Where Youth and Laughter Go

This poem is about the inherent folly of war.


From fighting for  my country, I have learnt

That bombs fall like raindrops,

But so do tears. So does vomit. So does blood.

And the human ego is so

Fragile, yet indestructible.

It finds itself woven subtly

Into uniforms, weapons and empty pledges of empty allegiance.

Looking up at the sooty, dust-filled sky,

I thought it was almost beautiful

How one person flying overhead,

Holds in his hands the limitless power to kill,

To destruct and destroy,

To take our lives and wipe our sins away

And compete against infinity.

Every bullet that slices through the air like a shooting star

Holds the power to slice through a heart,

To bring a man down to his knees and breathe

His very last breath.

To orphan a child, to widow a wife,

To extinguish a thousand hopes, dreams and fears,

To steal a life.

Because war makes us feel powerful- immortal- like gods.

But it reduces men to nothing- to ghosts, not gods, hiding in their own ribcages,

Unsure of what to do-

It’s almost beautiful how men cry too.

In a life where love is the only war we’ve yet to wage,

Where men sit in shallow trenches- shallow graves,

Praying- begging- to see their loved ones again.

They don’t have time to see the irony of it all:

They demolish cities and wreck livelihoods

While they yearn for the comfort of their own families.

Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori,

Show me where it hurts, and listen carefully:

Listen to how gunshots sound like heartbeats in the distance,

See how the blood that flows whimsically through the veins of the Earth

Has no name, no nation, no personality;

They are fluids of cowardice and terror, of tenderness and humanity.

We are just children, pretending to be men, and I long

To be held again.

To lay roses over the eternal tombs of the fallen, but there are no roses left-

Only shrapnel and shells of men, hollow and bereft.

Slovenly, we shoot for the moon, for the stars, for love, for peace.

But we all end up in the hell

Where youth and laughter go.


Sadia Ahmed, 2016

#TwoMinutePoetryChallenge

I wrote this poem in the space of two minutes and I challenge my readers to do the same.


Look outside.

Are the clouds weeping? Do they share my sorrow?

Or does the world simply go on?

Did the sun rise today? Did the winds still blow?

Did time just carry on as though

Everything is okay?

Did the birds sing this morning? I would not know,

For their symphonies continue to be cancelled out by my desire to hear nothing.

Tell me: did the trees sway in the breeze today? Did they notify you of their reluctance to bear fruit at this hour?

Why must we wait for things? Why do we challenge ourselves to wait to escape?

Patience reflects delusion and a false sense of

Immortality.

Are we all just kidding ourselves?

We are all just kidding ourselves.

Look outside. The clouds are weeping, but they do not share my sorrow.

I am here, encapsulated in a universe that is neither happy nor sad, yet here I am,

Embodying (compensating for)  its lack of happiness and sadness,

All at once.

Like how the clouds gush tears of neutrality, I cry tears of happiness, sadness

and everything in between.

 


Sadia Ahmed, 2016

Clouds that are infinite.

Clouds.
There are clouds in my head; they are pregnant with rain.
Rain.
Monsoon showers that wash away my doubts and rinse me of my insecurities. They moisten the ground, so the seeds become flowers.
Flowers.
They grow into greatness and majesty, into the sky, out of the sky.
The sky.
The empty sea of azure through which we fly. It symbolises hope, uncertainty and infinity.
Infinity.
Clouds. Rain. Flowers. The sky.
You. Me.
Infinity.

Response to Daily Mail’s Littlejohn

The Daily Mail’s Richard Littlejohn is a very pleasant, intelligent chap, known for writing about pressing issues such as immigration (a manifestation of “extremist, expansionist Islam”) and calling a new mother a “gypsy”, before asking her why she “even [came] here in the first place”. 

Recently, I came across an article by him about Michelle Obama’s visit to Mulberry School- a girls’ school in Tower Hamlets, earlier this year. I was simultaneously humoured and appalled.

See the article here

In the article, Littlejohn begins by asking a very crucial question: “Did Michelle Obama not see the irony in delivering a speech on female emancipation to a school full of girls in headscarves in the Islamic Republic of Tower Hamlets?”. I must admit, I found this hilarious. He obviously believes (without cited sources or statistics) that the Hijab is somehow a symbol of oppression, and that it is absolutely impossible to be a liberated female British human being if you wear a scarf on your head. With regards to the ‘Islamic Republic’ aspect, according to the borough’s website, Tower Hamlets is the only British local authority where the Muslim population is the largest single religious group.  35% of people in Tower Hamlets are Muslim, whilst 27% are Christian. The rest of the population is made up of atheists, Jewish people, Hindus e.t.c. I don’t think such figures add up to make the borough an ‘Islamic Republic’.

Littlejohn claims that “majority [of the pupils] have no option to wear headscarves and long robes”. I wonder if he’d conducted a survey of some sort before reaching this conclusion, or whether his statement was entirely speculative, designed to conform to an Islamophobic agenda. Hmm… I’m going to go with the latter.

