T E R R O R I S T

As the world begins to dehumanise me, here are some words on how I feel.

T… E… R… R… O… R… I… S… T…

They call me a terrorist, but I don’t know what it means,

So I sat down and made a checklist of me,

The ‘E’ in Terrorist stands for ethnic minority,

Arab? African? Asian? I’m Pakistani,

But no not just that,

You may have heard of a triple threat,

Well the 3 ‘R’s in terrorist you should never forget!

Religion, religion and RELIGION!

Faith is dangerous ammunition.

Don’t forget to dot the 'I',

And the ‘I’ in terrorist may be referring to me,

But I think it’s referring to the eye which decides what you see,

If it’s Sky to Fox News or even BBC,

They tell you what I am,

And you believe them over me.

‘T’ is for terror, because I am terrified of you,

You made me guilty before innocent and it’s hard to prove,

That the ‘O’ is for ordinary, because I am just like you!

Now the ‘S’ is for steal as you take my liberty away,

The 'S' is for sentence, passed in an unjust way.

So now I know why I am a terrorist and there is nothing I can do,
If only I was white with blonde hair and eyes of blue…

R.I.P all those who have died as a result of terrorist attacks and all those who have died over ignorance of what a terrorist is.

Typing Blind

I turn off the lights to type blind. My eyes manage to make out black squares lined up in front of me; the keys. I tap violently hoping that the cause of my melancholy may erupt out of my soul and onto the paper so I may face it head on. I wait and wait for it to burst out demanding a response to its harrowing questions. Still... nothing. I find myself in an abyss, where there are only these keys, this sheet of electronic paper and I. I being a combination of my eyes and my brain and possibly my heart, but not my feet nor my legs nor my torso nor my arms. They feel like mere hardware. I do feel a strong connection with the lump of flesh pulsing in the left side of my carcass like chest, a strain in my brain which may or may not signify some part of I and the lenses of my eyeballs from which I create this perspective. I become a robot in a not so well oiled machine, rusted away from the mundane. I am the tin man, but with added woe… tin woeman. I breathe in slightly deeper than normal and it is as though I lifted a brick with my lungs. They sizzle back into their programmed rhythm, like balloons with pin prick holes expelling the good so quickly out of them. I turn around and stare into the darkness expecting something or someone to stare back at me. I then remember, I am no longer in wonderland. As I hold fire on the keys, I stop my breath like a halting train whose driver has seen a hazard. I shut my eyes and feel a tingle across the lobes of my ears, and in that moment I become my eardrums. I listen to the deafening thunder of silence and as it becomes almost unbearable a distant car hums down the road greeting me in passing. I sigh… I am back where I started.

Brick Laden Shoulder Blades

The thoughts bubbling in my brain when I have to respond to a casual, "How are you?"

Do not ask me about my health nor wealth,

But ask me about my faith,

For a person with an attachment to the ephemeral world,

Can never satisfy their thirst.

With everything on their plate.

Not the status of millionaire,

Nor their eyesight, hearing or strength.

Upon chasing they are hell bent,

And chase they will until hell bends,

From the sins that lay with them. 

But for the one with the ultimate goal in mind,

A resolve for the final destination,

A body of broken bones,

Wrapped in a battered case,

And a penny to their name,

Trials and tribulations 

Can so easily be faced.

Do not ask me about my health nor wealth,

Ask me about my faith,

As a heavy heart weighs much more,

Than brick laden shoulder blades.

Breed, Read and Feed

Some of my thoughts on the world we live in...

I started to notice that in our society,

There are those who are well bred,

Those who are well read,

And those who are well fed,

And according to those in power,

Some of us are better of dead!

But can you put a price on a head?

How many of me for one plot of land?

How many lives will you demand?

Some people call it a land grab,

But all I see is grabbing bodies of now lost souls.

In their place remains a giant hole, 

Which penetrates the hearts of those who miss them,

Who knew them,

And the hearts of us,

Who will never get to meet them.

How can you turn someone’s smile and hope in their eyes,

Their unique laughter and the way they see the skies,

Into a statistic?

Don’t tell me that’s just the logistic,

Of war.

How long for?

Will you pretend this is right?

I hope you awake in the night like Macbeth,

And see the blood on your hands mirroring all the deaths,

That you caused, 

And enjoyed the applause.

This isn’t a song or a game,

BANG BANG you shot me down,

But did you ask my name?

