October 18, 2017

A story of Great Love

Filed under: Poetry,Religion and society — by Zuhair @ 2:07 am
Tags: , , ,



There was no existence before You –

Only darkness.

Incomparable, unfathomable,

enveloping, blinding,

selfish, hollow darkness.

Looking back, I see nothing there

but distress and despair.

Until amidst the sorrow,

I began to search, hoping to borrow

from You – a little, just a little –

but You delivered in immenseness.

An unmatchable delivery,

so overwhelming, it astonished me,

clothing me in a flame so rare,

a light too bright for the plain eye to bear

and as I neared You

by a palm,

You came to me by an arm,

reducing the distance in between,

a distance there should never have been.

Oh! How I wished I had found You sooner;

how I wished I had You earlier.

But comfort I find in the faith

that You will forever be

as You have been before,

and You will never abandon me.

So, I pray

to You,


The Maker of my fate,

The Creator of my soul.


June 20, 2017


Filed under: Poetry,Religion and society,Sociopolitics — by Zuhair @ 3:25 pm
Tags: , , ,


They fooled you; fooled you all


—- took the jobs of the civil servants

and attached to them hefty payments.

We call ‘em salaries

but they’re a way to appease the crazies;

the big shots, ‘men in dark suits’ —

the ones who hold the keys

to all the safes in all the banks,

to the armies, the weapons and the tanks.


These? There are just titles:

President, Prime Minister, among other labels;

freak shows designed to entertain,

make you forget about the others’ pain

for entertainment is the biggest distraction

for the crazies to create destruction.

No, no, no, no. They should be working for you.

You shouldn’t even have to think of a coup.

They ought to bow down to you, my friend.

But that! That is not the trend.

Satan’s got his own plans.

He’s building settlements on stolen lands

and they gave him your money to do it.

You call them on it. They say, ‘Bullshit!’

and before you can argue

you’re drowning in ‘truths’ that were never true.

They lie through their teeth.

They know you are sheep.

Sheeple, say it enough times, it becomes a reality;

so real, as real as you or me.


Take off those screens glued to your eyes,

and you will start to hear their children’s cries.

Pull out those earphones stuck in your ears

and you will start to see their mothers’ tears.

Your tongue’s wagging. Hold it still.

Find the evidence before it kills.

Open your ears, close your eyes.

This situation is of a much larger size.

Use that brain inside your head

before you find more people dead

just because you were brainwashed


while your President and his mates went golfing.

June 16, 2017

Why I broke my promise to you

Filed under: Poetry,Society,Uncategorized — by Zuhair @ 6:50 pm


We had a few hours to go before I would board that plane for a short flight back home, leaving you and the life we made for ourselves behind. You asked me if I would be back and I said I would. In fact, I promised that I would. The fact of the matter is when I made that promise; I meant it with every particle of my being, and with every breath I took. It was only after I had arrived home that I realized I didn’t mean that promise. I realized that I hadn’t meant any of the things I ever said to you.

I never meant it when I said ‘I love you’ or when I told you that I would be forever yours. Those were just things everyone said when they were in a relationship. I never meant it when I said I forgave you and I most certainly never meant it when I let you hold me after one of our fights. That was just something people do in a relationship to make things work. Sometimes, all one needs is to step outside to be able to see how horrible it was inside, and from the outside, things were looking pretty dark and scary. I am certain that if you had also stepped outside and seen what I had seen, you would have left too.

Remember when we fought about the way you were with other women, the way you did not respect what I wanted, and the way you did not want to give me what I needed? The fight was only about having to do extra housework because you wouldn’t buy me what I needed, or about you standing too close to another woman, or about you not understanding and not attempting to see things from my perspective. That’s what I thought they were about and that’s what you thought they were about.

When I stepped outside our life, left you and went back to my old life, I saw that it was about much more than that. It was about me not being able to be myself in your company because I was afraid you would judge me, it was about the way you agreed with everything I said and did before you married me but turned out to be a totally different person after we married, it was about you counting how many calories I consumed with every serving I ate, even if it was a cup of yogurt, and about you commenting on my stretch marks, and belly flab. Imagine being married to someone you can’t be yourself with. Imagine spending the rest of your life that way.

That’s what it was really about and that was what hurt me, built a wall between us and eventually drove me away. I was not beautiful to you because you had seen so many other beautiful women you could not have, and I was not intelligent to you because you had your Western education to brag about. You made me feel little and that was the littlest I had ever felt in my life. Was a promise going to change that, when even the promise of marriage and companionship did not?

