Poetry

Ocean of Words

You pretend like you don’t know,
And you act like nothing’s wrong,
And I do the same.

An ocean of unspoken words
Lies between us, and so we
Make strained small talk.

On our minds are words we don’t
Dare speak, and issues too gigantic
To wrap our minds around.

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Revelation

 

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Revelation

Having loved and lost someone is like trying to get the sand out of your shoes after a beach trip; No matter how much you try, you can’t possibly get every grain of sand out. Or it’s like trying to clean after broken glass; you’ll try your best, but a pesky shard always gets left behind. In a similar fashion, it’s difficult, and nearly impossible, to fully and throughly cleanse yourself from a love gone bad. The lost love of a lover, friend, or parent leaves ashes where loving care once took residence.

Alas, unlike the laws of energy, Love can be destroyed. Fortunately, love can also be created. Learn to recover from wounds of a lost love, and you will be rewarded with love. You could even walk through fire with the right mindset, so don’t let pain of a lost love scare you away. Often, you are only as strong as you allow yourself to be, so don’t limit your powers. Acknowledge your strength and unleash it, and watch yourself mold your life slowly but surely.

– Sarah Al-Haddad

Poetry

The Warmth of a Coat: A Poem

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The Warmth of a Coat

I was shivering in the cold,
Drowning in desperation,
Losing sensation.

You offered me a coat.

I was collapsing,
Tired of holding to a string.
I wanted to let go.

That’s when I heard your cry.

I was losing feeling,
Getting lost in the pain.

I heard your loud but silent cry.
For a second, it numbed the pain.

Fast forward.

My friend and I,
We’re out in the cold.

The only warmth being
The warmth of hope.

We have no coats,
But we wear our faith.

It keeps us breathing,
Keeps our hearts beating.

Some days are stormy,
And we have nowhere to go.

We call each others’ arms
Our home.

Some days I still long
For the warmth of your coat.

And I wonder
If you’re without a coat.

But you keep yourself in hiding,
I have no way to tell.
I’ve tried time and time over,
To no avail.

I have no coat to offer,
But I can tell you
That you’re not alone.

The wondering,
It adds to the cold.

I have a soft heart,
It won’t let go.

My tender heart is tired of hurting,
It has to learn to move on.

Such are the laws of survival,
Survival of the strongest,
Survival of the fittest.

Poetry

Hungry for Power: A Poem

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Hungry for Power

It was beautifully and powerfully magnificent.
All were mesmerized by its entrancing presence.
Such a rarity it was to see it dancing freely,
Bearing no urgent danger.

Its flames were loosely limited
By an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Feed it wood or paper,
And it would engulf it with little remains.
Feed it plastic,
And it would melt like ice.
Such is the set up fire by man.

Feed it,
And it will bring warmth and light.
That has been the treaty between
Man and fire since the beginning of time.
Today, it has been tamed to its dislike.

Fire has been held captive ever since.
It is not left free to be wild
And roam as it pleases.
So it rebels when given the chance.

The consequences are catastrophic,
And it has no cares.
Fire is power-hungry,
Crazed for the ultimate power.
It feels nothing but
An overwhelming need to feast.

Such greed plagues man as well.
Fire is not to be blamed,
As it has no mind.
Humans, what’s your excuse?

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Spirituality Where Least Expected

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Spirituality Where Least Expected

Everything was a tangled mess, starting from my curly hair to my ambitions. Untangling my hair was a five-minute trip to the salon.

“Right there,” I motioned to the stylist.
Indeed, it was chopped shortly after.I barely took a second to see how it looked.

All that mattered is that I would be spending less time untangling my hair and more time contemplating life in the shower. I must admit that I imagined myself as Jennifer Lawrence in Joy, as I walked out the door. “I feel free” was playing as she walked out in triumph with her freshly ambushed curly hair.