Pro-Beardism

Who could have ever predicted,

That a few chin hairs,

Could ignite so much fear,

That everywhere,

You walked, people stared,

Waiting for you to declare,

That you want to kill everyone there?

My eyes become teared,

That nobody cares,

That you are innocent, if it appears,

From your thick beard,

That you LOOK like a terrorist.

Why is it socially acceptable to be outraged ONLY on social media?

I wrote this piece a while ago, when there was huge uproar on Facebook and social media in general, over specific wars going on throughout the world. This took place at the same time as some of the necessary, but limited conversations about our obsession with technology. Here is a biopsy of my understanding at the time...

I sit and ponder,

And cry and scream.

A peaceful world is far,

Beyond my hopes and dreams.

But now I find myself living,

Inside a computer screen.

I’m trapped inside of this cube.

I try to smash the glass, but I can’t break through.

If I don’t get out how will things improve?

I turn to God who is outside all of this,

Outside the bad and the good and whatever the rest is,

Outside this technological abyss.

I understand the one who said ignorance is bliss,

Because now I know of so many problems that are bigger and beyond me!

Being fed truth and choking on lies,

My brain and heart start to desensitise.

When we see faces, shapes and colours we begin to stigmatise,

Trying to see through the lenses the media glued to our eyes,

While money and power makes those who can change things,

Their souls turn to ice,

And then a tear of every mother and every child,

Surrounds me and I begin to drown,

In the regrets and the mistakes I make on a daily basis,

Then reality… How am I supposed to face this?

Now my five-a-day are different social media platforms,

Where one click, one like, means solidarity,

But that doesn’t mean I’d replace you with me!

Would I give up my home, family and safety?

Or is it enough for me to click, like and share,

While you get blown to smithereens, can I still say that I care?

Unless I lie on the ground and hold you while it all comes down,

How can I pretend to know or empathise?

It's all well and good to scream and shout,

But my thirst is quenched while you are still in drought,

And I sit in a hospital with a migraine,

While you weep for medical supplies so you might see again.

I won’t pretend to know, to understand.

No amount of google images can put your pain into my hand.

I am sorry that I am a coward, I am lazy, I am weak,

For staying in my serenity and not feeding you, clothing you, keeping you warm!

But I know in my heart that Allah Ghafoor ur Raheem,

Will make a reality of what is now just a dream.

So have faith in him and stand in rows for salah,

Because the All Knowing knows and justice will be done!

Whose lens are you looking at the world through?

I am so sick of Fox News’ fatwas,

And BBC bid’a!

And for those of you who don’t understand,

It means their rulings and innovations,

Of which we have become a nation!

We criticise before we question.

What source did they mention?

Did it hold any weight?

Before we begin to hate,

And blame a population of more than 1.6 billion,

For something someone said,

Was done by someone who looked like one of them,

But we can’t negate the importance of ‘them’,

How else can we justify our ‘us and them’ foreign policy?

Of the self-proclaimed Global police, I see,

The gaps in the stories and the unanswered questions,

Like army generals they scream ‘attention’!

And we stand in line and march to their tunes,

When we are no longer in tune,

With human nature and its inquisitive mind.

What about justice?

‘Innocent till proven guilty’… What a line!

Is that all it is now?

Or all it ever was?

Maybe one day we will implement this and rise above,

Their demeaning tactics of divide and conquer,

When the things they make us believe are absolutely bonkers,

And common sense is no longer common,

Maybe common senselessness is less foreign,

Than we think!

And maybe it is our attitudes that stink,

And our ideals and ideas that contradict,

Justice for all as long as they fit our immigration policy!

Conservative, Labour or UKIP?

No No, just for those within our borders?

Loophole! Lets export them! Sorry, I mean extradite.

That way we can destroy their legal rights.

How about Guantanamo Bay?

I heard there is a vacancy,

An inmate died of pneumonia recently,

Something to do with being left on the floor with no clothes,

Don’t worry that news is now old.

No one cares about that any more,

They are too busy queuing up for the new PS4,  

Game where you get to play American Sniper!

Shoot anyone with brown skin, 

And get an automatic win.

Its just harmless fun,

Because pretending to kill people is fine

As long as you don’t practice Islam,

Or have any lineage that might,

Or have ever been pictured outside a mosque,

Or come from a potential muslim country,

But the list goes on and on!