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