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the heart beats...pumping life though a divine system of arteries and byways
the bass moves me…the 808 mimics the beat so heavenly to hear like the snare drum moving in unison on the drum line the heart pumps life moving cells—life’s power—preserving what outside forces are built to destroy BLOOD moving through the body I am fighting to stay in this world I am fighting to change the narrative I am fighting to raise them despite the world’s wicked obsession with Black bodies in white spaces. Our babies, our sisters, our brothers, our mothers, our fathers,, our community, my everything Breonna, Ahmad, George, Philando, Sandra, Trayvon, Tamir…too many I am small in a world that swallows Black bodies whole I’m gone He said. Momma. I’m gone
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Imagine a healthy human being that can function on a day to day basis easily. Then think about a person who is paralyzed on one side of his or her body. The Muslim community is suffering from paralysis and only half-functioning because sisters are systematically pushed away from legitimate participation in the body of Islam. Muslims are crippled and community members keep romanticizing the present situation of Muslim women around the world by relying on Quran and Sunnah while disregarding cultural practices that are antithetical to Islam. The discourse of Islam serves as a means for both the liberation and oppression of Muslims, and both men and women, are quick to state that Islam gives women rights and full-status in society, while keeping them on the peripheral of participation outside of the home. The question then arises how and when did the shift turn from liberation to oppression. We must look at the double-edged sword of culture that often accompanies the essence of Islam.
Muslims romanticize the status of Muslim women and never really address the negative implications that these women deal with on a day-to-day basis. Our communities are dangerously out-of-sync with the lived realities facing Muslim women and often these problems start with the following three things:
As I consider the toxic culture between men and women in some communities, I consider how that toxicity is a breeding ground for reproducing bad behavior among many things. Just like men, women have phases they will pass through by Allah’s leave. These phases are not absolute but continual—just like faith. Many cultural practices in the faith have regulated women to two phases---marriage and motherhood. Early on in many cultures, boys are told imagine and define who they want to become, while young girls are told that they are destined to become wives and mothers. Often, they are not encouraged to think beyond those two phases. In addition to regulating women to wives and mothers, much of the discourse seeks to keep them in the home and out of the public life. Please note that “public” does not necessarily mean “being seen in public” as many would argue. It speaks to having access and a voice in decisions regarding the community beyond her doorstep. This is an important key to survival of women and children in a changing environment. Considering that in all societies women are left to rear children in the absence of a father—due to abandonment, war, death, divorce, and abuse being involved community members allows the community to grow and meet the needs of women and children. Many authentic texts have been hijacked by cultural practices that have been altered to circumvent the participation of women. Islamic texts and their translators and divisive language serve as a powerful tool for shutting the door on women in Islam. It creates a cycle of deception and alienation. It also creates boundaries that cannot be crossed by Muslim women because access is housed with the very people who are the perpetrators of the sham. Divisive language also serves as a means for oppression. Language such as “good-sister” “bad sister” “non-hijabi,” “hijabi” and “niqaabi,”when used to quantify a woman's level of commitment can divide and conquer women on important issues regarding access to Islamic literacy, facilities and education.These terms are actually used to bring an air of negativity to a woman’s character if she steps too far outside the box when criticizing male-run mosques and other Islamic entities. These terms also give rise to stereotyping a woman’s Deen based on her appearance—how ironic since the hijab in some interpretations is meant to pull attention away from the physical so emphasis can be placed on the individual’s worship. This commentary does not seek to add fuel to the fire, but ask readers to stop romanticizing Islam. It begs the reader to consider Islam and its participant’s problems as real and not imagined problems that women have dreamed up just to have something else to complain about. Any well written article has a conclusion—this one does not—other than returning to the Book of Allah and the Sunnah of our beloved Prophet (SAWS). This article suggests that readers re-examine these important texts with “equality for all” in mind and outside of cultural contexts that are antithetical to the basic principles of Islam. In returning to the books a medicine can be administered to start alleviating Islam’s paralysis. After I hung up the phone I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Life goes on, this I know to be true, but it seems like my life goes and then stops. Moves forward and backward. Once again—I hung up the phone with someone who for whatever reason wasn’t destined to be mine. His voice sounded so strange, yet so familiar. It brought back the memories of long conversations that went well after midnight. The slow speech with its weighted tone made me imagine him sitting behind a desk sharing his knowledge with others. I don’t know if I cried because I saw that he had moved on while I was still in the same space, or if I cried because I was still alone, or because of love overall ---I had missed the passage once again. Either way my tears flowed like the Mississippi and I cried once more for the “almost but not quite” that seems to be the story of my life.