The brainwash was complete after listening to that mesmerizing song. I now almost believe that short hair brings success.We all need to believe in something. So what if it’s lucky short locks?

When your friends today may be strangers tomorrow, hair isn’t one of your concerns. It’s saddening how your hardships reveal people’s masks. What I fear the most then is the massacre of people I’m closest to whom I trust. Out of a dozen comes out -hopefully- one true person.

The rest are imposters, staying for the good times and fleeing at the slightest sign of distress. I wonder, if they could see my emotional wounds as physical ones, would they still step aside? Would they watch me bleed, or even worse, walk away without notice?

– Sarah Al-Haddad

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An Instinct Lost

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An Instinct Lost

I came out screaming and kicking, shocked by the cold air, the bright light, and the tall things in lab coats. I do not recall birth, but I’m pretty sure that’s how it went. After all, life hasn’t been much kinder since.

I find that you can’t be alive without feeling pain. You also can’t continue to survive if you don’t kick in objection. When you stop kicking, that’s when you surrender.

Ever since you were a baby, fighting back has been an instinct. But what about the times that kick you down so hard that you stop fighting? The times that leave you breathless, unable to fight, what do you do about those? Do you take a moment before you fight back again?

Maybe one day, someone will find the answer to my struggle. A straightforward answer. I’m tired of ‘maybe’s, ‘should have’s, and ‘could have’s. I want that instinct back. I want to fight back without thinking about it.

It’s a jungle we live in. You need to be ready to fight whenever.
But what if you are your own worst enemy? What happens when you lose trust in yourself?[Silence]

That’s what I thought. It sounds familiar, the silence. I hear it too often. A silence of bewilderment.

– Sarah Al-Haddad

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Living Versus Existing

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Living Versus Existing

Here’s to a trying life that is worth all the adversities. Here’s to those who seize life with all their power and who allow the difficulties to sculpt them. This is for those who get up that umpteenth time, with the same drive and ambition as the first trial; those who choose to live instead of simply exist.

To live is to enjoy the moment, even though you know you can fall anytime and without warning. It is to accept that you can’t be certain that anyone will be there to catch you, because that’s the nature of life. It is also to forget your pain long enough to see that others are hurting too. And even though you’re also hurting, you lend a hand.

Living is embracing the bittersweet moments, because bitterness should not spoil the sweetness of the moment. To live is to trust despite all the times you have been betrayed, because one who does not trust does not sleep.

I may not see my existence as a blessing, but I know that living is indeed a blessing in itself. Some days I will have to suffice with simply existing, and sometimes that’s enough for that time. As long as you exist, you will have endless opportunities to live properly again.

To stop trying can be tempting, and sometimes you want to give in to the temptation. But that’s a false promise of peace and rest. True peace is the peace you feel after giving it your all. Never forget that.

– Sarah Al-Haddad

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Video upload: Her Melody

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Her Melody

She has a soul of musical notation which few understand. When she is silent, it is as if her music is under copyright. You better carry a pass to her heart or you will not hear the melody. If you’re lucky enough, she will tire of the wired walls she built.

But don’t hold your breath, because she is also tired of hurt. She has sung and sung until her voice faded away. So will you be her home, contain her when she is alone? Will you notice when she falls silent, and see through her facade of content?

When she is joyous, her music is on full blast, without a pass. Brace yourselves, because she will not quiet down. She can show you heaven, and she can show you hell. There is a civil war going on inside her.

She might not know if you are friend or foe. She is me, and I am her.

– Sarah Al-Haddad

Poetry

The Hurricane

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Everything crumbled,
Myself included.

Following the hurricane,
I rebuilt everything from scratch.

I first started rebuilding
Confidence,
Faith,
Hope,
And patience,

And I worked from there,
To reach the top.

Everything was rebuilt,
In extraordinary improvement.

Until one day,
As suddenly as the snap of a finger,
It crumbled down once again.

Like leaked gas,
I never knew it started,
Until disaster struck.