Single Teardrop


There are no words left

After the last teardrop ends.

Such a foolish being I was to pretend

I knew all there is to know about sadness and tears

Mere water, minerals and other little substances

Unlike they are carrying secrets of a thousand years.

Would I be most lucky

If I could take one of them,

A single teardrop

Freeze it forever in time,

And watch the ball drop.

So I could learn all the secret wisdom within

Learn about my pain, my joys, my angst, my aching

Learn about why a certain smell or time sends me rotating

But most of all, take back all the words it seems to keep taking

From my lips.

I want something to say but from my mind it continuously slips.

Alas, there is no science 

That can recapture the words that evaporated with the tears

No science to metaphorically condense 

Those escaped words back into something that makes sense

Definitely not back into liquid for inside the ink of my pen

Sometimes all of time feels futile; past-present-future blend

The fact is, here I am, facing a reality most grim; 

Accepting that sometimes, even words can face a tragic end

By a single teardrop.

Dark Sky

October 8, 2019

Two Months

It would have been my father’s birthday today. Allah yerhamu. This poem was written last October.


Two months.

The saying goes, “time heals.”

But I don’t think so. It only strips the surreal.

I think time simply reveals

That the agony is deeper and more real

Than the strongest part of us thought it could conceal.

Because the thought of re-awakening wounds,

Re-living sweet memories buried in stormy hearts

Embracing our unbearable vulnerability

Tears us inwardly violently apart

In a million ways.

Granted, time can heal. And it needs to at times.

Time will heal hurt, bad moments, unpleasant lies.

But what if I only have fond memories of you,

Memories that act as explosive fuel

For enough warmth to set my heart ablaze?

Frankly, if healing means slowly forgetting you

Then I forget who I am, too

So no, I don’t want to heal from this

Remembering you and all you gave me of bliss

This is grief.

And, in brief,

I will learn to breathe through it

Simply because I must, 

and I know you

Wouldn’t have wanted my soul to rust.

I will learn,

Through secret tears that burn,

To take all the knots in my crowded heart

And make a silk rope; just a part

Of my brilliant plan to keep climbing up

That I might be fortunate enough to be your kinda cup

Of tea

At least half as kind, sweet

Half as intelligent a mind,

Half as chivalrous as you were.

I cannot wait for time

To never heal me from remembering you and your legacy.

Looking on the bright side of an endlessly dark tunnel,

Grieving is a beautiful thing, I must say

Beautiful in its own twisted, ironic and desperate way

It’s beautiful to know that this terrible feeling

Meant I knew and loved someone worth the grieving

And that alone is a kind of healing.

Two months down.

A lifetime more to go.

Pink Moving Clouds

-October 11, 2019


Beauty Can Be Cruel

Beauty can be cruel
In all the right ways.
I normally love this season, but these days…
As I breathe in the freshness of autumn,
As I drink in all the hues
As I savour colors of warmth from leaves
Skies adorned with all shades of blues
I can’t help but wonder
At how majestic beauty can be so cruel.

All these colours, ever transitioning
Mock my black and white feelings
Numb… then exuberant joy… numb… then intensely sorrowful
The canvas of colours
Mocks my tendency right now to just feel awful.
And that sun! Glorious and high
Mocks the solid darkness lurking inside
And the wind; pure, clear and uplifting
Mocks the fact I feel I am drowning.
You see, it is the first gorgeous season
I experience without you.
Put aside black and white,
Can anyone blame me for feeling a little navy blue?

But I need this.
If mocking me is the only renewable fuel
To pull me out of deep waters
Then by all means, let the beauty of autumn
Continue to be cruel.

Orange Bursts

October 28, 2019



This is beautiful. Please click on the image below to read the full post, and make a prayer for my father’s soul. May God reward you.




I wrote the below words in dedication to my father (may God have mercy on his soul). He passed away on August 11, 2019 due to cancer. “Ya Shaheed” Inna lillahi wa ina ilayhi la raji-oun. To Allah (God) we belong and to him do we return. O’ you who returned your face glowed like […]

via Ya Shaheed — missrana

“Ya Shaheed” (by Rana)

We Are All Broken

Sharp Details

Perhaps what every human being shares

Regardless of ethnicity, faith, hue, and no matter where

Is that we are all, in some way, broken.

Some of us are broken physically

And this broken-ness is apparent in treatments and visits medically

No matter the medical issue:

Broken bone, limb, cancerous cells, ripped tissue…

Broken physically.

Some of us are flawless in matters of health

But helplessly drowning in lack of wealth

Broken financially.

Some of us are comfortable materially

But suffering from bad thoughts and unpleasant events

Broken emotionally or mentally.

Some of us appear to be handling everything well

But on long-broken promises their thoughts on still dwell

Some carry in them memories of broken dreams,

Broken hopes, broken expectations.