I wanted to ask him if he was married. But I decided against it. I didn’t want the disappointment to sweep me immediately. So we chatted and I smiled the entire time. I was amazed at how easily we slipped back into the familiarity that existed between us. Then I heard her in the background. Heard her voice. I felt the catch in my throat as I talked but I didn’t say anything. Neither did he. So I kept going and finally I asked. And he answered. ---I didn’t know what to say other than great. GREAT. What I wanted to say was she’s not right for you. You should have married me, but I knew that was only my ego. I knew that he could have never been the love of my adulthood for the love of my youth had showed me who I was. But I—no we both walked away. Him to scared to man-up and me to prideful to re-open the door. So there we sat feeling the energy that once held us close. I no longer had a desire to find out how his life was going. I had my answer—obviously it was going well. After all he had moved on from his space to “their” space and here I was still in “my” space. He asked about the family and I answered as best I could. I was still shaken by the voice of his wife that I fumbled through my answer. I wanted to ask are you happy. How long have you been married? I wanted the details but my pride wouldn’t let me ask. I didn’t want him to know that I cared. I could tell he was in a round about way asking me if I was hitched, but he didn’t ask directly and I didn’t offer it up. After all I would be the one going to bed alone tonight. No need for him to know that I was lonely and single. I just hope he’s not lonely and married. Then he said it—apologized for the shakedown. Of course I fumbled through a its cool, its cool. I think I said it too many times. I didn’t let him finish. I didn’t want him to acknowledge the events that led to our demise and hear another woman in the background. Sure its nice to know he was sorry, but to me he wasn’t sorry enough to make it right and come back to me. He was just sorry enough to say it and then walk away from “our space.” Somehow he managed to say in the midst of my “its cools” that he missed me and was happy to talk to me. I didn’t know how to respond. I was tongue tied and I said yeah, thanks. Finally I got out “I miss you too” or something like that…but really I wanted to say was why didn’t you press on and work for “us.” If you had we wouldn’t be missing each other we would be loving each other. I guess in our own way we already had the loving part down--it was the making it work part that we couldn’t get right. So I ended the conversation because the ease had been replaced with awkward pauses. No need to prolong what can’t be. So I said “Thanks for calling” and he said “no problem” and we both said “goodnight.” The Essence of Her Friendship--Natasha She has known me for years and still likes me Sensitivity for my needs has placed her in my heart We have grown together—grown into women who share the same struggles We have grown together—grown into women who share different struggles We have grown into women She has held her breath in anticipation of my achievements She has held her breath in anticipation and sometimes confirmation of my heartbreaks She has held her breath for me—shared my dreams, disappointments, and victories She has exhaled with me over education, career, family, and men We have breathed together—sisters by choice Spunky Funny Real Her essence is like lavender…strong in fragrance, lingering so that it can soothe, and packed with healing properties. Lah-lah-Lah...Nasia Lah lah lah lah lah Black raven hair that mimics the intensity of midnight A smile that fills the cracks of broken hearts with Noor A lover of life, good food, and ebony men A heart that beats to the drums of Fela, Femi, and Miriam A passion that ignites like hot sultry volcanoes—not because of hardness in the heart, but because of the fight for justice, equality, and human rights A friend that traverses the roads of the world in search of truth, peace, and love. A friend that blazes her own path. Lah lah lah lah lah Why do I love my sisters?
