“Let people consider what they are created from!” – (Surah At-Tariq)
Saturn, time moved on long ago.
Winter detains you.
Remember the silver rings on your fingers,
the failed coffee plans, the prayer for me on the shrines of Abbas and Hussain.
“Let people consider what they are created from,” God said to us, in a verse I didn’t know about, a verse you shared with me.
We can’t be together.
My passport is scary and green.
Muharram’s moon punished me when I deserted you.
In the dim red light, black garb, and a lens which popped out of my eye because I cried so much.
A first at the Islamic Centre in Croydon,
where collective grief was held.
Bodies are made from much more, than just clay.
Saying otherwise, god, is simply incorrect.
To the world who did this and he who turned his eye,
to you under state surveillance.
We can’t be together.
I am scary and green from rage,
screaming from the cell: what am I created from?
The poem explores grief, separation from a loved one, and violence projected onto brown bodies whose identity documents are deemed “threatening” by the West. Using Quranic verses while drawing on personal experiences and cultural symbols of Muharram, the poem expresses bitterness toward ideals of equality—ideals rendered impossible by the racialized violence, systemic oppression, and Islamophobia that permeate modern society.