Broken trusts, broken faith,

Broken will, broken heart,

And that’s why I pray,

O God,

If break I must to fall apart,

Then so be it

Just give me the beautiful patience and endurance

To rise from it

But please, O God, do not let this broken-ness

Be a break from You

Because with You, all broken-ness can mend

Without You, every night is an end.

Floating Lantern-Like


اللهم لا تَجْعَلْ مُصِيبَتَنَا فِي دِينِنَا وَلاَ تَجْعَلِ الدُّنْيَا أَكْبَرَ هَمِّنَا وَلاَ مَبْلَغَ عِلْمِنَا وَلاَ تُسَلِّطْ عَلَيْنَا مَنْ لاَ يرحمنا

“Oh Allah, do not make our affliction in our religion, and do not make this world our greatest concern, nor the limit of our knowledge, and do not give power over us to those who will not have mercy on us.”


And Allah knows Best.


No Explanation Necessary

Human Ray of Sunshine

To all the women who are told

To be all that they can be, confident and bold

That nothing could and should ever contain them…

Except to realize, apparently, a piece of fabric can…

Resulting from a well-thought out decision to practice her faith,

Which Quebec is now telling her is a really bad career mistake.

Time and time again,

Battles are waged and women end up in the center of the cage

So here the losers are again, in a different form, ever ready

To play out painful insecurities over identity crisis over my body

By telling me how to dress

Speaking about me rather than to me,

Then claiming to know where my interests lie – the irony

And it’s not like we don’t talk! But when we talk, they don’t listen

Convinced anything outside their own limited perspective is a prison

The need to control everyone else’s stride

Is a load of crap and hateful poison inside.

I’m done trying to explain myself to deaf ears.

No explanation necessary.

But, seriously:

They pretend to agree that all women are equally powerful to men

But then because of Orientalist tendencies, accuse me of being subservient to them.

I’m good, really,

Spare me

Your white saviour complex,

Whenever you think you “help” you just make things into a bloody mess.

I don’t have to explain myself.

I don’t need to justify where I am going

Because frankly, contrary to what self-entitled and privileged minds think…

I owe you, nothing.

I don’t owe you a glimpse of my hair,

I don’t owe you a glimpse of my body,

I don’t even owe you a glimpse in my mind,

But I’m fair;

You owe me nothing, too…

Except the same kind of space and respect I already give you.

In the past, we’re talking decade-younger me

I was a patient person… still am, but not as naively

I’ve learned to now prioritize my generous patience depending on the condition.

Like, I now ask myself a pretty crucial question:

Is this person genuinely clueless, genuinely curious, or is he just being deliberately racist, sexist, Islamophobic, misogynist?

Because honestly, life is tiring enough without justifying my existence,

Over and over again – please spare me this bullshit.

I do not have to explain myself to you.

To the young man on the bus

Who gave me a piece of his unasked-for opinionated mind,

And the random Facebook strangers who think

After their virtual approval in comments I anxiously run behind,

To the people who think I’m too Muslim for a Canadian woman

Parce que <<Au Québec, c’est comme ça qu’on vit>>, apparently

Too terrified to acknowledge they themselves are not natives to this land, more irony…

Mere immigrants and settlers,

Colonizers and oppressors…


Might seem a bit rash, but —

I do not have to explain myself to you.

To the people who claim religious symbols of any kind make them « uncomfortable »

Turban, crucifix, kippa, hijab, even just a nice long skirt…

I’m always this close to wanting to blurt:

Did you know that there are actually some things that also make me uncomfortable, too?

*Gasp* (No, it’s true!)

But like most people bent on flourishing and blooming on my own path

Instead of bottling up my insecurities and unleashing my wrath

On a group of supposedly “different” people…

I’ve simply learned to be accepting of harmless differences

Because you know what?

I know the world doesn’t revolve around me.

And it doesn’t revolve around those who with my spiritual outlook disagree. Sorry.

I do not have to explain myself to them.

It truly bombards me with waves of confusion

That people try to pass pathetic laws and bills based on the illusion

That what makes them squirm

Like a worm inside

Has the same importance to the point of banning it on the outside.

Are you kidding me?

My favorite expression is “leave it at the door”

Like removing a pair of shoes at the masjid,

Casually toss it on the floor,

I hate to inform them, that’s not how my faith works.

I do not have to explain myself.

Haters have a peculiar diet.

They love to feed on fear

They unite and bond closer over violent riots,

Excited for all but themselves to smear.

You do not have to explain yourself to them.

No explanation necessary.

Just let me be.

Red Alley

And God knows Best.


Kindred Spirit

Star Light, Star Bright

A momentary glance at you

A quick smile exchange

And my desire to speak to anyone else

Right now just fades.

Because you are enough.

