Outspoken Performances
These are the poems performed by our members at the Outspoken event from Fall 2011.
Stay Human (Binte Naqvi)
After listening to the lies that you beautifully formulated
like a bouquet of roses deceiving one to think that they are without thorns,
It was my turn to speak.
But not for a moment, did you fool me,
then again words never came too easily,
and my cue was the silence that surrounded the room,
all ears,
Now I could speak the truth.
I said, somewhere in Gaza,
people are still dying.
but that was merely a whisper,
my voice muffled by the cheers that followed your speech,
possessing such strength that it made me
doubt my own beliefs.
Then with every bit of resilience that was left inside of me,
I said, somewhere in Somalia,
people are still dying.
but then it was as if my words were incomprehensible,
as if I was speaking this foreign language,
for which a dictionary did not exist.
This language that was taught to me
before I could even talk.
The language of humanity which has no boundaries,
no lines marking the borders,
separating me from you,
creating us and them.
the language of humanity that is our innate ability,
because pain has no words,
only express through tears that once verified our existence on this earth,
but now these same tears are seen as a sign of weakness, signaling defeat,
instead of becoming a symbol of courage to be a human being.
I said, somewhere in Iraq, people are still dying.
but then it was your choice not to open your mind ,
instead letting the media spoon feed you the falsehood,
like a platter of decadent food that
you devoured till there was no space left for the truth,
and I tried, but my words never seemed to get through to you,
so then, this is my last attempt,
my last move before holding up a white flag.
I said somewhere in Pakistan,
people are still dying.
but then your eyes challenge my own credibility,
why should this awkward girl who seems to have more questions than answers speak?
Then with each stare that was more severe than an arrow,
I slowly started to fade away in the background,
until only my insecurities were visible to the crowd,
but then this force more powerful than my inhibitions,
pulled me out from the momentary lapse.
I said,
NO
I screamed:
Somewhere in this world,
people are still dying,
and with each life being taken,
humanity is on the verge of decaying.
So I ask you, my brothers and my sisters,
let’s prevent empathy from becoming obsolete.
Stay human.
Much love (Greg Seferian)
I like to wander
I walk down Kabul streets
kicking stones with my barefeet
I pace around the attics of my mind
chainsmokingcigarrettes
’til the sun bleeds its illustrious ink over the horizon
I sit with the door unlocked
imprisoned in a house
with the fear of bombs going off near
Sleepless from the incessant sound of helicopters in my ear
I read by candlelight
and write by moonlight
just to hear my thoughts drop…
from the faucet and wash down the drain
is, sometimes, the only way to know I’m still alive
I want to speak….maybe even scream
but these words I must hold within
for my tongue will be cut for the price of a sin
Fedayeen soldiers brave stone cold winters in God’s hands
Away from family and kin
Protecting their homes
and the harvests within
traversing their land
praying their culture won’t be smothered to sand
like that of the Egyptians by a foreign colonizing hand
These are days of depression and despair
Killing fields with bodies to declar
Mothers with funerals to prepare
Yet I still see God’s face everywhere
especially in compassion’s radiant glare
Life is hard but we endure
Life exists here as does there
but the value of it seems to have depreciated in our avaricious market
My brothers were kidnapped by camouflage
Taken to the mountain
stripped down to their pre-pubescent hair
humiliated by a cold steel stare
and dishonored with a bullet to their back bare
My sisters were seized screaming
Taken to the public square for the first women’s meeting
moreremniscent of a livestock auction
than a community’s call for a feminist discussion
Their souls were violated by their colonizers lust
perpetrated deeper, and deeper with each thrust
Community councils and honored elders cast aside
and replaced by foreigner peddlers of morals and customs
Collective decisions denounced and disregarded by paramilitary pawns
I try and stay under the radar….”ready or not here I come you can’t hide”…
and find my way through this labyrinth of landmines
I want to run through fields with my father’s back bright
my mother’s hair tangoing tulips under the sun’s soulful light
running with my siblings at my sides into the sun’s purifying ink
I want to fly over mountains
and swim through clouds
leaving this body and the Earth’s shrouds
Embarking on the soul’s flight
to once again bathe in God’s gracious light
But for now….for now I sit trapped in this dungeon
pacing and chainsmoking cigarettes
