Joseph was kind,
the beautiful manifestation of faith:
full heart, firm patience.

His heart held no spite from the bottom of the well–
just overflowing faith,
speaking only good words about God
through prison bars and between dusty travels.

I found Your Joseph in history,
and I loved him.
Would that the Josephs of our time
were as beautiful.

The things I give away
are greater than those I keep.

I give smiles and good humour,
handshakes and hugs.
I give Time.

What I trap in here (points to heart)
is sadness, frustration,
and unhappy moments–I keep
them separate, because you mightn’t want to
experience what I do.

You’re privileged that way,
carefree that way,
uninhibited that way.
And you confide in me your stresses and pain
because I am all smiles and good humour.

I am not hurt
not phased
not feeling; to you
my heart is a bottomless well
of empathy.

It gives more
than it keeps for itself;
but need I tell you, it is not eternal.

Jannah, I dream
is green
and beautiful; stretched out before our eyes.
and our hearts are no longer
saddened,
no longer uncertain or pained.

Our Jannah
is floors of smoothed pearls,
smoothed brows;
and gentle rubs against our chests,
soothing the distress and doubt
we were patient with.

My Jannah
is an eternal calm with closed eyes;
and a release
from the burden of strangeness.

I have a mouth – I laugh, speak,
utter regretted words in anger.

But I am silenced, too.

Because I am a woman
and not allowed to be logical and emotional;
I am only allowed one state.

I will remind myself I am a stranger to this world,
a passerby stopping momentarily for water
or perhaps to change currency.

Then I continue this journey – solitary, silent,
forever in pursuit of the voice I lost to you.

I suppose I’m replaceable. Like car parts and flashlight batteries. At first, you don’t work without me; the days seem to tread along slowly, seem to be covered in layers of darkness. Until you realize any other body can fill the space of me. After all, I am merely segments of a self that hold no meaning. Just mechanical functions and calculated motions.

I’m no good for you as I am replaceable. Impermanent.

I also think you need someone who is whole.

I have discovered quiet moments while thumbing through this book; just me, it, and the constant throb of computer humming assaulting my several senses. The pages are new, almost untouched as my fingers trace the curved letters in my attempts to stay focused. Its words are heavy on my tongue and weightier on my heart.

And then it’s closed again, temporarily relegated to a tight corner on my shelf where the important things go; the ones I try to pretend are not so important. Then I am in the night, sole but ever-accompanied by the burden of deeds and the winding down of time. Perhaps my crowded shoulders need not creep into my consciousness, and my perceived aloneness can coax me to sleep.

I have found hurt in every direction I’ve turned,
followed by censure and disapproving eyes.
My heart was saddened by the departure of loved ones;
the barren state of my chest scared me,
and my face
was drained and darkened.

I turned to you, Allah,
in my time of difficulty and sin–
and instead of the pain of punishment
I deserved,
I found my hope, my constancy,
and my companion on this journey.

the anatomy of loss
is having you within my grasp,
my field of vision. it is measuring
the distance between you and I
and being unable to close it.

the thing about loss
is that it seeps into everything else;
the scent of you has been replaced
by the stench of vacant quarters.

time is of no use to this heart–
science still fails to explain why my body feels whole
while I am in pieces.

Today it rained, and the overcast skies
reminded me of the moments I sat in front
of Lake Ontario that quiet day, my heart heavy
with the memory of sins.

The rain now wets my sleeves and fingertips;
a small price to pay for Allah’s Mercy.
And though I have asked of Him,
I still do not know if sacrificing this love will be the sun
that evaporates my lake of sins,
or be the weight that pulls me down the road of regret.

I still do not know whether time will mend the potholes of my heart,
or whether they will remain -
future travelers beware of the shaky road ahead.

I remember you at the most inopportune times;
your face materializes in my mind as I cross a busy street
(I’m almost run over)
the smallness of your hands makes me smile on the bus
(I miss my stop)
the sound of your voice riddles my dreams
(I sleep fitfully)

I am in consistent disarray,
swimming in untied, frazzled memories.
And it makes me so angry
that you are able to focus,
and I am not.