Made of Words

It was almost 2 pm and my mind was being invaded by thoughts I’ve battled with for years. Everything was peaceful, quiet, stable and too beautiful for me to comprehend. I was supposed to be as stable, as quiet, but the silence only made the voice within me louder and stronger than ever. This was it. It seemed to me that this is how my life is going to be from now on.

I was on vacation, escaping all my worries and responsibilities. There I was, a young woman pursuing a Master’s Degree in Arts and Literature, one who struggled to write a novel let alone focus on academic research. Think, think, then write, I whispered to myself. Think really hard of Sylvia Plath and all her words, of Somaya Ramadan and her characters. Mental institutions, words, pills, bell jars, glass, mirrors, more images. I grabbed my laptop, sat by the terrace and began writing, articles, documents all opened for me to read. I thought really hard of every word I’d use, but none seemed to be enough. I needed to be inspired. No, I needed to read more. And so I did, I opened up more articles to read for guidance. Something told me I could not do it. Something told me I left something neglected within me, pushed aside, and it waited for too long. I am made of words. I am made of chaos, and it echoes within my breathing, my footsteps, my voice. I am made of images and metaphors. They wait… they waited for me to be still and listen closely. Listen: bell jars surround you too. You write and write. You hide. You escape. You do not know what lies ahead, so you’re scared. You’re scared you might not make it in this world. You do not fit in, so you take up the role of an actress, sometimes a goddess, a some sort of divine being no one can figure out. Even in this stillness, you cannot be still, because you left me unfinished. You do not wish to write me, because my words will grow more wounds on you and you’ve had your share of pain. You’ve had enough of me. Think. It’s not Plath’s or Ramadan’s words whom you don’t understand, but rather your own. You are brilliant, but you are not enough. You will make it someday, but you will probably think you did not. You will be everything you’ve dreamed of being, but your mind will delude you and make you think you have failed. Listen. Yes, light up your cigarette, stand beneath the sunny sky and look around you. Look at the grass beneath you, the roses, and the sea somewhere beyond them. You see clarity now. You see something and for once you find yourself grasping it. Its elusiveness upsets you, but you have it now. You breathe it in, look around to see if anyone is looking. It’s okay, your friends are on the couch and your mind is just another book no one can read, not even you can. You pray for the sun to never set, because when it does, your words will die again. You pray for the sea to never kiss the shore, because when it does, your words will be omitted. But you will never be buried with them. And your being means they will always come back. Your death is theirs. So, do not fear to think. Do not fear to be. Do not fear your own voices that make you live. Shatter those glasses. You are made of words. Think. Write. Live.

Published in: on August 29, 2014 at 7:41 pm  Comments (3)  
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I Loved You – A Poem

Something I have done today

Reminded me of you.

And so at night,

When I was feeling very sleepless

Though very, very tired,

Tired of the world,

Of the faces I keep seeing,

Of everything that isn’t you.

I thought of you.

My mind strolled back to when

I stood at your doorstep,

With you looking at me –

Mad eyes, I loved you.

How I wished I could tell you then

That I was so crazy for you.

 How I wish now I could tell you

That I loved you,

That I wish I still can.

I loved you,

And our world has killed us.

I loved you,

Even though you drove me mad,

You caused me pain,

I wasn’t sure it was right,

But I loved you still

With all of me.


And now I can’t love anything

Other than myself. 

Published in: on April 25, 2014 at 8:27 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Moonlit sky, starry night,

Lights flickering through the window pane,

Highlighting Jane’s slender curves.

She lay in bed,

Too early to sleep,

Too late to try not to.

Her skin, glowing.

Her eyes cried words of lust

And love and pain.

You could see she needed you,

Needed them,

Needed everyone,

But stood on her own,

Because she learned

Touches burn, words kill.

Men clawed at her still,

Promiscuous! Nothing wrong with that,”

They’d say.

They’d say needs were meant to be fulfilled,

But it made her sick

To lose herself to them,

To be anyone but herself.

She wanted you to touch her

So you could see her blossom.

Touch her,

So she could feel,

Feel your pain become her own.

You fed her love,

Fed her pain,

Because she asked for it.

You drew a world for her,

Painted her as you brushed your hands against her skin.

Touch her,

For she longs to cry with you, for you.

Touch her,

For she’s ready to be unravled by you,

Exposed, helpless, new.

This was what it’s like to be alive.

This used to be her.


So don’t you touch her now,

For she’ll fight you,

Fight them.

It was your hands that she ached for,

But now it’s hers that she feels her smooth skin with.

She doesn’t need to be held.

She only needs herself to remain

Strong, not powerless,


And true. 

Published in: on March 31, 2014 at 7:29 pm  Comments (2)  
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I walk down the road

With no destination,

No one to go to,

Nowhere to run to.

But I just keep running.


I don’t know why

My thoughts keep going back to


Then suicide

Then you.

And you have blatantly killed me

By taking everything away.

And I keep going back to therapy,

And my therapist tells me to stop

Stop wanting you too much,

Stop running.

