I write poetry. I am a dreamer, thinker, lover, artist, nerd, music-hunter, football-watcher, Afghan-American stargazer, gamer, best friend, sister, and Pisces. Currently a VCU Ram. Follow me on Twitter: @SabirahG
I want to understand the steep thing that climbs ladders in your throat. I can’t make sense of you. Everywhere I look you’re there— a vast landmark, a volcano poking its head through the clouds, Gulliver sprawled across Lilliput.
I climb into your eyes, looking. The pupils are black painted stage flats. They can be pulled down like window shades. I switch on a light in your iris. Your brain ticks like a bomb.
In your offhand, mocking way you’ve invited me into your chest. Inside: the blur that poses as your heart. I’m supposed to go in with a torch or maybe hot water bottles & defrost it by hand as one defrosts an old refrigerator. It will shudder & sigh (the icebox to the insomniac).
Oh there’s nothing like love between us. You’re the mountain, I am climbing you. If I fall, you won’t be all to blame, but you’ll wait years maybe for the next doomed expedition.
30 Day Challenge #2- Something I’m Passionate About:
If I had to pick JUST ONE thing, I’d say:
Poetry.
When I was in the third grade, we had to participate in a class activity where we compiled a sentence or two from everyone in the room to create stanzas in a poem. While everyone else said things like “I like eggs” (kidding, but you get what I mean) I went on to say something about how a field of wheat covers the ground like a golden blanket, and the stars in the night sky watch over the swaying stalks. Our substitute teacher was amazed and since then I was known as the school Shakespeare. That was my first experience with poetry, and I’ve been in love ever since.
Wilde, Frost, Rumi, Ghalib, Anis Mojgani, etc. You name it, I love it. If my life goes according to plan (does it ever?) I’d like to make oodles and oodles of money from my writing and never have to work a job I hate. I’d make a tidy fortune rivaling that of J.K.R. and travel the world with the people I love most. And of course, help the African children… I love the African children. I will leave you with a short poem of mine :)
Bruised-but-not-broken-hearted:
In your eyes are tangled knots, I am a fumbling arthritic hand.
Darling, I have spent Reincarnations of spirit within you. Inside this steeple, I am forever the monk. Divining, enshrining my words within you. I lost them within you
Like my favorite scrap of paper Nestled between the stolen pages of a Forgotten storybook
I was a child’s handclasp. Gripping her scarlet mother Because daddy isn’t home tonight. And Daddy he is never home, See Daddy’s never been home, child.
I was a child’s handclasp As it wraps lightly around a butterfly Seeing God in its colors And her mother in its sighs.
You were my age-old testament I studied you like Bible And drank from you like Beggar. And with the trees we’d sing hymns About our brothers.
Nobody told us joy is fleeting See I latched on to you like your demons do Sunk my teeth into your secrets but Nobody told me you’d be leaving Choked on leaves of love’s last season Now I am wartime’s mother grieving Pushing body bags of reasons Down underneath the rabbit hole.
Did you know my dreams swam lakes around you? Barfights bristled in my mind without you Five hundred miniscule, broken men Hurling rages at your head It will take more than ages, friend To get each and every one sober again
In your eyes are tangled knots, I am a fumbling arthritic hand.
Darling, I have spent Reincarnations of spirit within you. Inside this steeple, I am forever the monk. Divining, enshrining my words within you. I lost them within you
Like my favorite scrap of paper Nestled between the stolen pages of a Forgotten storybook
I was a child’s handclasp. Gripping her scarlet mother Because daddy isn’t home tonight. And Daddy he is never home, See Daddy’s never been home, child.
I was a child’s handclasp As it wraps lightly around a butterfly Seeing God in its colors And her mother in its sighs.
You were my age-old testament I studied you like Bible And drank from you like Beggar. And with the trees we’d sing hymns About our brothers.
Nobody told us joy is fleeting See I latched on to you like your demons do Sunk my teeth into your secrets but Nobody told me you’d be leaving Choked on leaves of love’s last season Now I am wartime’s mother grieving Pushing body bags of reasons Down underneath the rabbit hole.
Did you know my dreams swam lakes around you? Barfights bristled in my mind without you Five hundred miniscule, broken men Hurling rages at your head It will take more than ages, friend To get each and every one sober again
