Afghan Blood is Cheap

Afghan blood is cheap

Is it a spill on a rug.

The type that let seep in and say,

“It’s okay, that rug is old. No one will see the stain.”

Your mom would probably notice it.

She bought the rug.

Your dad will probably notice it too.

He loves that rug.

But your friends,

The guests that embrace your house every other year won’t.

It’s okay.

You’ll buy a new one.

Ha.

But you can’t buy a new motherland.

One that is free of invasion.

Occupation.

Free of bombs and bloodshed.

Afghan blood is cheap they say.

A stain on a rug.

The type you let seep in.

The white man says “shoot their savage asses.”

He spills blood.

The stain gets bigger.

The brown man shrugs,

and says “other places go through the same, why should i care?”

He allows the blood to be spilled

The stain gets bigger.

The man in the suit reports on it like it was expected of us.

Your passive aggressiveness is infectious.

The stain gets bigger.

The man leading prayer at the masjid skips over us in his closing duas.

You’re silent.

The stain just got bigger.

My mother notices it.

My father notices it.

I begin to notice too.

Afghan blood is cheap.

A spill on a rug.

A stain.

The type you let seep in.

#KabulStrong May Allah preserve the motherland. May Allah give my people strength, patience and safety. Ameen.

The male ego.

I met a man who claimed to be the sun

He told me he shines bright in the sky

He is the source

and he is the reason others grow

I whispered into his ear and told him he is more like the clouds

Gloomy and hard to read

A bad day to be foreseen

“You hide the sun actually,”

He then told me rain comes from the clouds

so he is the reason he makes others grow

He told me I was a flower

“I am the sun and the clouds and you are my flower”

I told him I was not a flower

I was not something seasonal

Something temporary

Something that dies

When the skies bleed the most

“I am not your casualty”

He told me flowers were beautiful

“They’re colorful and bright, you are colorful and bright”

No.

I am strong as a tree bark

I am the source of breath

Not a flower with limited time to its own death

I am a tree but you are not the sun

You are not the clouds

You are Cherry Blossoms on my branches

Once a year you show yourself

But within a week you deplete

You are a flower

So colorful and bright

Easy on the eyes

But nothing else.

 

 

 

I am numb

I can sit in the middle of the grass
On a cold day

With a tshirt on

And a pair of sweatpants 

And stare at my fingers as they turn purple

And the hair on my arms standing up

Yet for some reason it doesn’t bother me

I am suddenly numb to the things that cause me discomfort 

I can be on line for coffee and a man suddenly taps my shoulder because I am

Next in line

“sorry” he says.

“No worries that’s fine,” I say 

I am suddenly numb to the things that cause me discomfort

A man told me that he liked calling ladies he didn’t know pretty. But they never say thank you.

“Maam you’re beautiful. I mean it. Now what do you say?”

“…uhm. Thanks? I guess.”

I am suddenly numb to the things that cause me discomfort .

I used to leave my home with a full face of makeup

I stopped.

I am suddenly numb to the things that cause me discomfort 

I visited his grave a few times. 

“Remember death” they say.

And I remembered

But to be honest now I forget

And the tears have dried out

I am suddenly numb to the things that cause me discomfort 

He touched my leg 

I moved it away and he smiled, so I just nodded.

I am suddenly numb to the things that cause me discomfort 

“Fuck your religion man,” I overheard 

I didn’t step in. I left.

I am suddenly numb to the things that cause me discomfort

I heard a man say “come home with me” while crossing the street

I turned the volume of my music higher

I am suddenly numb to the things that cause me discomfort 

I sat on the grass and let the storm kick in

I wanted to leave.

I stayed. Got soaked.

I don’t know if I was numb to this thing that caused me discomfort but I stayed.

Oh white boy.

 

“I don’t understand why you get mad about the government surveillance? Your kind usually does this stuff, if anything it’s a good thing, making us more safe.”
I was in utter shock
“Makes YOU feel more safe” I said
AND WHAT ABOUT ME?
Must I open my bag all the time when a cop asks?
Must I watch my back every second after 6 just to make sure no one follows me?
Must I have to explain to people why I wear this on my head?
Must I wear a hat when I feel unsafe
Or walk with a buddy till I know I’m in good faith
Must I be paranoid all the time when I turn on the news?
In hopes of my name not being tainted by Trump or Ted CruZ?
What exactly makes you feel unsafe oh white boy with so much privilege?
Oh, do you get stopped a lot?
Stopped and frisked?
Do they stop you?
Because you have too many textbooks in your bag?
From studying all day?
Do they ever stop you?
What exactly makes you feel unsafe?
Are you afraid any moment I might get violent for religious purposes?
Perhaps I may, but on the grounds of your ignorance to be honest
Oh white boy
Tell me
Just tell me
Who is your government making safe?
Cause I feel threatened by your mere appearance right now
What if I assume you have a gun in your bag?
Should I wear a bullet proof vest from now on to be on the safe side?
That’ll make me feel safe
But I’m sure you would whine and such
Of how discriminatory that is?
Oh white boy, so please please
Enlighten me
Why should I be surveillanced while your kind gets to roam around freely?
Oh white boy
I just don’t understand
Why you think my rights should be violated
As you get to enjoy this land
Oh white boy I guess it makes sense
Your history in this land
Is based on stealing for gains
Without being reprimanded

When it hits you

When it hits you

There are actual people
In this world

Who don’t know their history

and think it’s okay

To tell us

We are the bad ones

We are the evil ones

We need to be gone

When it was their kind

Who created wars

Who have guns

Who shout racial slurs

All just for fun

Who regulate the business of a women inside her

Who think they own our rights to live

Who can’t differentiate from a Kurds and the Quds

Who think it’s okay to come into my place of worship and have us be on high alert

Who place a group into one big box

And stamp their labels creating this huge American paradox

Who tell us what to do

And when to speak out

And tell us we represent a minority

When it hits you that there is someone with so much hate in the world

Who despises you

Without knowing you

Who thinks it’s morally okay to kill you if you were 1000 miles away

There are people out there representing a whole ideology of hate

From what I know

It’s not from my side

But from the side of the nation state

They systematically work against you

For just being alive

For being true to your beliefs

It makes you wonder

Why.

