The Pristine Garment - poem on Prophet Muhammad PBUH

The sky dominated my head

Eyes stretching to the sofa bed

Legs felt despondent 

In unison swarming the room

I look across the window

Overcome by mundane supernatural hatred

The mercy of Ar-Raheem 

Determines my sleep.

Skip across the elemental

Re-tell the vitality.

Pessimism undermines clarity

Virtuous illuminations

Underwrites new realities

Floating before twilight

A narrative

swims to my conscious

Before me

he

Peace and Blessings always on him.

I recall graceful sleeps

dreams to keep.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Penitence Poem

Perseverance, penitence and patience,
All in my eyes just above its lids,
It is a strain for the chequered self,
The metaphysical discourse to good ratios,
A balance between the soul and act,
Shifting frames to a crystalline speech
The heart is stalemate with its vessel
Eat and live
Is to live to eat grain?
Or the penitence that flows from eye lids,
To another clean afternoon anchoring good reason
To strong faith?

- by me, Laila Ali Haid

On my way

Scrolls leisurely compete with time

I am on my way to a precision.

Marking the temporal in it all -

shrub and faint roses,

crystallizing moon phases,

Ocean floors,

Ebony doors

~

The hock mark
that made contextual my appearance
at your front door
marching all the way from
hushed beds of forest
to the sandy limits of an epiphany
I see a crystalline outpouring
From your weirdly glazed door
It projects the message
I've been waiting for
"To eternity through you
has motion from the wheels of
some grace".


- By Laila Ali Haid

Big sis

Top of the tree stares down

I crank my neck, with a question

“Do apples float swaying from your branches

In a descent timed to gusts of direction

This way and that angle

Oscillating between all balances?”

The apple is ripened

The sun coddled it

The branches summon the apple

“my sister, the nestled seed in your centre

Is us, the sun

And the answer”.

The tree is my big sis

And the seed has departed, it will be sufficed.

-by me, Laila Ali Haid

Abiding Love

The wind locks me into a process

The points of the stars twinkle in protest

I am not she you are not we

The grit under my nails have biological life

I am dormant to cupid bows that crash in strife

Please hug me I’m happy and need consolation

To succour the change to empty glasses and full lotions.

Landlocked by freedom, chained to elitism

As I glide to the fences of love

Hitting a woody undertone and billows of exhalation

I come to terms with my dissonant exertion.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Kisses on a cola can

Kisses on a cola can


That new age moon drink sips itself, really
I am thirsty. I reach for the last chemical outpourings from a cola can.
Hard a-bopping to the American Great Backyard, we look over our neighbours
And into Washington’s newspeak imagery
Kiss a can of cola to observe its viscous dreamland
Beg at the altar of fruits and veg, rotting as they be
Eat a goat and wash it down with knowledge of the other,
The prized condiment forbids itself by name,
The underground ferries onto soil,
Soil becomes the soul of America
God bless the past,
And please mention the undertows.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Thank you and sorry

Thank you and sorry

Great lies convert pennies into nuance and overwhelms

Us into a stance of goose and reverie.

The curvature of my rotten tooth

Formulates a map of bygone allusion

I am forced to roller blade into heuristic chants,

Capitalism renders me thin, thick and

Rueful.

I am shuffling to own sounding offs.

The soap-box error embodies the marked ends to means to ends of means…

- By Laila Ali Haid

Pinky finger blues

Hold your cup of tea like a lady,
tip it over and there will be chairs flailing,
She gets her porcelain gauntlet with the small finger sticking...
...it to the man of graces and regular blinking,
she's no fair woman of classic movies,
more like dark lovely and swiftly moving,
she can hold the cup of tea in her specific
love for difference and spewing so prolific
jaunty rhymes
about her everyday lines,
while crying for,
an open door.

- By Laila Ali Haid