anonymous asked:

Salaam! I don't know if my message sent earlier but I am letting you know your words warm my heart beyond imagine habibti. I am wondering if you know of any other Muslim writers on tumblr?

Hey! No, people keep telling me I’m missing their messages! I’m sorry! Thank you so much for this! :)

encache, blueejay, inhaletneinsanity, miguu, bonoful, puppetstrings, lebuc, amaalsdrifting, nomadmanifesto, bruised-feathers,

Those are honestly like, hiiiigh grade poets. There are SOOOOOOOOOOOOO many more but those are literally the first ones that came to mind. Really beautiful women with strong, passionate voices. They all carry their own style, diction, aesthetic and persona. They’re all truly worth the read. I know I’m a jerk for missing so many more, but I’ll make a list for you shortly. These are surefire reads, though. That’s for sure! Ugh, I’m missing soo many, I know it!

Enjoy and thanks, again!

anonymous asked:

Your words warm my heart beyond imagine my dearest. I am wondering which tumblr writers you yourself like reading?

Honestly, words like this mute me. Thank you for taking the time to read my scribbles that don’t make any sense. I don’t understand why you cant show me your face. :) Well, there are many I follow quite religiously because I think such writers who are better than me can surely amaze you as much as they amaze me. There are many I’m missing out but here is a list I can give you:

If you haven’t read them, please do yourself a favour. Do it now.

Rowdy Rumblers of Tumblr/ 12 Nov

Last week’s Cafe Trip Callers of Culture Catastrophic —

And now the new three, the true three, the Fighters for Form and Function in the spirit of a Friday afternoon:

Poet the First


i am not always a collapsed lung
most of the time i am heaving, however labored it may be and my mouth is spilling words that mean nothing but really mean everything
(if only you would listen)
i am not always writing
today at a coffee shop i spent forty six minutes staring at a napkin,
the waiter thought i was crazy
(little does he know how much)
i exhaust an entire day postponing the inevitable, my mind always half in and half out of conversations -like washing machines and terrible winds. but can you blame me? i open an old / new / will they always be there/ wound every time my fingers find a keyboard or a pen
he asks me why an honest smile is so rare on these lips,
i tell him i am hiding secrets behind my teeth
where is the air?

The Vibe—

InhaleTheInsanity writes with a beautiful clarity, with a purity of feeling unmatched. The URL name can trick you. You see the word insanity and you think, ‘here we go—here’s another one.” But the insanity referred to is all external. The poet is inhaling it for some purpose undisclosed but when she exhales, it’s all art. /i am not a collapsed lung/—and here’s a start which opens up its hand to you and you take it willingly. /most of the time I am heaving/—Inhale shows herself a master of the groovy contrast going from collapsed to heaving. /today at a coffee shop i spent forty six minutes staring at a napkin/—Something about this confession feels like the most human line written all year. In an age that demands speed and result a poet staring at a napkin for under an hour makes the rootless want to call the padded wagon. Yet it is the most natural thing. Staring. Looking. Existing. The poet is forced to acquiesce to the insanity so called of a perfectly normal thing, and that she does so in such an artistic fashion—genius. /i tell him i am hiding secrets behind my teeth/—everything about this line qualifies Inhale as a gifted writer. The lower case /i/ is significant for the entire poem is a revelation of the interior declaration hiding from the world. /Secrets behind my teeth/ ties into the lower case /i/ for teeth are covered by lips and secrets are covered by teeth and that the poet closes the line with an expansion seeking for air——masterful.

Poet the Second


I long for your shinbones, your hair, the planes of your face-
even the air you breathe.
I often find myself moving through the rooms you used to inhabit,
searching for the remains of your soul
where you left it, hung over the edge of a banister
or draped on top of a chair.
The kitchen lies untouched, your coffee mug still half-full of water
and cream. Even the sink is missing you.
Some nights I dance alone to the radio with the candles lit,
my arms surrounding the shape of your absence.
It is not enough to dance for two
when there is only one.

The Vibe—

WritingsForWinter tackles the common themes of poetry with a courage, tenacity and artistry that fan the flames of these themes in the minds of her readers. The result is a communion with the old standards under the artistry of Winter’s lines that confirm and illuminate half-truths in the soul. These half-truths expand to fullness and it is no lie to say that Writing’s work inspires poets to write their own kicks along the same road.  /I long for your shinbones/—excellent opener for Winter gives us /longing/ which opens our minds to what follows but hits with /shinbones/ which breaks expectation and captures our attention, forcing us to read before agreeing that we may agree again afterwards. This is crucial to proper exchange between poet and reader.  /The kitchen lies untouched, your coffee mug still half full of water and cream/—the details here, the small focus allows the reader to pour in experience and flesh the poem to greater levels. /Even the sink is missing you/—The personification here, the tenderness of it, the common object glorified in verse. If you missed it this was where Winter proved herself a true poet, one who makes the local universal without effort. WritingsForWinter is a satellite to greater majesty and the glow from her work illuminates your fingers and creates days for you of old forest growth in candlelight aperture.

