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