become
a crooked creche,

High rise apartments @ stainburn forest
or the Amazon
isn't the reality uglier
Even they wouldn't mock
such vital landscapes.


Impulsive self hate
drives our memory
to forget Surah Takathur

Who do you think you are

#Freedom for Uyghuirs
#BringBackOurGirls
#VivaPalestine
#JusticeforKashmir
#HopeInNumbers

Will consciousness ever break out
of our corrupted body politic

But if the heart is corrupt...

Go figure...

- By Laila Ali Haid

Seven Layers

can't tunnel through the seven layers
or spin a basketball
on a upright finger
the mind splinters
and hair grays
I'm a near genius
heart blackens with dots,
and blocked from the path of righteousness
with the gates of wealth flung open
fast forward,
in a black rectangle shaped box
again, heart sealed with sin
and veins soaked in gin
even in death,
wearily reemerging from your earth,
you shuffle
and freely
fall,
onto God's grace.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Broken Glass

You can't take me anywhere
you think
disrupted speech 
and stilted conversation
this INFJ sister wilts and thinks
you make me a frustrated companion
a blank canvas of easy trust 
black-eyed Laila
makes you uncomfortable
even when she's not there.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Intelligent Design

Death on the stairs
fourth floor, Block B
murder of our times
modern, council housing
we're grateful
for it,
but for the bloody mess on the fourth floor.
rather not get involved
I take the lifts instead.

- By Laila Ali Haid

18

twenty three says her reflection,
photographs
and guess games
which taunt this post-adolescent.
"eighteen"
states official documents
once more
I'm Somali she says, looking out through the pain
A cotton headscarf and mum's abaya
She catches the 9:40 for her morning lectures
says not much in class,
she keeps it all in,
can't edit her thoughts.
But she sure can write 'em.

- By Laila Ali Haid

on creativity

On creativity 

This blog is completely anomalous

I've actually felt stagnant artistically for a while now.

Since starting this blog in 2010,  I have submitted less than ten entries - and most posts are recent as I have only now realized the potential of keeping an online journal.

I'm quite interactive and have used computers to keep a track of my creative output since the age of 6.

But at eighteen, and giving up my (online) correspondent post for full-time studies, I have rarely attempted to write other than factually.

I also think it is the illness plus treatment for it that has blunted my artistic spirit and therefore deadened how much emotion and style I could add to a piece of writing.

(hey its my blog and I can overshare as much as I want ! Yes I have a health problem - that has damaged my creative acuity as well as editing talents)

Some say its that it is a skill to write stylistically whether the content is academic or not.

I find that creativity is not as described by poets, painters, musicians - there might be an instinct but it does not always "magically" draw your art into its final composition.

My scatter brain, filled with holes and pock marks dented from this illness, will probably not return to its original self without God's help.

How has illness changed your creativity? Has it stayed the same, disappeared or weakened, or found a groove?

- By Laila Ali Haid

The blessings of ill health

I am such a hopeless hoper.

RELIGION -

The one aspect of my life that is not lacking focus and hasn't transgressed into disorder .

I am normally punctual with what I'm asked to do - the daily prayers, and even more if I'm feeling well.

Actually there is a teaching in our religion, that the example of a believer is like a plant blown, sometimes bending and other times straight.

Narrated Kab: The Prophet said,  "The example of a believer is that of a fresh tender plant, which the wind bends lt sometimes and some other time it makes it straight. And the example of a hypocrite is that of a pine tree which keeps straight till once it is uprooted suddenly".

So in times of hardship, and unlike the hypocrite, our faith is never uprooted.

But how do you act towards your faith in ill health? If you have physical or mental illness, those with good health undoubtedly have more of an advantage for doing nafl salaat (extra prayers) or attending Jumu'ah.

But we, the diagnosed community, have a great opportunity for patience and putting our trust in Allah.

Its so easy, yet hard and something I've decided on after years of hardship - I never once thought of saying "We surely belong to Allah and to Him we shall return", simply because I thought I was being punished.

I hope someone in the midst of their own suffering decides from seeing this post, to say "Innah Lillahi Wa Innah Ilayhi Raji'oon"

- By Laila Ali Haid