So kind and loving they are Always encouraging me to be the best I can be. Always reminding me of Allah’s grace and mercy. Black! Red! White! Fuchsia! Cream! Lavender! Green! Scarves flowing in the wind Skirts that sashay as she walks A vision of Allah’s love for his creation A woman of integrity and spirit A woman of faith and love A woman of strength and kindness Hands that shape the world-- Holding crying babies Writing on chalk boards Performing surgeries Making meals for the hungry Hands that rise at the sound of “Allahu Akbar” Hands that give warm hugs and Salaams—the kind that only a sister can give Hands that make constant supplication A heart that listens with the best of intentions A heart that understands and emphatically says “Yes girl” I know that struggle I know that heartache I know that joy I know Allah Yes my sister is one of a kind. Just as Allah intended She is different from me Sisters joined by faith and love not always by blood ties. She is my sister in Islam! All Beginnings Have Endings-2004
I thought he would be the redemption that I wanted. I thought he would be the light at the end of my tunnel, but he ended up being the train—wreck I put aside my intuition for what felt good, but it didn’t feel right. I put aside my needs for what I thought a good woman would do for what a smart woman would have recognized I let him lead me when he couldn’t lead himself I let him behold my light when he wasn’t ready to recognize the power of his own I let I let I let him I gave away my power for his dreams and when I talked of my own he closed his ears I begged him to see my worth, when I should have begged him to walk away I cried thinking it would show my commitment when in reality it showed his lack thereof I thought he was different I thought he was the one I thought I thought about the wrong things and didn’t think enough I’m free I’m free I’m free because I took back me ********************************************************************************* All Beginnings Have Endings-2005 I thought he would be the redemption that I wanted. He can’t redeem me because redemption lies with God. I thought he would be the light at the end of my tunnel, but he ended up being the train—wreck Well, I’m finally smart enough to get off the tracks. Smart people don’t look for the light in others to make them shine, nor do they look for it at the end of a tunnel. I put aside my intuition for what felt good, but it didn’t feel right. Fleeting moments of passion can’t possibly fill a vessel that was created to evolve. I put aside my needs for what I thought a good woman should do for what a smart woman should have recognized. Dang that’s deep. How can a person thrive if they don’t recognize their own needs? I let him lead me when he couldn’t lead himself. As they say—the blind leading the blind. I can’t love him so much that I let him lead me to a ditch and think it’s OK. I let him behold my light when he wasn’t ready to recognize the power of his own My light was just as dim as his. I just didn’t recognize that mine wasn’t all that bright to start with. I let I let I let him I gave away my power for his dreams and when I talked of my own he closed his ears Real people, in real relationships, don’t push the aspirations of others to the back, nor do they define another individual’s goals. I begged him to see my worth, when I should have begged him to walk away I’m not begging anymore. I’m telling and walking away my damn self. I cried thinking it would show my commitment when in reality it showed his lack there of. I cry no more. I thought he was different I am different—him being different doesn’t matter to me. I thought he was the one I tried to join my heart to him when he wasn’t intended for me. I thought I thought I thought about the wrong things and didn’t think enough I decided to define my needs and my life based on what a good woman will do and not on superficial definition of a how a “Good Woman” stands by her man. I am a good woman and good women take care of home first. I’m free I’m free I’m free because I took back me 10/05 day unknown
When he died the glue that held me together began to loosen. Its like instead of falling to pieces 3 months later, I’m falling to pieces now—some 10 months later. I’m sad but not in the can’t get out of bed crying all day way. My sadness goes much deeper. It reminds me of broken glass. You see the glass broken all over the floor and you immediately sweep up the big pieces, but it’s the little pieces that settle into the cracks and crevices only to remind you months later that the glass was ever broken. My grief feels like those little pieces that settle in and remind you months later that yes—something in fact did break. But in this case, I broke and it feels as if none sees it. Most days I don’t even acknowledge it. I can’t get the memory of his hands out of my mind. I can’t stop thinking about how I couldn’t fix what was wrong and so he suffered more than he had too. I just remember all the things that I couldn’t fix or make better for him. Maybe that’s why now—10 months later in my own way I’m a mess. I waste endless amounts of time, I don’t finish projects till the last minute, and I feel out of sync with most things that I do. I have major anxiety which results in me sweating profusely. I’m a mess. People don’t understand the loss. They don’t understand the melancholy that spreads like a spider’s web. They don’t understand the need to keep that person alive in some way. I’m still trying to find the appropriate way for me to carry him with me daily. I’m a functioning individual but just enough so that things get done—the bare minimum. I feel strange saying I’m sad today or speaking about him and using him as the reason for my issues. He is in part the reason, but not the only reason. Well the catalyst for this “phase” Its Ramadan and Alhumdulilah it’s a beautiful thing to witness Allah’s creation praising him. I’m weak Allah and not sure of myself or the things that I’m doing. Not sure of anything, but I fake it everyday. I have anxiety about things that are out of my control. I feel like I failed him and I continually fail you. So tonight I sit at my pc and cry and let it out and pray for a change in myself. An authentic change. All I have are the memories and they are not enough