What did I do to deserve this?

Just breathing makes you want to see me gone.

I know the drill

 

“Go home”
So I did

I walked four blocks to my house

Opened the door

And went inside

Isn’t that what he meant?

“the rag on her head doesn’t belong here”

Yet, they appropriate it when it’s fun

And even have “turban headbands” in forever21

I sat on the train in silence as there were two seats empty from my left and my right

Even though the train was packed

Maybe they were looking out for my comfort?

“Don’t your people kill for fun? How many have you killed?”

Is an actual question

Every part of me wants to give you a finger

But I know I can’t be angry

So I smile

And laugh.

“None. It’s against our beliefs.”

And I walk away

“You’re ruining us and this country.”

But I took out loans. I work two jobs just to pay for my education. So I can be something. I don’t get it.

“We have soldiers ready to shoot your ass to where you came from”

I was born here.

My parents fled here because of a proxy war.

Where would I go.

“Be safe.”

Is what I hear everyday when I leave home because now that’s a reality.

“Wear a hoodie. Your hijab is too visible”

Is actually a piece of advice I take now.

“Don’t stand too close to the platform of the train.”

I know. I know the drill.

I know the drill.

I know it way too well.

The artist

God is an artist

He is an illusionist at times

I believe this because

I see this most beautiful face walk the earth

And I swear I picture kindness coming out of his mouth

But all I hear is vulgarity and think

How funny is God

To alter our judgements on such beautiful people

Till they speak words that shouldn’t be spoken

And their hearts are exposed in a way in which this dark souls has woken

God is an artist

He has created such beautiful human beings

Beautiful human beings

That have to intention of helping this disabled humanity

I swear I can attest that there are men who walk on water

Because of their rationale and devotion but once the curtains closed

They drown six feet deep with chains on their ankles

God is an artist

He paints sunsets

That make us look at the sky

And vow to his existence

Just for a split second

Because once the moon is glowing

We all forget

That the sky resembled a dream

God is an artist

Truly

Plays with some of our visuals

I see people swearing they live by scriptures

But their lives are the opposite of whatever Artist they believed in pictured

God is an artist

I have become so fooled

By the appearance of human beings

Chic and gorgeous

Only to find out what their intentions really mean

Stranger in my head

There is a stranger in my head
I deal with no curiosities

No matter how beautiful

Or wakeful to the eyes

But there is this stranger in my head

His name escapes me

It isn’t important though

Only cause I firmly believe he is one of those born without a soul

There is a stranger in my head

To me he is like every man I have ever come across

Watches girls so closely ready to make his mark

There is a stranger in my head

He has haunted me in my thoughts as every time I think of him my hairs on my arms go up

He once said that he believed in a system led by patriarchy

Oh this stranger in my head

He always remains silent when a cause has a loud roar

This stranger is my head

Seems to be idle when he is needed the most

Trivializes issues and feelings to his own benefit and self worth

This stranger in my head

Is convinced that by yelling names of all things sugary

He can get me in his dirty bed

This stranger is my head

Connecting these thoughts to the mere reality of this world

There is a stranger in my head

That reminds me that the world is still backwards no matter how many books were read

This stranger is my head

Is probably no stranger at all

But a combination of male personas

I had the displeasure of coming across

That has led to this civilizations downfall

This stranger is my head

Is probably no stranger at all

The face of too many men all combined in one.

Disbelief

 

Is it weird

That I am fully aware

Of my disbelief

In beliefs

That were once so dear to me

Isn’t it odd

That even though

I may not fully believe

I am stressed because of the consequences of not believing in the first place

Isn’t it strange

That thoughts of being a soulless mind

Consumes me every second

So I make up my disbelief

With doing some good

Some good words and good actions

Surely that will please Him

Yet here I claim I don’t even believe?

It’s like I speak a word and I bite my tongue that same second

I am walking a thread with these thoughts

I think even with the sun in my hands

And the moon under my arms

I wouldn’t believe in miracles

Perhaps cause of the inconvenience?

Agnostic

Atheistic

Surely those aren’t me

Yet I cannot be put in a simple category

I am pretty much

Soul searching

For a better opportunity

Yet everywhere I look

I see myself

In the same place

A total 360

Perhaps I always believed in this deen?

There is No in Between for Women

There is no in between
When it comes to feeling like a second class citizen

And a piece of meat

I can’t seem to walk in a room with all eyes on me

For the right reasons precisely

I can’t seem to make people break into a protest even though my voice is an uproar

Or walk pass a group of men

Wearing sweats or even jeans

Without one saying he would like to have his hands all over me

I can’t seem to go without a week with some creeper telling me I’m a bitch for not smiling because he decided to wink and blow a kiss

“So how old are you Baby? Why you walking so fast? Come over let’s talk.”

And this is when i walk even faster

Cross the street

To the other side

Change my directions just so I can feel like a human being

Even when they’re not looking

There is no in between

It’s no different then talking to men to have them not even acknowledge your mere existence

“Are you even listening to my words?”

“must we speak to each other like there is an invisible barrier?”

There is no in between

I am either an object

Or not even a person

It’s like men think “be and it is”

And decide to make their own labels and creations due to their own ego and superiority

I am a person

With a voice

And a mind

Clearly invisible to those who only use their sense of touch to pass their damn time.