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. 

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

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…
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