TODAY! THEY ARE SIMPLY NOT ENOUGH I have your ring and I want to hold the hand that wore it I have your armoire and I want to hug the person that wore the clothes it housed I have your skin tone and I want to put my cheek next to yours and compare I have your picture and I want to go back to that day in time I have new furniture and your not here to share the sofa with me I have our memories and they are not enough TODAY! THEY ARE SIMPLY NOT ENOUGH Today I feel like I have nothing and the memories are not enough Alhumdulilah **************************************************************************************************************************** You are missed and I feel shattered I think back to our complete unit One Father One Mother One Son Two Daughters One Grand baby and it’s not right It’s been rearranged by a greater hand and I’m wondering will a new addition come to fill your spot—to make us whole I know that can never be—no man will ever be you My math is off We are missing One Friend One Mouth at the table One critic One Handy-man One Driver for road-trips One Candy Bandit One Brick from our foundation One voice One father I am missing you F.REEDOM
You are free I’m free We are all free Free from the demons that haunted our lives Free from the shared hurts that made us cry In death there is freedom for all. For the sick...there is freedom from pain For the family…there is freedom from helplessness For the past…freedom to be remembered how one chooses For the future…to be prayed for with new meaning **************************************************************************************************************************** How do you remember a life when you’re trying to hold your own together? How do you define the missing when you can’t define your place in the world? How do you hold back the tears when you need to weep? How do you say please just let me have a moment when you can hardly breathe? How do you keep love alive when you heart feels dead? **************************************************************************************************************************** They wanted you back after you were gone Wanted to claim you for their own—the black sheep washed clean by death and Lord Jesus’ blood Swept up in a cloud of glory because in death they approved The prodigal son returned---in his funeral shroud—to be loved and remembered They wiped us away like dust particles on rich mahogany wood Acknowledged us because they should not because of the ties that bound us. Wiped us clean with a disdain as if--- As if they were too good Trying to create, re-create, and celebrate a life that was beyond their reach Trying to recapture moments that were long gone Trying to convince others of their piety with words—used as knives They wanted you back after you were gone Wanted to claim you for their own The black sheep washed clean by death Found redemption in The blood of SWEET JESUS The prodigal son had returned They wiped us away like dust on deep mahogany wood Acknowledged us only because they should Trying to recreate and celebrate a life---they moved in and out of Trying to recapture moments that were long gone Sitting there singing, praising, crying—we all did But they wanted you after you were gone and we wanted you the whole time. **************************************************************************************************************************** I’m riding around and I’m hurting I’m missing you—how dare you say I would be fine You didn’t know that. I’m not ok. I’m hurting. I’m lonely. I’m messed up. I just want something or someone to ease the pain Today I’m mad at you Daddy I’m mad that you assumed I would be ok Mad that you didn’t wait till I found a replacement—not to replace you but to help me get though this Today its all over me. **************************************************************************************************************************** I’m back in the room that raised me. The room that witnessed my dreams hopes, fears, my loves, pains, and joys. The four walls take me back to memories I want to hold onto forever and ones I want to forget. Some days the grief is all over me and I can’t function but I have to. Writing helps ease the pain and helps make me cry. I need to cry. I need it. I feels so backed up and tense about things. I’ve been really angry with not having anyone to help me pick up the ball and keep moving I wanted to take pictures, but didn’t. These memories were not mine to keep forever captured on a Polaroid. He was gone and the absence was more real than it had been in months. Looking at all of them with theirs made me mad. They still had what I lost. Mine---cold, dark and damp. Only to be remembered now, through pictures, cards, and plastic flowers from Wal-Mart. Theirs—warm, sunny, blissful. Full of life and chances to start over, make amends, and “be.” I reached out but to no avail. None can replace what was lost. I looked into their eyes for a connection beyond the current. I longed for the strong hug I hoped for the comforting word I hope someone would check on me I wanted to be preferred because I was his I wished to hear him call my name I wished to see him hold a child that I would bear, laugh with the one I would marry and fawn over a grown-up version me. Just a Moment
58 Years 5 Months 22 Days 11 minutes between missed calls 4:11am was the time 1 moment that changed my life 1 scream that didn’t cover it all 1 long hot shower that was really short 1 black sweater 1 pair of jeans 1 pair of white socks 1 pair of shell-toe Addidas 1 run to the car 1 slow drive to the house 1 sprint down the driveway 4 steps to the door 3 medics in the living room 1 dead father on the floor 2 firefighters in the kitchen 1 mother in the chair 1 brother standing at her side 1 call to the funeral home 1 white sheet 1 uncle sitting down 2 morticians at the door 1 cousin moving furniture 1 sister came home 1 heartache that spread like a spider’s web 1 call to Chan 1 call to Neet 1 call to John 1 call to Mkeka 1 call to Khalil 2 many flowers and not enough genuine words 1 regret…Dawah Dear Africa,
I have loved you from before I was born. I have loved you as I've grown and loved you with a mighty, mighty heart. You've never been this close before and I am full of wonder. I wish to be in your presence and feel your awe. Your spell is upon me. The drum beat is calling me home. My heart is yearning to go to that place I desire to call my own. |
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