When I made that promise to you, I wanted to keep it. Because that was the ideal, that’s what everyone thinks should happen; the fairy tale. We fight. We make up, right? But we didn’t and the marriage was ruining both of us. Sure, we had good times. We may have been good friends in another world but this marriage in this world was making me angry and making you bitter.

There is no such thing as the ideal although there can be such a thing as a compromise in a relationship, but we weren’t headed that way. We got married so young, because we had no reason not to, because society declared 21 the right age for a girl to marry and 26 the right age for a boy to marry; we settled for a standard that was not our own and we paid the price for it, while society, having made no promises, sat back and watched us, judged us and chose a side.

January 31, 2017

A stranger called Liberty

Filed under: Poetry,Sociopolitics — by Zuhair @ 5:56 am


Here lies a nation built on stolen land,

to where they brought victims

of kidnapping and called them slaves,

where chances for freedom were slim


if your skin was not a shade of white;

a nation that celebrates its occupation through slaughter and trickery,

to this day, feasting with mashed potato and roast turkey.


Here breathes a nation that screams

Freedom, Justice and Equality

and calls itself great, a place where ‘dreams become reality.


Yet it is this nation in which we see

the white policeman still abusing

the African American after years of fighting;


this great nation, in which we see the same greed

for power that fueled colonization

extending its talons into borders that are not its own and calling it liberation.


Here stands a nation that shows off a large green statue

it named Liberty,

while it has failed to liberate itself from its own corruption and immorality;


a nation that boasts an anthem everyone has heard,

an anthem that shouts out to the unfree,

and welcomes them, but does not free them, because in this nation, you can be anything you want to be.


Yet you are so shocked that she has turned you away?

History warns you of this every day.

For it has no secrets from those who look

up the nations that came and took.


October 10, 2016


Filed under: Poetry,Religion and society,Sociopolitics — by Zuhair @ 6:42 pm
Tags: ,


Which Islam is it you practice,

that makes it correct to burn the virgin

who knows she is too pure for your sin;

that allows purposeless battle,

dismisses the real jihad, and puts faith out like a candle;

that allows the theft of freedom,

disguised with a cry praising the Lord, and a distorted promise of heaven?

But you do not know who God is.

He is not this;

not this falseness you have created, this self destructive spiral,

a coward’s excuse to carry a rifle;

not a free pass to tarnish a little boy’s childhood,

by teaching him that to fight is good;

not that he should play,

And he should pray;

but that he should kill and die, for that is your translation

of the divine manuscript and the way of a god of your creation.

Sins you have purified,

ideologies you have manipulated, and righteousness you have denied

to build control over the minorities,

to misguide the masses.

You spread the fear of a faith, that preaches love and clemency,

that is the embodiment of rightfulness and beauty,

when it is you that should be feared, not your God,

because you lack the fear of the Lord.

What religion is this you preach? It is not of Muhammad, Abraham, David, or Moses.

You are a misguided puppet of earth’s greater forces.

A preaching, a calling, a faith that

only the will of the Greatest  Heavenly Force can combat.

July 22, 2016

The Game

Filed under: Poetry,Society — by Zuhair @ 7:46 am


They took the youth
and sliced their heads off.
It was Zinki? What’re they made of?
Funds from around the world?

19 girls, they put in iron cages
as punishment for dignity. He throws
them into agony, while the masses witness the throes
of the fire and smoke that engulf them.

Are these just stories?
Can we believe what we hear?
They are so far away from here.
Truth is biased.

You leave a home that you have,
and come to a land like you are its heir,
But complain about the humid air.
It’s a home you do not need, but you steal it still.

Innocents are dying because of you;
children, women, men. They are our pearls.
But you keep sewing your ‘home’ with blood stained purls.
All for the sake of a political agenda in religious clothing.

And when ‘terrorism’ knocks on your door,
your uninformed women take your children in their arms,
and uninformed men take up their arms
in the form of media-polished loss and grief.

You take your moments of silence,
so the world forgets those who have been bred
in war, with not even a morsel of bread.
They weep for you, because they understand.

It is everywhere now, the disease of war;
Africa, Syria, America, Nice …
The world has been brought down to its knees.
We are all but pawns in a greater world.

How aware are we? How much do we really know?
We listen; we watch them die.
We watch as their blood becomes dye
to their earth and their soil.

