My Castle Hut

 

 

I am dwelling into a green sea

I am drowning while fascinated by what I see

I glance at my open chest under my purple vest

I resist the water blurring my eyes. Blocking my vision, I want to prove I exist

 

I want to build a castle in the sky where eagles never rest

I want to hear the prayers that climb up from the cribs

I want to hear the raw cries of women who will never forget

I want to listen to men’s scream that frighten the Jiin around the nest

I want to block that hole in the ozone where wells of dead ghosts rest

I want to touch flocks of birds as they migrate to the west

I want to run away from a world that has become a mess

 

My castle.... is not a cage or a jail but a palace

Where we nurse

Children’s fear,
mother’s panics,
father’s steers

Broken dreams,
 twisted promises,
 wounded prides

Deafening screams,
defected friendships,
silenced speeches

Deteriorating happiness,
 dented hopes, and
endless pain

 

In my castle...You can exchange all that with a single donut that will keep your sane

My eyes shut..I am in a hut where I hunt

Devilish people,
green eyed people

Greedy people,
black magic folks

Dirty politician,
their fake wives
their fake lies

 

 My fierce hut is a castle by the moon.. under the eagles watch

by the north star where Hercules once passed by
 

  By : Asia Aboosy :)

 

 

She was Talking to Herself.. Crazy or Therapeutic..?

 

 

Her voice came through my headphones. I pulled them out “did you say something, Habryar”

No reply.

She was in the kitchen washing dishes. I hear her talking to herself, belittling herself, scolding herself.  The pitch of her voice was louder than the water faucet.   

I was sitting at the dining table playing with my laptop, more specifically, with words. I could clearly see her from where I was situated. I observed her. She was completely drowned in her own world. In her own problems.

“If you knew some English, wouldn’t you been working now? Wouldn’t you send some money for your Hospitalized son?. "  she murmured  “What can I do now? What did I even get from running to that meat pathetic factory? Why did that shabby scrimby old lady snitch on me?  She was lying. I am not that old, I can still work tirelessly..I was never lazy or late..they never saw me standing around doing nothing” she exhaled deeply “I guess she was jealous and resentful of me funding my son's big wedding...”

“If you knew English, wouldn’t you be able to defend yourself against that sharp tongued, green eyed bit**”   she continued “let me focus on my English classes while I look here and there for some cleaning jobs”

She is a fifty plus old lady with great body for her age. A single mother with some 20 plus sons from a previous marriage. She had a very persistent personality, very ambitious for an illiterate woman. I admired that.

She was relentless about learning English as a second language in spite of her being illiterate in her first language Somali. But she rose and improved quickly, albeit unsteadily, she grasped many words . She started forming sentences with doubt. I encouraged her.

She was selfish. “The end justifies the means” type. sometimes she scared me.  

I wondered if this woman right here had access to education what miracles would she worked?

Stress can make you do crazy things, seem crazy, and sometimes, can be the fuelling engine for you to attain your dreams. Because dreams have no expiration date.

Maybe talking to yourself in the kitchen while faucet water pouring or screaming and crying in the bathroom while taking a shower is therapeutic. But make sure no one listens to your pain. Especially, those who are situated at the dining table waiting for gossips to be served.

Her conversation with herself continued.  I decided to give her some privacy and so I put back my headphones to continue playing with my laptop or with my words.

 

 

                                                                                                                                             

انا امراة لا تتنحى 

انا امراة لا تتنحى..
عنيدة كالصخر الذي تتوالى عليه الأعاصير ,موجة بعد الاخرى

انا امراة تعشق التحدي...
تعشق الاصرار حتى طفش الصرصور وولى'

انا امرأة اامنت
انو الضربة التى لا تقتلك تزيدك عزما
والضربة التي تشوهك تترك وسام عز وشرفا يشهد عليها الدهرا

كم من روح ضعيفة تعيش في الدنا في وهن كانها في دار هنا
لا تبالي بالم الآخرين..لا تتوجع للمستضعفين والمسلمين وكان روحهم مصقولة مجففة من الدجى..
لا ترى فيها اثار حماس او امل او عزيمة..
ارواحهم كالدجى لا يلبث حتى انجلى
نهارهم, نوم بقضونه في سهد جفونهم التى تراكمت عليه وتلاطمت فيه الجفا
وهكذا حياتهم دجى في دجى ...كالصرصار الذي اختفى

ما عرفوا وسام شرف المحاولة و المحن في زمن الشتا
ما عرفوا درب الصخور والامواج ..درب الورود والاحلام وصيحات النصر التى تمخضت من رحم العنا لا الهنا
هم ما عرفوا زمن الربيع وبهجة الورود عندما تهمس عطرا

أبيت.... لن أكون مثلهم ..ميتة او نائمة.
انا اخترت ..ان اصلي..ان ابكي. .ان اغني..ان اشعر
انا اخترت النهار و الليل...فطعم السعادة يحلو بالدموع
انا اخترت ان اكون الصخر .. اخترت الضربة..لانها تحييني

انا امراة لا تتنحى 

Struggle. Gossip. ..and Motherhood

She was ranting un-stoppable in the car while we drove back to the community centre from a court hearing. She was mad, very sad. she was broken and feeling hurt over the judge's decision, though she expected it.

We were five women in the car. I couldn't figure out what bothered her more; the fact that her thirty plus  years son remained in custody or the judging eyes and rumours of other ladies who made her feel like shit.

She continued "If they want to talk behind my back let them be brave enough and say it in my face, Can they do that ?? Can they ?? .. I swear ill remove their eyes with my bare fingers...do they think they're better than me..do they??! . Those mothers who hide the bastards of their daughters..they really think people don't know about their dirty little dark secrets, at least my son never had one of those " she laughed devilishly.

I felt like she was pinpointing to one of the ladies who were with us, or who we all knew.

Being a mother is hard enough on its own without being under the microscope of society and their sharp tongues . Other mothers, especially, make it harder for mothers out there. I mean isn't enough for mothers that they're already feel guilty and under constant self criticism ,most of the time.

 Don't you think they  already have enough on their plates, enough weight hanging from their shoulders and blurring their minds...Being a mother, really, is a continues examination until you're buried or go completely deaf. People judge you for whatever you're children do even when they're grown ass people over their thirties.

Many people undermine the effect of gossiping behind a friend's back. In  our Somali culture they do it all the time. and sometimes you wonder if these women have any lives of their owns. Why don't they mind their own plates instead of peaking into other's full dishes. Stop chatting about other mother's children on phone for hours, all day long, when your own are in the streets. when your own are on crack or even something worse. Clean up your closet first like the ranting mother said.

We all have struggles of our own in life. different hardships we need to overcome. obstacles that were laid before us by Allah (swt) to test us. If you're busy looking at your neighbours you will stumble at your own. If you don't have hitches in your way then extend a helping hand or an encouraging word, or even a warm smile will do. Those little tiny gestures go a long way wallahi, and you'll never know, one day you might need them yourself.

It's sad that we undermine the weight of gossiping. The consequences of that little muscle hanged  inside our mouths.

The Messenger of Allah (pbuh) said, “Whoever guards what is between his jaws and legs. I shall guarantee him paradise.” 

Stop gossiping about our mothers. Stop gossiping about or daughters. Stop making it harder for them and you may actually go to Jannah. Inshallah. 

Asia Aboosy