Poet the Third


Some Ritual

evening shave, the end
 of the week, the end of the week’s
 encroaching beard that gnarls
 and grins its scrub, scrawled across
 my features like graffiti on
 a cliff-face.

 And as
I slice a piece of me and wash it
 down the drain, so too I slice away
 the passed week’s worries and
flush them far away.

 If only
 the effects would hold forever; if only
 I could win against decay; if only for
 just once week, I could pause my aging
 face and keep my squirming worries
 and clean
in time.

The Vibe—

ConstantMaintenance is a strong writer gifted with a calm self-awareness. His work has muscularity and weight, an economy of form that fits the fighting mold.  /Friday—evening shave, the end of the weekd, the end of the weeks’ encroaching beard that gnarls/—Constant builds his poems from the ground up, signaling the word and then reapplying the concept, a scaffolding of verse whose intention is the Sistine Chapel. /and grins its scrub, scrawled across my features like graffiti on a cliff face/—Constant is a master of the unexpected simile, combing his own face to a cliff and graffiti. One doesn’t often see graffiti on the faces of cliffs. Here Constant combines stark nature with the starkness of the urban landscape and it’s all kinds of excellent.  /And as I slice a piece of me and wash it/—As a man I dig the shit out of this line for my beard is not some inconvenient apparatus for shaving cream companies to profit by. It’s a part of me and it carries all my victories and defeats. When I shave it is something of a long goodbye coupled with a spring cleaning. It is no surprise then that in bearded cultures men will tear out their beards in protest or grief. Constant writes with a great vigor and artistry and brings a freshness to masculine poetry that is often lacking.

We have the three. Read the three. Dig the three.

Best Regards,

King Stimie

balanbaalis-deactivated20131028 asked:

i'm pretty sure i've reblogged everything on you & samira's blog :) i just wanted to let you know, mashallah. it's beautiful how you're able to see the truth that is in islam and in being muslim. i feel like muslims erased that truth by mistaking culture for religion and extremism for piety. i believe it's simple. to be a muslim is to be a good person. from the bottom of your heart. i feel like you are. thank you. and eh congratulations, iA may you and samira have a long blessed life together :)

Jazakhallah khair. I agree with you, it is very easy to be a good Muslim and the simplicity is usually masked by all the extra things society, culture and misguided people tell us. I pray Allah guides us all because it’s real easy to get lost in all that. 

Ma salaam :)

The most spontaneous social experiment I have ever experienced

And I didn’t even realize it was a social experiment till later on. And I blame the whole ordeal on Najat, Najma’s sister. I didn’t want a any part of this really. But here’s what happened.

Me, Najma, and Najat were leaving a park. We were in the parking lot hanging out when we see a Hummer drive past. I love Hummers even though I can never really see myself with one in a few years. Anyway we decided to be stupid and shouted at the car like “NICE HUMMER” “I’M LOVIN’ IT” and “YOU A BADDIE”

Let me put in the fact that we live in a little country called the UAE where guys stroll around in their lambos and mercedes hollering at girls and throwing little slips of papers with their numbers at them. (yeah that’s how they ‘get girls’ here)

When we got out the parking spot and were driving to the main road we realized the car was following us. & it was because Najat made a hand gesture for them to follow us! At this moment I was freaking out like nooo this is NOT happening. They drove next to us with their window rolled down yelling out their number. We laughed on like HAHAHA i can’t believe this.

Najma wanted to buy some things at a supermarket so we parked at this marketplace and the hummer parked next to us. It took us several minutes of freaking out before we womaned up and got out the car. However Najma & Najat dashed off without looking back leaving me ALONE. The guy in the passenger seat was pretty cute (not gonna even lie!) and he had a slip of paper in his hand. He’s like to me “Excuse me”

Several thoughts came into my head. Either I ignored him and have the guys follow us into the shop or take the paper and we go our happy separate ways. I took the latter (safer) choice. I literally walked over took the paper and hurried off without a word.

The experience in itself was pretty exhilarating. I knew stuff like this happened but I never had it happen to me. It was fun but I don’t think I want to do something like that AGAIN.