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