What madness is this?
To dream,
When I am awake?

I'm stubborn, you say.
I'm stubborn, I know.
I hold on when others let go.
And they have, and they do.
I can't, and I won't.

          
I was young and naive.
I thought the world was fair,
and all was right.

                                                                                    

I didn't expect, and I didn't anticipate,
That my tough shell would ever crack.

        
I was kind and I was gentle,
But I made mistakes that I didn't know.

I was scared and I was stupid,
Hoping and praying that all would be well.

The choices I made, the lies I was told.
The hurt I caused, the betrayal I faced.

And yet, after all this time,

it's holding on thats helped me let go.


© Amy Serafina

Dear Abba Diaries

Dear Abba, 

This day all those years ago you left me behind. I spent the whole day trying to keep myself busy so that I didn't think of you. I made sure that there was lots to do at work. But the more I tried not to think of you, the more you kept coming into my head. I kept pushing your thoughts away, lest I should get upset or show my feelings, or even cry. I don't do crying. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable. It makes me feel like that silly little girl that used to go running to her dad when her siblings used to tease her for not having all her teeth. Except now, there is no one to run to. Not you, not anyone. So, I keep my feelings locked up; put up a pretense and be the ice queen that I never wanted to be. They're my feelings after all, the only thing that I control, so why should I let anyone else privvy to what they don't deserve? 

I wonder sometimes, how would I have turned out if you were here? What would my life be like? Would I still make the choices I've made? Would I still be the ice queen that I've turned into?

I remember that day so vividly. I play it in my head over and over. It's weird, Abba. It's like I crave that connection to the pain and shock and sadness and anger that comes with re-living those moments. Why do I keep going back to that time? Why do I torture myself like this? Is it basking in my pain? Why does pain feel so good? I deserve pain. I deserve all this hurt. Its all I know now. Its become a part of me. I need it. To separate it now would kill me. 

I hope you're in a better place Abba. Wait for me. I won't be long. I'll come running like I used to. Jump into your arms. Tucked away in your broad shoulders, I'll weep like I've never wept before. You'll hold me tight and wipe my tears. You'll kiss away my pain and love me better, because you, Abba, always knew how.

You Would Think

Today I met a boy,
He had brown shoes and pink socks,
Glasses and a blazer too.
Attractive and tall,
You would think he was what I wanted.

He was well spoken and smart,

Funny and kind,

Talkative and thoughtful,
You would think he was what I needed.

He was nice and polite,
And flattering too.

He treated me well,
And praised my dazzling eyes.
Not to mention my lips,
That his gaze would not leave.
Funny and charismatic,

You would think he would light my soul.

He asked about me,
And made sure I was happy.
He was exciting and bubbly,
And ridiculously charming too.

Mindful of my feelings,
He joked about our future,
And made plans for my birthday.

I held his gaze,
My thoughts a mile away,
I drifted in and out of the conversation.
Laughing at the right moments,

You would think the deal was sealed.

You. Would. Think.

© Amy Serafina

Dear Abba Diaries

Dear Abba,

Today is one of those nights. You know the ones where I can't stop thinking about you? The ones where my eyes leak as though some taps been left open? Where my heart feels like its been cut open and butchered in places I never knew existed? Yes, those ones.

They said that with enough time it would hurt less, that the constant throbbing pain would stop. They said that I would get better with living my life and moving on. But they lied. It never lessens. It never stops. I never move on.

Every part of me has a part of you, and every moment of mine has your presence. Abba, you live through me. And whilst others can't see it, you. never. left. me.

I can feel you sometimes, and for a moment I sink into your arms. Your strong, broad shoulders, that shielded me from everyone and everything. Your smell, Abba - I can smell you. Its weird isn't it? The things I remember. I miss you, Abba. And there are days when I can't go on. Days like today when I can't stop hurting, when I can't stop crying, when I can't wait any more, when a lifetime seems forever and your arms seem so far away.

I close my eyes and hope to meet you soon. To be the little girl, that you never saw grow. Perhaps I'll dream of you tonight. Perhaps you'll comfort me. Perhaps you'll kiss me better. Perhaps.

© Amy Serafina

Letters from God

The same mirror I've stood in front of for years,
But time stands still for no one.
First there was one, then two, three and now four;
Four letters from God.
Others hide them; colour, mask or just pull them out.
But not I.
I like them; 
They're assurances,         
Reminders of yesteryear.
A time gone by; a happy, joyous, carefree, youthful time.          
The best years of my life, 
And of course, 
The time since.

© Amy Serafina

Soul f***

Deep, dark, mysterious depth,

buried hidden under layers of skin;
Your soul shines bright through your eyes.

Blooming, glowing, calling me to you.
A pull so fierce I can't stop.
It grabs my core, shakes it from its root and dances in the moonlight.

My body grows weak,
But inside, I'm alive!
With you I somersault in the wind,
Screaming with joy! 

     
Ecstatic and beyond limit,
My soul shivers with orgasmic delight!

© Amy Serafina

Who knew that poplar station was directly opposite you?
Certainly not I.
But twice a day, I'm reminded that it is.

The further I try to get away from you,
The closer they push me to you.
The impulse to jump off the train and...
And what?
I don't know...catch a glimpse of you?

Your weird eccentricities amidst the white shirts you wear every day,
Your fluffy black coat that you so proudly display,
Your smile,
That twinkle in your eyes,                       
The scrunched up nose as you giggle to yourself;
that naughty thought, yes, you had it again!                                           

So, twice a day I'm stuck.
Opposite you.
So close, yet so far.

