Sip by Sip...
The problem is,
Life doesn’t know how
To turn the stove off
Before the water boils over
And
You do not know
How to drink burning hot tea.
-Sip by Sip, Take it One Day At A Time; You’ll Be Fine
Shahd Fadlalmoula
Aspiring writer and poet; Social scientist; Home-bred Feminist; Avid bookworm; and coffee enthusiast who glows in the dark sometimes. Also, part-time alien resident, part-time global citizen and full-time pleased to make your acquaintance.
The Inevitable; How Romeo Killed Juliet
He is Rome
He is Heroine
He is a fix
That finds itself written
In her blood work
No matter how far
She tosses her heart.
The Inevitable; How Romeo Killed Juliet
He is Rome
He is Heroine
He is a fix
That finds itself written
In her blood work
No matter how far
She tosses her heart.
My mother Africa only Fills Her Smile with شاي المغرب
There is joy tucked in tea cups and poetry
Joy tucked in the voices of all those you love
Coming together to give words meaning, and give stories life
Joy in the goodbye bid by a sun shying away from atop the horizon
To make way for a star-studded night sky…
There is joy in the little things that you cannot pack away in bags of wanderlust The things that leave their scent in your blood as a reminder
So you do not forget what love found on broken chairs, and lips parched
From pouring songs
Hamurabi’s Home
Dearest,
I’ve written a thousand poems for you,
And laid them out like Hamurabi’s code Laws,
On love and hope
Hope…
That one day,
You will reign peacefully
Over this ticking bomb I shelter in the enclaves of my ribcage..
In between the lines, a prayer
That you not rattle the skeletons buried under my feet
That you not knock the doors locked with brass & blood
Dearest,
I know I’m meant to write you a ballad on your coronation
But my pen is frozen with awe
At the ease with which
My Little Big Friend
You’re only thing that feels like home
In the middle of the Atlantic
Even on the days when
You smell of shipwrecks
And salt…
Race & Gender Norms
You give me a
Pink crayon and say
Color within the lines
But what if I want
To draw a new picture?
6 am Homage; The Call to Prayer
6:00 am,
The poem that woke you up like an itch in your soul
Is a message from your subconscious.
Write it like you’re fluent in morse code
Read it out loud,
Let it coil into your groggy morning voice
Hoping the hand of fate is around taking notes this time
Thinking perhaps,
History won’t repeat itself this time…
Praying..
That somewhere between the yawns of the sun and
God’s paintbrush Is the dawn of your retribution…