until the sun bleeds back into the horizon
Problems (Sayed Bhuiyan)
What is Islam?,its more than just a way a life/
Our brothers and sisters may be miles away, but my heart still feels their strife/
From different lands all over the globe/
Our own people getting thrown out their abodes/
stranded, left to walk miles , strain on their health/
who’s to offer help, these people don’t have any type of wealth/
what drives them, what keeps them going/
what desire burns in their hearts, for a future that they may not be knowing/
emotions overflowing, anger and sadness on a daily basis/
I see the images and wonder how can my people face this/
we talk about action, but we’re divided into different factions/
fragmenting the ummah, just a designed distraction/
weapons of stone, get returned by fire/
still pressing forward with desire, media says we’re all liars/
Why is Palestine a disgusting word to others/
why do people preach love, but its reserved for others/
why does the collective suffer, their pain we cant buffer/
over 60 years passed, each day gets tougher/
how many more children have to lose their mother/
how many more nights crying instead of sleeping peacefully under covers/
we say we recognize the pain that they go through/
but, how can we say that when we never walked a step in their shoes/
hoping and praying for the best, its been done for so many years/
all this living in fear, people unrecognizable due to tears/
bring it together, we need a unifying force in that region/
How many wars can be fought, through how many seasons/
wheres the light at the end of the tunnel, instead there’s more bodies to shovel/
we cant ignore whats going on in this Middle Eastern bubble/
we follow a way of life, thats really the only thing we share/
everyone knows that the pain sustained is unfair/
every year we say it over all the time/
there should be a place recognized as Palestine/
Peace (Sayed Bhuiyan)
We’ve heard the call for tranquility from so many of our peers/
yet people still live in fear, eyes bloodshot from shedding tears/
conflict breeds conflict, new hatreds arise/
yet the victim is ignored and put to the side/
Theres always commotion in this world gone wild/
I want to wish peace for every man, woman and child/
for those who never had a good nights worth of sleep/
due to bombs going off in the middle of the streets/
for those who despaired when loved ones were lost/
for those who saw their families pay the ultimate cost/
we all want peace, but what stops all the hate?/
we try to negotiate but sometimes its just too late/
the ignorance that I see surrounding us all/
I mean I see people who were once big being reduced to small/
i see kids crying to their parents at a continued rate
discriminated, just innocent victims of hate/
we’re suppose to set examples for those younger than us/
I mean we’re who they trust, when situations get rough/
Acts of violence and terror have become such a norm/
its no surprise as to why we see all this hate start to form/
greet each other with a smile, let it be a buffer/
we dont know how much another person suffered/
they may just want some peace in their lives/
a calm situation always allows people to thrive/
for the sake of peace, everyone continues to try/
but in the name of peace, how many people have died/
how we define peace, is different for each person/
for that same peace, we’re all still searching/
Umar ibn-Al Khattab (Ramy Noaman)
Umar Ibn Al-Khattab
Commander of the Faithful
Stern against Islam’s enemies
And to Allah ever-grateful
The second greatest Sahabi to ever enter the Deen
Islam was weak until he came on the scene
He used to torment the Muslims and harass the Prophet
Should one be keen on Islam, Umar would not allot it.
The Prophet asked Allah to guide the most beloved to Him
Abu Jahl or Ibn Al-Khattab? Surely the latter one would win.
Until one day he had enough of Islam
He wanted to end the problem and kill the Prophet
Till he heard his own family had been affected by Deen
His sister became Muslim so he shot to her like a rocket.
He pounced on her husband and struck her across the face
So then he felt like a monster who was utterly disgraced
“What are you reading? Can I please take a look?”
“No, you’re not clean. Wash up before you touch this Book.”
He cleaned himself up and then he picked up the scrolls
He was struck by the Qur’an, and reassessed his goals.
“This can’t be the Book of anyone save Allah!”
And thus he was moved by Surat Taha.
After sealing his heart, Allah unlocked it.
He went back on his way to approach the Prophet.
To Darul-Arqam he marched
To the Prophet and Sahaba
They opened and immediately,
He took his Shahada
They couldn’t believe this unexpected Barakah!
“Ash-Hadu An-La Ilaha Illa Allah, Muhammadun-Rasul Allah!”
Umar ibn Al-Khattab asked, “Isn’t Islam Correct?
We should march to the Ka’aba!”
So they marched in two rows – one of which he led.
