Mother,
I missed you so much
I remembered you today
As I sat alone on your favourite chair
Thinking about my life
And where it has taken me
Your daughter has grown up
Your daughter has faced the world
You would cry if only you knew
The trials and challenges that passed me by
The turbulence and turmoil that has enveloped me
But I faced it all Alhamdulillaah
With the strength from Allaah
With the prayer you have made for me
Once upon a time
I can always feel your presence
Even in my darkest hour
I can always hear your whispers
Asking me to do the right thing
Even if that would be the most bitter of all
Even if I cannot swallow it all
This one will be over, sweetheart
It is just a phase
It will leave in a swift
So stay tight and stay strong
Focus and hang on
But when it disappears do remember
There is the next one coming
But that too, will be over
That too, will be over

Your eyes speak of those thoughts, your voice never did
The pain and sorrow all hidden away
with your tender heart and mercy
You gave life a new meaning, your love never ends
every moment is a new beginning
with your words and constant care
your silky touch and the scent of your hair
it never leaves my mind
going insane in the silence - it's the end
the end for me
that silky petals of a rose, holding together my dreams and goals
as it clings to its stem
withering away brings a shower of tears - my hearts gone numb
numb from this silence
your love keeps me going
I continue following - following every move in resentment and doubt
I can never be as eloquent - I'll complain and pout
I love you dearly, swipe your soft palm across my tears
hold me tight and scare away my fears
Now and for always my only true love
My Mother - the more I say it, it may never be enough
My love I cannot express
I love you dearly - for now and always - From Allah may you be blessed

What I Remember Most Growing Up

Is my mother standing on the ladder
that joined my bunk to my brother's below,
because she always played us even
and recited to us both, whispered songs
from the Koran that I never knew were prayers
her Arabic accent so embarrassing
when Jehovah's Witness's dared knock
on a Muslim woman's door

but on those nights before bed while the moon
spilled its ancient blue ink and my brother and I
slid under our frayed superhero blankets,
her voice was elegant, like the wish-whish
of a wedding gown across an aisle or the ease
of a tea bag bleeding its brown leaves.

"Bismillahir Rahmanir Raheem.
Al Hamdu lillaahi Rabbil-'Aalameen"

We watched her mouth, the roll of her tongue
that could crack seeds like pliers and still
soothe like a river.

"'Ar-Rahmanir-Raheem. Maaliki Yaumid Deen."

Her face was small, the size of my dad's fist,
but that was before we were old enough to know
that grape juice didn't leave those stains on her thighs.

"'Iyyaka na-budu wa iyyaka nasta-een."

These were her favorite lines. I could tell
by the creases her eyes made, shut so tight,
tears pooled in the cracks: "You alone [God]
do we worship and you alone [God]
do we seek for help."

"Ihdina-Ssirat al-Mustaqueem."

This was my favorite line
because I knew what it meant:
"Show us the straight path."
I went dark, saw a freeway of crooked roads,
forked trails, and street signs on fire.
I refocused on my mother's high cheek bones
as she steered us toward the final lines.

"Siratal-lazeena 'an-'amta 'alai-him,
Ghairil maghdubi 'alai-him wa laddaalleen."

And then we all ended with, "Ameen,"
and shared a kiss, warm like the Turkish coffee
in whose grounds she predicted the future,
but who could predict this?

We were her two sons and she
was our Syrian princess, but the kingdom
was now a broken home, and we were all
that we had left.

Just let anyone try to tear us apart
drunk ex-husband, future wives
and she'll show you exactly what it's like to be in hell.