Time for change.

28 Jun

A poem about how I felt during my transition from a non practising Muslim woman to a practising one. (Oringinally written for and published on the blog Yes I Have  A Voice )

Bismillah

I be riding on the thickness of my weak eemaan.
I think about what will testify against me and I gaze at my hands.
My heart tells me no while my brain says “yea do it”.
And my tongue just be talking and there’s no way to stop it.
I look at my watch and realise that times running out.
I check myself in the mirror and see the blood dripping out my mouth.
But I wipe it away and walk out the door.
Ignoring the heaviness of my faith as it drags on the floor.
The black dog barks at me as I stop to wait for my ride.
Its usually not long before it pulls up at my side.
Because I’m good at flagging down that taxi that will take me straight to the fire.
But when its time to pay my fair I see the prices are getting higher and higher.
He wants my soul like its something I can just give up without a fight.
So I’m like “na man I can’t afford that you need to lower the price….
I just wanted abit of fun, nothing big, just some good times”
So he says- as he winks at me in the rear-view mirror:
“ok no probs, the minors don’t cost a dime”.
But little do I know that the free rides will stop,
And sooner or later it will be time to pay up.

I look down and see myself six feet under,
Battered and bruised, cut and burnt like I’d been struck by thunder.
I turn around and see them all laughing at me:
“Ha! You thought you had it all, the paper and glamour- you were sitting pretty!”.
I stumble back and hold onto something tight.
And I start to seek refuge from the darkness of the night.
Cos this is when it comes and I start to feel the fright.
And I pray that I wake the next day to see the beautiful light,
So I can repent for my wrongs and finally do some right.

~Zara ‘ZAS’

Read more about Zara here

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