The road doesn’t exist;

There’s no path.

There’s no you,

No me.

There’s only death, right here,


Published in: on March 27, 2014 at 4:02 pm  Leave a Comment  
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يا تائه

أصبحت عبدا لامنياتك،
فكلما ركعت لربك، خشيت غضبه.
أصبحت كالضباب فلا يراك شيء.
و لا تري انت نفسك.
هل من تائه مثلك؟
من يواسيك؟ و من يعاديك غيرك؟
غيرك انت.
يا من حزنه ظاهر في عينيه،
و في يديه، بحر من الحنان.
و كلماتك تزال مدفونة.
فيا هاءم، انظر الي
فأنا مثلك مهمومة.
أتوجع و اتمني و اعبد.

Published in: on March 7, 2014 at 4:49 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Crazy – A Poem

I must be going crazy,

Because you are on my mind.

I should’ve shot myself in the head,

The minute you came near me.

But your touch, your kisses

Are all I have of you.

Your words are warm,

And they radiate all the way to my body,

Then through it.

And I bring you no summer,

No warmth,

None of what you give me.

And my mind is working

Like a pedal

With thoughts of you,

Coming back to you.


So I must be going crazy.

I think I have.

I think I am,

For you. 

Published in: on February 11, 2014 at 5:48 pm  Leave a Comment  



I took the backseat of a cab,

And watched the city lights pass me by

As the streets seized my mind

Back to the memories

And the times when

I was young,

A stranger to the world.

It was 199-something,

And my father’s car was blazing

With tunes of the past –

Songs he liked to listen to.

“Father, please,” I pled.

“Let me peer out the window,

Let me see the world.

Don’t’ trap me between my sisters,

I get sick in the head.”

And he’d let me be

Where I had wanted to be,

For he knew how bad I had wanted

To live.

How bad I had loved

To observe, to explore,

With my eyes wide open,

Imagining myself outside these windows,


He knew,

And it frightened him.

Father, if you could hear them now.

If you could see what they have done,

What the world has cost me

Just to live, just to be part of it.

If you could see the looks on their faces

When they told me

I was sick, sick, sick in the head!

If you could see me now,

I know you would hold me

The way you never did,

Because you feared I would

Crumble in your arms.

You always thought I would break,

And I have.

Father, if you could only read

What I write to you,

You’d see how bad

It kills me,

To be away,

To sit in this backseat

And brood on the days

And nights where I had longed

To go up to you for an embrace,

But remained nailed to the ground,


In fear,

Of your great, great love!

Published in: on February 9, 2014 at 6:28 pm  Comments (2)  
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Ghosts – A Poem


I am not me,

When I am around people.

I turn into somebody else,

And I mourn, with them,

My own death.

The ghosts hover around us in circle.

We breathe in and out,

As they watch.

They know what we


They know what we have failed to


I am not the same person,

Not after they hushed my mind to sleep.

I feel odd.

I feel different, and they

Do not care.

Something that was once mine

Is now theirs.

I breathe in and out

As the ghosts watch me,

And strip me off my pride,

And touch me in places

That are now theirs.

I am now them.

I am all of them.

I do not move,

For they will hush me again to sleep,

To rest,

To think no more.

One of them smiles –

That Ghost is I.

Published in: on February 8, 2014 at 3:08 pm  Leave a Comment  
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I Want You – A Poem


Because you’re unattainable;

That’s what I keep telling myself.

Because your fire never fades out.

Because your hands are not touching mine,

I am not in your arms,

Your lips are not on my skin,

We are not one.


Because I am naïve and stupid,

I want you so much, it kills me.

Like everything else, I crave you

With a pain stronger than I’ve expected.

And now you are the people I couldn’t reach out to,

The father I couldn’t please,

The friend I couldn’t keep.


Because you’re harsh,

Because you’re brutal,

Because you are a new source of pain,

Because my mind picked you,

And I couldn’t say no.

Because you don’t need me.

Because you won’t.

You can’t.

And I can.

I do.

I want you. 


(I had written this months ago, but it’s one of these poems you don’t really wish to show anyone until things change.)

Published in: on January 5, 2014 at 6:41 pm  Comments (2)  
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A Picture of Us

Look at this picture,

Of this man and woman.

Look at their faces,

So glum.

Perhaps, they were burdened,

By the weight of their love,

By the words they held inside.

So like Zelda and Scott,

So like Bonnie and Clyde,

Drinking and smoking,

Without a care in the world.

Perhaps, happiness for them meant

To destroy.


It was a great kind of love,

They said.

Their minds and bodies were too consumed by it.

Their great love panged at them.

Of their miseries, they knew not.

They both held the ceilings for each other,

For once, every year, they would crumble,

And it would take a whole other year to build them back.

Only then, Joy would knock once more

And welcoming it,

They kiss,

Promising to never part.


Look at their picture again.

Look closer now.

They are you.

They are me.

They are everyone who


And gives

And dies,

Still loving,

Never forgetting. 

Published in: on December 28, 2013 at 2:06 pm  Leave a Comment