The players watch each other move their Knights.
When threatened, protected, they run,
and hide, forgetting how they have wrung
the earth of the blood of the brave, that spills into the universe.

While a bomb goes off, homes come down
and a little boy prays,
for the absence of humanity, there is no praise.
But there is no condemnation either.

Not from the men in sharp suits,
seated in security, oblivious to the groan
of the countries that have not grown,
but have been murdered by their own.

We can protest, and we can shout
but the pain will not lessen.
We shall forever be haunted by the lesson,
that our leaders have failed us. They are not human.

September 13, 2015

The names

Filed under: Poetry,Religion and society,Sociopolitics — by Zuhair @ 2:46 pm
Tags: , ,

I know Aylan Kurdi

and the others who came

but didn’t live,

to see the end of this game.

Game makers,

in your fancy suits,

The floor is red

but you wear boots.

I know my sisters,

Noor, Raneem and Najla.

and my brothers, Baalousha and Aslan,

Almataouq, Aashoor and Jumaa.

Game makers,

you cannot run forever,

the lives you have taken

will be avenged by another.

I cannot join them

but I know the freedom fighters,

young Ahed Tamimi,

Rachel Corrie and the others.

I have no weapons with me;

I have everything to lose

but I also have my prayers and my love,

and I have my words and my views.

If that is all I have,

then that is what I will give,

because they are fighting death

while I live.


Image: Retrieved from on 2015.

September 6, 2015

A place to go

Filed under: Poetry — by Zuhair @ 2:31 pm
Tags: ,

Let us disappear

into the lush forests of nature,

the magnificent canyons

with deep corridors;

 the green islands

surrounded by turquoise waters;

or the grey and red beaches of Santorini,

to watch the orange sun as it rises and sets patiently.

Let us vanish

into the giant walls

of lost civilizations,

China’s grassland and mountain

that lie around the giant dragon,

into Europe’s fire and ice,

the volcanic islands,

as they slowly sink,

or the coral reefs that guard them, red, blue and pink.

Let us dance

in Mexico, amongst the crystals

buried inside their caves,

the still blue lakes

and their green neighbours,

the cotton castles of Denizli;

the springs and pools of Turkey,

or with the green, grey and azure of Lika,

the waterfalls of Croatia.

Let us frolic

with the migrating monarch butterflies,

the living jewels

of Socotra,

or the emerald green,

turquoise and aquamarine

that play with the pink and blue marble of South America,

or the orange and white daisies of Namibia.

Let us go where lovers go;

be but be invisible,

Let us pray and let us play

Let us be but be unseeable.

namaqualand daisies

Image: Retrieved from on 06/09/2015.

August 15, 2015

A few lines of hate

Filed under: Poetry,Society — by Zuhair @ 7:29 pm
Tags: , ,

So great an energy travels through me,

defying you, you vile establishment,

plagued with stereotype,

designed to control, seeking punishment;

greedy to determine right from wrong

yet ignorant of the value of good things,

and oh! How I have yearned for so long

to escape you. Me, you sting.

So great a hope travels through me,

in rebellion against you,

in search of my spirit,

that you so hungrily sought to destroy

through deprivation of love;

through seizure

of happiness

and destruction of adventure.

So great a life possesses me

in my shunning away

of you and your wickedness –

Oh! Every day long owing to this, every day-

against you, you vile creature,

and your hunger for sadness

and your impatience with emotion,

and your allergies to happiness.

And no. The fault is not yours.

It is theirs, those loathsome beasts.

It is they who poison you,

so we blister too.

July 19, 2015


Filed under: Poetry — by Zuhair @ 7:26 am
Tags: ,

31, 25, all the way to zero;

shrink it, make it small.

Count the calories,

just as much as you need. That’s all.

A spoonful of yoghurt,

perhaps a serving of fruit; a tiny portion,

a slice of white bread,

some meat if it is an occasion.

To keep it going down and down

with measuring tape in hand.

Avoid your eyes in the mirror.

Just stand.

Observe. Are the numbers right?

5’6, 6’1, all the way to up there

but not too high at all.

What’s to be done?

Chunks of shoe? Careful not to fall.

Try not to stumble;

learn the correct gait.

Find the right pairs.

Don’t forget the size. Great!

This will do.

Observe. Are the numbers right?

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Women in Islam

Amal Ahmed Albaz

Journalist; Poet; Speaker. Superman’s got his cape around his neck; I've got my hijab around my head.

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