He goes on to state that his “guess” is that the Department for Education chose the venue deliberately to showcase “our new, rigorously enforced State religion: ‘Celebrating Diversity'”. Well, sir, your article seems to be full to the brim with similar “guesses”, unsupported by solid evidence of any kind.

The term ‘ultra-religious’ is used to caption an image of the First Lady standing in front of a group of Mulberry students. Granted, most of the girls are pictured in Hijabs, but does this reflexively mean that they are ‘ultra-religious’?

Many conjecturable statements are made in the article, including Littlejohn’s view that “Mulberry School is one of the least diverse schools in Britain”. I doubt he has ever ventured out of London to schools in Kent, where most of the students are white. My cousin attends a grammar school in Kent; she is the only Hijab-wearing student in her entire year, and is one of the only two non-white students in her class.

The idiocy does not stop there. Littlejohn claims that the article is “not directed at the…pupils”, however he mentions how the pupils come from a predominantly Bangladeshi background. He goes on to talk about the then “Muslim mayor” of Tower Hamlets, Lutfur Rahman, as though religion was a central factor in his vote-rigging fiasco. Essentially, through this article, Littlejohn is denigrating Islam; he finds it ironic that the First Lady “delivered a speech on female emancipation in front of a [mainly Muslim] audience”, as though the students are feeble, submissive, voiceless victims of oppression, who “have no option other than to wear the restrictive clothes imposed upon them by their parents”. When will the media accept Muslim women as the powerful and creative people that they are?

Littlejohn speculatively labels  the Hijab a “symbol of seperatism” and “female oppression”, but who are the oppressors, I wonder? The truth is, Muslim women who choose to express pride in their religious identities are oppressed by ignorant imbeciles who write entire articles about their ‘oppression’ without even consulting them first.

In an attempt to save himself from inevitable accusations of racism and Islamophobia, Littlejohn makes clear that his intention is not to vilify, but rather to prevent “young Muslim men and women” from being “susceptible to extremist interpretations of Islam”. Yeah, right. If that was truly the case, he would have portrayed the fine students of Mulberry school in a positive light- for they are brilliant individuals, as the school’s achievement statistics show. Littlejohn unfairly uses their Hijabs to demean them, insisting that they will probably be “forced to stay at home” or “take part in arranged marriages”.

“Now try to gauge your reaction when you discovered that Michelle Obama was actually in London”. Here, Littlejohn conveys just how disgusted he was at the fact that none of the prefect students pictured with the First Lady were white. How adorable.

This was not the only instance where a Daily Mail columnist openly expressed Islamophobic attitudes: when the Queen of the Great British Bake-Off, Nadiya Hussain, was crowned, journalist Amanda Platell was actually offended by the fact that Flora Shedden did not win, claiming that she would have stood a better chance if she’d made a “chocolate mosque”.

In conclusion, the Daily Mail is an ocean of bigoted tears, and its columnists are in desperate need of a lesson in intersectional feminism.

Unfair media representations of Muslim women

A Lifelong Journey

I am happy. I do not know why. To this date, I find myself still uncertain as to who I am, and who I wish to be, but not all those who wander are lost. I believe that each and every human being on the face of this earth is unique, beautiful and too complex to be limited and defined. So no- I cannot tell you precisely who I am, but perhaps there is some sort of unfathomable beauty in that, for I intend to spend the rest of my life discovering who I am.

Hide and Seek

I know how you hide behind your locked bedroom door,

Desperate to escape what lurks outside.

You can’t run, and so you try to hide.

I know how your thoughts devour you,

How you crouch against the wall, clutching your knees.

How it hurts to exist, how it aches to breathe.

I know how you cry, copiously yet

Silently. You do not wish to be heard,

Unable to go outside, spread your wings and fly,

Into the sky that over time, you have grown to despise, like a caged bird

Without its song,

But I still hear the words.

You weep until your pain is superseded by a greater force-

Hunger.

And yet you starve yourself,

With the intent to become so thin, you disappear.

But I still see you.

Though your eyes remain unseen beneath that wisp of hair,

And an oversized hoodie cloaks your beauty like a second skin,

Draped over your bones, nothing can conceal what lies within,

So allow me to clarify just one thing:

You can hide from the universe, but you cannot hide from me.

Please don’t fear- please know I’m here.

I know that you are not just skin and bones,

And that sticks and stones

Are not the only things that can hurt you.

I know how you cannot face your fears because your fears exist on your very own face,
 

You spend hours hating your own reflection,

But when I see you, I see only perfection.

I see more than a mirror ever will,

And I will never stop trying to find you until,

You open your door.

I wish to explore your world and every inch of your magnificent mind-

Please come out, and let me in.

© Sadia Ahmed 2015