He accepted Islam at 27 years of age
And he was promised Jannah, in exchange as his wage
The Prophet named him Al-Farooq
As he separated evil and good
He made strong the believers
And support Islam he would
He declared his Islam openly
Made it clear for the world to see
His powerful personality developed into an Islamic identity
So the Quraish losing him was their greatest catastrophe
He was the first to make Hijrah publicly
Migrating from Mecca to the new city of the prophecy
He amassed great knowledge learning from our Nabi
His standing was high, and his influence was heavy
He proved his bravery in Badr and Uhud, and Bay’at Ar-Ridwan
All the while a scholar, in Aqeedah, Fiqh, and Qur’an
He was bold in the day, but in the night he cried
When Rasul-Allah spoke, he would listen, learn and abide
Islam became victorious, and it spread far and wide
Abu Bakr and he were its wings – each on one side
He was firm and steadfast even when the Prophet died
He made it through this huge test, although he was horrified
In choosing Abu Bakr as the Khalifah he played a role
Loyalty to his leader was among his top goals
He acknowledged Abu Bakr as his superior in Islam
He was even more worthy of being the believers’ Imam
Until his time came to bear the Khilafah
When Abu Bakr died, after living the Shahadah
Umar Ibn Al-Khattab established justice in the land
As any reader with a mind can easily understand
He strengthened the Ummah and expanded its borders
By obeying the Qur’an and the Prophet’s orders
Great empires gained Islam at the hands of this man
Including Persia, Egypt, Khorasan, and Ash-Sham
He ruled the affairs of the Ummah as a true Khalifah must
Having raised the bar in excellence, of being powerful but just
In the Masjid of the Prophet he met the end of his days
Assassinated praying Fajr during the sun’s first rays
Until this day his grave can be visited and seen
But his true legacy lives on in what he did for this Deen.
The legendary Sahabi who brought to Islam great esteem
May Allah raise the status of Amir Ul-Mu’mineen
Untitled (Ramy Noaman)
Have we forgotten the purpose of our lives?
Sometimes we think we exist just to have a good time
So we indulge in satisfying our lusts and desires,
Even if it means becoming hypocrites, thieves, and liars.
We forget the sole purpose Allah created our souls.
It is to worship Him alone, until they bury our bones.
Never faltering, never shifting, away from our Iman,
Remaining true to Allah, as best as we can.
But beyond this belief in our hearts come our actions,
Balancing obedience to Allah, and appeasing satisfactions.
What is a Muslim who forgets the commands of His religion?
One who is blinded by Dunya, and lost all vision?
Have we forgotten that we have one of two destinations?
Hell is for the transgressors, and Jannah is for the patient.
In this test, we can enjoy ourselves, and be pleased with our lives,
But the reason we live is to worship Allah, and this will not change until we die
In the sorrow and regret of the most horrific of days,
We would wish to return to Dunya, only to change our ways.
A Day on which we’d beg Allah, on our hands and our knees,
“Return us to this Dunya, so we can salvage our deeds!”
“But Nay! You’ve had your chances, and received your warnings!
But remember when you slept, during the early mornings?
When you neglected Fajr, and didn’t keep up with your Salah,
You cheep, and you were greedy, and didn’t pay your Zakah.
You indulged in the obsession of this Dunya with the sinners,
And prevented your own self the company of the winners.”
“And who might they be,” if you ask as you listen?
The winners are those who answered their Lord in submission.
They obeyed Allah, and realized life’s mission,
To submit to the One who created you from clay,
And to fear the most horrifying, detrimental of days.
The winners are those who enjoined in the worship of their Lord.
They kept their covenant with Allah, not breaking one word.
Prayer by prayer, day by day,
Holding firmly to the Qur’an, while following the Prophet’s way.
The best of the Muslims received Jannah’s delight,
Because they fasted through the day, and prayed Tahajjud through the night
They fulfilled the necessary obligations and did more,
They kept their loyalty to the One, who they lived and died for.
Let us all reflect as to how we may be viewed by the sublime.
Are we of the hypocrites who don’t even pray on time?
Of the losers who worship every nickel and dime?
Of the animals who don’t treat fellow Muslims with respect?
Of the enemies of Allah, Whose commands we neglect?
Are we the sinners whose own lives we’ll regret?
Or have we devoted ourselves to pursuing paradise?
Of the Muslims whose actions are intelligent and wise?
Of the noble who tell only truth with no lies?
Of the pious who pray every prayer on time?
Let us never forget our aim for paradise.
We must worship Allah through all of the sacrifice.
For those who fall short, Jahannam is their destination.
Allah’s judgment is most supreme, and His is the best of legislation.
So ya Allah! We beg of You to guide us the straight path!
And we seek refuge with Your mercy from the torment of Your wrath!
Ya Rabb! Grant us patience and let us die in submission!
Let us realize and succeed in the struggles of life’s mission!
We are for you, and to you we return,
So grant us refuge from Hell-fire’s burn
Grant us the peek of Jannah, with the Prophets, martyrs, and the righteous,
For none exceeds You in Your generosity, oh Lord of Kindness!
And send Your peace and blessings upon he, who You’ve sent to guide us,
To make us of the pious, and to bring us out of the blindness.
All praise is due to You, Lord of the Heavens, the Earth, and all that’s between,
Master of the Universe, All-Knower of the unseen!
Untitled (Saba Khalid)
Do you not see?