Almost everyone else is just extra.

Your kindness, your gentle eyes,

Takes me to another era –

Where I never stopped being a little girl

And you never lost that childish smile

Where we can both freely say what’s on our minds,

Unfiltered; at least for that mini while.

I may not even know you long enough

Or well enough to call this fond feeling a pure love

But what can I do if my heart has decided you are a kindred spirit

Angelically sent into my world with the function to uplift

Even when we talk of subjects dark, grim, and unpleasant,

Your company alone is still one of life’s most marvelous presents.

Upon running into you,

I only wish you knew

The way I instantly feel

A flurry of excitement

But also a calmness more real.

A minute before you walked in my day,

I felt like I had a million things to say

A minute after you left, I felt my socializing was done

For the day.

Not because you drain me

But because I feel fulfilled

Full to the brim with contentment

At this kindred spirit friendship, so splendid.

We may be from different worlds

I don’t expect them to always synergetically collide

But when they do, it blows my mind

And when they don’t, regardless,

I feel happy and blessed

To know someone that uplifts by a simple smile,

Even if I only see you once a very long while.

It suffices to enrich my life,

Because you are so enough.


February 18, 2019

Words Have Power

Stay Blossoming

My poetry is not necessarily

Remarkably great

I write because it’s an odd pleasant struggle

To unscramble my far-fetched thoughts

Into words

And somehow, allowing complete strangers relate.

I’m often asked,  why did you get into poetry?

It’s a really long story, none to do for glory

Simply, when I write a poem

The thrill is the same as finishing a painting

The canvas being the frustrated bottled feelings,

The ink bringing colour to my never-ending musings.

Poetry is a lifestyle

A means of essential clarity

Turning vague inklings of what I fancy or fear I feel

Into words acknowledging the situation as valid and real

When my mind has wars being fought inside it

Writing becomes my personal armor of sanity and mental uplift

Because as soon as I can make sense of the battles raging inside,

Then immediately all conflicts within cease and I’m fine.

Words are power,

Even if no one but yourself ever hears or reads them.

If you can put honest words to your values and truth,

Then no one and nothing can ever make you doubt your worth.

Words have power,

Even if no one but yourself ever hears or reads them.

I now write poetry to describe beauty

But my journey started with slaughtering the ugly

Notions and stereotypes people had, and still have, about me

Now I’ve written enough poetry and claimed my own truth

To no longer let anything get under my skin

Trust me,

Even if no one but yourself ever hears or reads them,

Words do have power alright

So spill out your thoughts, and write.



And Allah knows Best.


(February 2019)

Like a Pendulum

Oval Ornaments

There is so much that needs to be said,

But no words able to say it.

There is so much being felt,

But more numbness with being dealt.

Like a pendulum, we swing.

Always swinging from extremes,

From contentment to resentment,

From gratefulness to bitterness,

From leniency to severity…

How much more ways can we say

That our moods from side to side sway?

Like a pendulum, we swing.

Like a pendulum, I swing.


Allah the Knower of hearts Knows Best.


Deserving Love

Abandoned Window Art

So much weighs her down.

  Her morale slipping.

    Her positive energy draining.

        Many a burden weigh her down.

Which may explain why

At this moment right now,

She isn’t thinking

She deserves love.

Love is an ambiguous word

With many a differently interpreted world

But here’s the “love” she decides

She doesn’t, and won’t ever, deserve…


Of a flimsy but popular kind

The kind that takes your imagination everywhere

But ends up really going nowhere

The kind with metal strings and insecure conditions

That force her to one-sidedly make endless compromises


Of a kind that could make her

Hate herself.

No, she does not deserve that kind of less-than-enough love.

She deserves the genuine kind: more than enough.


Of rare but gold-dripping quality

The kind that is boundless in mercy

The kind with many a flaw that is

Forever being addressed and being fixed

The kind that is solid and does not melt at the slightest heat


Of a kind that the more she loves another,

Increases her own self-love.

Genuine soul-quenching love is rare.

  She knows it could be right around the corner.

    Or right around the decade.

        Or perhaps, right around another lifetime.

                She knows there is a possibility she may never find it.

        But that’s okay.

    She knows the kind of love she deserves.

  And she could give it to herself.

Finding a sincere lover would be more than enough.

Her present self-love is already enough.

But to settle for less than enough?


Color and White

“people hate it when you know your worth. you draw the line, you set the precedence, you stand your ground, and they flip the coin on you and make it seem like you’re the one with a problem. “you’re too demanding, you’re too selective, you’re too judgmental, you’re too unrealistic”. no, i’m neither of those things. i just love myself. i love myself enough to know what i need, what will improve me, what will grow me, what i deserve. i’m loving myself, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.” (Billy Chapata, Sour Honey & Soul Food)

And God knows Best.