© Amy Serafina

Yesteryear,
A day lasted forever.
When you were here,
In my room, so near.
I remember then,
How nice it was.
You and me, holding hands,
Walking so far.
That day, you took me to school.
It was sunny out,
But much nicer within.
You were my protector,
The man that never left my side.
I didn't know then,
But I know now,
That you weren't an invincible hero
But a human too.
And then of course,
Your time came
And you had to go.
Left me alone,
in the rain I cried.
Perhaps we'll meet again - by the fountain soon?

© Amy Serafina

Madinah

The people come in droves. The numbers increase each passing day but Madinah is not fazed. It welcomes all. The many faces; white, black, brown, yellow. The many languages. And yet, this is a place where none of this matters. In fact as I sit here, I can't help but think of Malcolm X’s letter from hajj:

"There were tens of thousands of pilgrims, from all over the world. They were of all colors, from blue-eyed blondes to black-skinned Africans. But we were all participating in the same ritual, displaying a spirit of unity and brotherhood that my experiences in America had led me to believe never could exist between the white and the non-white.

You may be shocked by these words coming from me. But on this pilgrimage, what I have seen, and experienced, has forced me to rearrange much of my thought patterns previously held, and to toss aside some of my previous conclusions. This was not too difficult for me. Despite my firm convictions, I have been always a man who tries to face facts, and to accept the reality of life as new experience and new knowledge unfolds it. I have always kept an open mind, which is necessary to the flexibility that must go hand in hand with every form of intelligent search for truth.

During the past eleven days here in the Muslim world, I have eaten from the same plate, drunk from the same glass and slept in the same bed (or on the same rug)-while praying to the same God with fellow Muslims, whose eyes were the bluest of the blue, whose hair was the blondest of blond, and whose skin was the whitest of white. And in the words and in the actions and in the deeds of the ‘white' Muslims, I felt the same sincerity that I felt among the black African Muslims of Nigeria, Sudan and Ghana.

We are truly all the same-brothers.

All praise is due to Allah, the Lord of the worlds."

The hundreds and thousands of people, but still Madinah remains tranquil. The peacefulness and contentment I feel cannot be explained. I’m sitting in the courtyard, having just prayed Maghreb. The gentle hubbub of people around me and yet I could hear a pin drop amongst this crowd.

The gentle breeze continues to blow across my face. I am lost in my thoughts; in fact the thoughts in themselves are blank, empty. The birds are chirping away. They weren’t here before but I like this addition. As the prayers are led, it seems like they are praying along.

© Amy Serafina

The Arrival

We’ve arrived; sleep deprived with swollen feet. All I want right now is my bed. My brother is waiting in the line to check in our luggage for the domestic flight. I’m sitting inside the airport, under a fake tree with my mum. The sun is slowly beginning to rise. Amazing where we started our day and now where we’ve ended.

It’s quite beautiful here; the swarms of men parading in white thobes with a few dots of yellow. The yellow shirted men help with luggage and are distinctly foreign looking whilst the men in white are Arabs. Power imbalances at work, clear for all to notice. Oh! I forgot the cleaners in blue. There aren’t many of them around here, just a handful.

The gentle breeze comforts me; slowly brushing across my face and providing light relief from the heat.

My brother’s gone to the bathroom, again. If anyone knows him, they will tell you he’s no stranger to a bathroom. In fact he practically lives in them!

© Amy Serafina

The Journey Begins

And so, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

In the car towards the airport, I do the mandatory fb update. A status to indicate the journey of a lifetime. And even then, the hesitancy of what I should write. How it might be taken or perceived. Even then I am mindful of others.

My heart though, it begins to yearn. I can’t describe the yearning. There are no words. It’s a feeling; pressured and rushed. It just knows that it NEEDS to get there, soon, quick, NOW.

The heart wants what it wants, and neither logic nor wisdom can prevent it so.

© Amy Serafina

I tried to forget you.

I locked you out of my 
thoughts but you seem 
to carry a spare key. 


I've tried erasing your voice
but every songbird sounds
like it must've took
lessons from you.


Every dust swirl and cloud puff
paints portraits of your
face.
 
Every still stream
knits quilts of your
reflection on its watery
skin.

You were the sun and I
had been staring too
long. Because every time
I blink 
you are still all I see.


Shakieb Orgunwall

Sometimes

Sometimes I don’t say a word,

I listen to the prose you utter,
The unspoken rules that you mutter.

Sometimes I don’t open my mouth,
I hear your twisted logic,
Your conventional ways of being prolific.

Sometimes I don’t do a thing,
I stare at your confident mannerisms,
Your obvious terrorism's.

© Amy Serafina

Goodbyes

Goodbyes are hard. Reminders that what was will never be again.

© Amy Serafina

The Unsaid

And sometimes it's the unsaid that kills you inside. 
Trapped like a venomous spear,
angling to rip through.
The unsaid.
The unknown.
Flowing through your veins,
crushing your soul.

© Amy Serafina

After a while you learn...

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security,

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises.

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open,
With the grace of an adult,
Not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans.

After a while you learn that even sunshine
Burns if you get too much.

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure...
That you really are strong.
And you really do have worth,

and you learn
and you learn
with every goodbye, you learn…

Veronica A. Shoffstall