The girl, no, the woman,
Who walks on the street
Undaring to meet the eyes
Of passerbys
As they voraciously scan
The object of their malicious desire
The woman,
She holds many hopes, goals and dreams
Yet in many places
She is only recognized
As the obedient, mindless object
That is present for the same purpose
As the Picasso hanging in the office
No, she doesn’t say a word,
Not a word about how the political atmosphere
Among an alliance of nations
Decides the future of her family
No she doesn’t mention how
Her peers remain ignorant
Brainwashed by the beloved media,
Which continues to place labels, conspiracies
And raise controversies between groups
Where there is no harm
No, she doesn’t mention,
How she reads and
Remembers the stories of her ancestors
And how they depicted
The reach of colonialism
Playing a role in
Bloodying the foundations
Of newborn nations
She doesn’t discuss
How the majority of the world continues
To experience the suppression of ideas and glory
And chances to be successful or stolen from them
She doesn’t tell you how devastating it is
To see that your backyard is being
Mined for minerals
While your family is killed
Protecting your own land.
She doesn’t share
The nights she cried herself to sleep
As her heart ached
Because of the treacherous stares that hold her
The eyes, oh-so-judgmental eyes
Sized head to toe
Determining her value
Like a cow in the slaughterhouse
She is your friend, your sister,
Your daughter, your cousin,
Your mother, your future wife
And each day she lives
While carrying herself
Away, away from all the deeds
That attempt to
Depress her, dehumanize her, disguise her
She continues to defy.
Her defiance, mashallah
Is the strength that
Any individual can look upon.
For she continues
To live each day,
In the blessings of Allah,
Thankful, oh-so-thankful
That she is not
Another Picasso in the office.
Burning Memories (Takmela Rahman)
When I double-click on the Firefox icon, I don’t expect to see anything that will catch my attention. Instead, in fiery red letters, I see the phrase “burning Qur’ans.” The red words incite something within me: a chain of memories and a sense of injustice that burn up my insides. The feeling makes me want to scream but I don’t; I remember.
I remember September 11, 2001. My third grade classroom has a good view of the world outside: air saturated with black dust and sheets of paper floating in every direction. The Towers aren’t there anymore and my uncle was in one of them. An uneasiness settles down on me and I just feel numb – too numb to talk, too numb to do anything. I call my mom and ask her about my uncle. She tells me that he’s okay. When I get home, I learn that I have more to feel relieved about: my cousin, who also worked at the Twin Towers, had arrived late for work and had watched the Towers fall from the city streets.
However, my comfort was a third grader’s folly. I turned on the television and found myself facing a headline containing the phrase “Muslim terrorist.” I realized the reason behind this oxymoronic phrase: the men in the plane that crashed into the Towers had called themselves Muslims. But even my third grade self knew that a terrorist couldn’t be a true Muslim; terrorism simply goes against the ideals of a true follower of Islam. On September 11th, I realized that life isn’t simple. That night, a man called our house. He told us that we were terrorists and he told us to go back to our own country. As my hands and legs shook while the police came to investigate the phone call, I realized that people blamed me for what had happened. No one cared that I was born here, that I have just as much right to this land as they do. All because I happen to wear a hijab and I happen to be a Muslim – a follower of a religion that sees the unjust killing of even one man as equal to the murder of all of humanity. I remember a day after school in sixth grade. I’m walking down the street and there’s a boy about my age standing at the corner. As I pass him, I hear him murmur something. Someone shouts at him from behind me. “What did you just call her? What did you just call her?” He takes a while to answer her but the interrogator then comes and tells me herself: he called me a terrorist. I remember a lunch period in eighth grade. I’m sitting with my friends, reading a book. A boy’s voice whispers from behind me, “Look at that terrorist.” My lips seem to be glued together; my hearing seems to just shut off. I want to look at him, but I can’t. My grip on the book tightens and anger flashes through me, but I still can’t say anything to him. As he starts to laugh about his “bravery” or his “success” or whatever he thinks he achieved by those words, my friend turns around and calls him a “fatso.” But “fatso” and “terrorist” just don’t seem to be on the same level. I remember a day during my freshman year at Stuyvesant High School. I’m waiting for my friend. With my hand under my chin and my elbow resting on my knee, I watch people walk by going to their first period classes. Two boys are passing by and one of them looks at me and shouts, “Hey, look, a terrorist! Just kidding!” My elbow slips off my knee while my mouth chatters as though I’ve been doused in cold water. Each memory still stings. Each wound is still bleeding and nothing is being done to stem the flow. The blood red letters are still looking out at me from my computer screen. I switch it off, although that insignificant act can’t erase the grooves that they have etched into my heart.