Flying away like a bird
Soaring through the sky

Empty eyes with a heart of gold
No one knew what was inside

Fluttering aimlessly
With no real destination in mind

Patches started to emerge
Those patches, I shook to remove.

Looking down was not a way out
Nor was it the right thing to do

Birds do not need the wind to fly
They need the strength to be free

A bird has permission to
Soar the blue skies openly

A bird, it is what I call,
My soaring destiny

I wouldn't be

If it weren't for the bruise
I will wear on my sleever forever --
I'd never understand who I am today.

If it weren't for constant roadblocks,
Feeling completey lost,
I wouldn't be me.

If it weren't for my parents,
Who strived in every way
To be there for us...

They picked up the phone on the other line,
Walked up behind us, stood in front of us.
I wouldn't be who I am today.

If it weren't for having a cloudy mind,
For having rock iron faith --that God did exist.
I wouldn't be here today.

Anxiety

The walls are starting to cave in.
I keep losing and gaining my breath.

I feel the rhymic pulse in my forhead.
My headache seems to be getting stronger and stronger.

It's that feeling of nervousness all over again.
The feeling of doom returns.

The hostile situations syndrome.
The 'I can't stand it anymore' syndrome.

Anxiety...whether it's from a
A proposal, an accidental death, a murder or a death...

It happens, it's normal but,
I'll just have to pretend

Not to notice the surge of butterflies
Riding a roller coaster inside of me.

I'll have to pretend it can't get in the way,
Can't hurt or bother me.

Nervous.
I can't even begin to explain.

You'd only know if you woke up every time
I had to sit up in bed and gasp for breath.

There is a kind of loneliness about a summer day
A 22-year-old cannot explain.

There are no longer childhood visitors stopping in for a few minutes,
Only bored family members dropping by for tea.

There is something about looking at walls that restrict the mind.
They keep the thoughts from flowing.

A gray husky air lingers,
And stops short of air.

Plain windows, often hidden by curtains reveal limited sunshine.
The sun stays hidden from view.

The wind barely interrupts the daily tasks;
Cooking, cleaning, laundry, gardening.

There are days when the routine goes to rest,
To fish out ailing neighbors, family members and community people.

There are those days, forshadowed by heat-consuming cooking,
Pushing around a broom and pausing for short breaths.

When visiting a person frees ones mind from the cloudy hazy summerness
That begins with a season meant for the outdoors.

A season which leaves the insiders,
As outsiders; ignored and restless.

Summer Days, outside

On beautiful breezy summer days
I lay quietly on my bed.

I dream of flying birds, pesky mosquitos and a grateful wind.
I smell the breeze, light gentle and one to please.

There is none of that in my four-walled room.
I sit and wait for nothing.

Often looking back at a chilhood so raw,
Kite-flying, badminton-playing, frisbee-throwing...

I don't like picking the leaves of green beans,
Upturning black soil with seeds.

I don't like watering the lawns which were God-gifted.
I like eating their blossoms and belongings.

Once I ran the fields with  a soccer ball,
Hit the end of a white volleyball.

Sitting quietly on a bench even when in the park,
I long for a childhood that neither restricted nor held my arms tied.

Journalism, a way of life.

He cried.
He cried while I was interviewing.

He was hungry.
He was hungry and I couldn't feed him while I was on the phone.

He was cold.
He was cold and I couldn't hold him as I completed the interview.

Journalists have to ignore life.
They have to ignore real life to get to facts.

Facts take up time.
Facts help people.

Journalists have to make sacrifices.

They have to lock themselves up in rooms.
They talk on the phone at undesired times.
They go to places they would've otherwise not have entered.

Journalists are truth-seekers, people "savers," investigators.

Best of all, journalists are human beings.
Human beings who ignore their life to get to a message.

A clear message -- is it worth family sacrifice?
Is it worth letting the baby cry?
Is it worth the few cents you get while spending hours?

Journalism, the cost of life.

Respect, mercy and paradise

Have mercy, respect others

The Messenger of Allah (may Allah bless him and grant him peace), said,"He who does not have mercy on our young, and does not respect our elders is not of us (Tirmidhi).

Who are the most honored?

"Those who control their anger and are forgiving towards people; Allah loves the good." (Qur'an, 3: 134)

"Pardon them and overlook - Allah loves those who do good" (Qur'an 5:13)

The good deed and the evil deed cannot be equal. Repel (the evil) with one which is better (i.e. Allâh ordered the faithful believers to be patient at the time of anger, and to excuse those who treat them badly), then verily! he, between whom and you there was enmity, (will become) as though he was a close friend.

The man of paradise, forgave others.

The Messenger of Allah was seated in a gathering with the Sahabah when he looked towards the entrance and said, “A man of Paradise is coming."

At that instance someone who seemed to be very ordinary entered the mosque where they were seated. A Sahabi was curious as to why the Prophet said this, so he followed the man to his house.

This Sahabi told the man that he was a traveler and stayed as a guest. For three days the Sahabi saw nothing unusual, so he finally told the man what the Prophet had said and asked him what was so special. The man thought for a long time and said,

“There might be one thing — before going to sleep every night I forgive everyone and sleep with a clean heart."