Arshia Qasim Ahmad

Jul 2017

SøułSurvivør

~~<♢>~~

paper chosen
quill in hand
pondering or
obliging
a muse already
quick of wit
within the heart
residing
pen & paper have,
in written word,
set about
colliding

we write our mythology
we constillate the stars
we create our own legends
from nebulae afar
we sculpt our
classic statue
no storm can
ever mar

we color worlds with crayons
lavender and blue
or frame them
in computer screens
with pixels rainbow hues
nobody can tell us
our reality
ain't
TRUE!

we write
though indignation
we use pen as sword
against corrupt society
we can't fathom anymore
we call out politicians
and all elitist ******

~ lust & love ~

there are many muses
which can bring pain or bliss
but none as cruelly fickle
as the romance
of this
nor any as wondrous
as the beauty
of a
kiss

~ angst & despair ~

here is the morbid one
sowing her foul seeds
or she will spin her
silken threads
be careful of her deeds!
she sparkles like a
spider's web
is dressed in
widow's weeds

~ spirituality, religion & faith ~

there are vast multitudes
of hands which point us hence
and many roads to get there
and many an offense
I have found my trusted way
i sit not on a fence!
Jesus is my savior
and lives in
PRESENT TENSE!

~ nostalgia & the past ~

this muse is
made of metal
her jaws are red with rust
shadowed halls with paintings
and statues made of dust
or a pathway
through a garden
with fragrant blooms
in mist

but the greatest
muse of all
a friend to young or old
who makes us awed or timid
or bravehearted & bold
this one will always
help us
to get our story told
this muse is our great desire

for the freeing of the

SOUL

SøułSurvivør
(C) 7/7/2017

This is something I've had drafted for a while. Then my dad became ill, and i didn't publish it. Thought I'd finally post it. Hope you enjoy reading!

The last few days have been a joy with my father's miraculous recovery. Watching from his bedside I've seen him go from a pale yellow skeletal figure, struggling for his very breath, to a calm, peacefully resting man, off his respirator and all pain meds.
All the doctors & nurses are baffled & amazed! Just as they were when he was CURED OF CANCER.

WE PRAYED FOR HIM THEN, TOO.

Thanks to you all for being patient with me. But I'm sure you can understand or relate.

♡♡♡ GOD BLESS YOU! ♡♡♡

#soul #writing #poetry #love #life #god #hellopoetry107

Arshia Qasim Ahmad Apr 2017

The perfect woman

The perfect woman
is beautiful, of course
but not too beautiful,
( enough to be objectify-able
but not so much as to be threatening)

The perfect woman
has a voice and a mind
( that she wisely decides
to leave behind)

The perfect woman
should never be heard
( unless she becomes
a part of the herd)

The perfect woman
Is benign and blind
( to everyone's faults
except her own,
which also, btw, she ought to make known,
or god forbid, she'll be harkened a *****,
How rude.....)

The perfect woman
Is coy and shy
(changing her demeanor
for a girl or a guy)

The perfect woman
Does nothing wrong (yeah right)
(and still doesn't get
why she can't belong)

The perfect woman
Knows her salad forks and plates
She encourages, she nourishes
She creates,
(she waits, she waits , she waits)

The perfect woman
is an overachiever
(but readily labeled
to be a deceiver)

The perfect woman
doesn't age
doesn't dream or rebel
Oh no, dear no....
none of that outrage

The perfect woman
can be a nymph and a nun
(knows how to not show
that she knows what is fun)

The perfect woman,
is curvy but thin
each angle defined
each strand refined
with a dazzling smile
and a glowing skin
(no matter how she gets it
It's that she gets it, she gets it.)

The perfect woman
Is strong and composed
But when she's patronized
She doesn't resist...
She carries her grace
on her well turned calf
and a delicate wrist
Till it's proper and unopposed

The perfect woman
is cruel to her daughter
and kind to her son
( as she knows what it means
to be a woman
even if she forgets
that she's also one...)

The perfect woman
doesn't want to be free
you see, it's simple
She's come to terms with the very concept
That it's her destiny

Sigh.
Let's say this, let's try....
Here's the gist
The perfect woman
is either every woman
or she doesn't exist.

Arshia Qasim Ahmad Apr 2017

EARTHEN

"Where did you go ? " he asked
"In your album", she replied. " you're the collector , aren't you?
" you collect everything:
Sunsets, clouds, melting snow
Falling stars, shadows,
fireflies in jars
butterflies in nets
feelings,
hurts, regrets
loves
lovers ........
You throw a hook and cut a slice out of them, for keepsake
and render them useless,
like clipped nails....

and then you preserve them
mummified and exalted like they were never when alive
each sentiment, pickled in the brine of your words
each encounter , framed and hung in the museum of "could haves"

But I,
I am the soil.
I can never collect!
I only renew.
I drizzle rain of tears and draw minerals out of my darkest depths
I soak in everything that the cosmos strews at me
I shed the leaves of expectations at each fall
and let my pain rot to fertilize my womb
I nurture and protect hope,
so that it grows, blossoms, gives fruit.

I many not have anything to show
for what I've been through,
like you....
but the birds come back to sing
in me. "

Arshia
21.4.16