Sabila Siddiqui

Edition April 2020

Morphed Pain - by Sabila Siddiqui (Photo by Eugenia Maximova).jpgPhoto credit: Eugenia Maximova

Morphed Pain

By Sabila Siddiqui

The pain rots and sheds,
as it smoulders her bones
and burns her skin third degree.

Loss and jealousy enwrap
her scorched heart into ashes,
while lava flows off her tongue
as it promises vengeance.

She becomes a vortex of emotions
engulfing her own life,
dwelling in the
merry go round thoughts.

Until she picks up the pen
and tucks the rage and ache
within the 26 alphabets
stringing words,
to sentences to paragraphs.

Ashes and embers stain the paper
as they ebb, blot and flow,
crafting the cathartic relief
until the paper stains darker
than the shades of her mind.

The blues that would pour,
become the budding flowers
in her chest.

She remodifies
cobblestones into steppingstones,
amplifying her narrative.

She tosses the losses
into words
and crosses beyond the horizon.

A candle flame burns deep
inside her solar plexus
as she transmogrifies the shards into a mosaic;
the strings of the web she was entangled in
weaved into embroidery to embellish her soul.

The cries and lies,
made her wise
as she built from the same sorrows
she was drowning in.

She put her ache on cadence
and turned up a brain wavelength.

She finally found her salvation
from abandonment
a dive deep and wide into
the depth of introspection
pulling from the cronies and nooks
the parts built and undiscovered.

She armed herself with
empathy fueled passion
as she has burnt,
and learnt to yearn the better
while she steers forward
with a transfigured mindset.

For the people who came,
now leave as poems.

Edition XXXIX

Happiness, What Do You Taste Like? - by Sabila Siddiqui (Photo by Dylan Luder).jpgPhoto credit: Dylan Luder

Happiness, What Do You Taste Like?

By Sabila Siddiqui

Happiness, what do you taste like?
Are you the sweet taste of cloudy cotton candy on my tongue
or the warm coffee I drink in the morning?

Happiness, what color are you?
Are you the yellow color of sunshine beaming in the morning
or the calming ocean blue?

Happiness, what do you sound like?
Are you the soothing voice that says I love you
or the laughter that vibrates my ear drum?

Happiness, what do you feel like?
Are you embracement in her hug
or the feel of the way that this pen feels as I let it craft and stroke my emotions into lines?

Happiness, are you the vibrant energy of her presence?

Because my senses are numb to you
and all I sense is the abyss
while warm tears trail down my cheeks
and I feel nothing.

Edition XXXIII

Bumble Bee - by Sabila Siddiqui (Photo by Paolo Nicolello)Photo credit: Paulo Nicolello 

Bumble Bee

By Sabila Siddiqui

Oh my dear bumble bee
she said as she caressed
her soft honey colored hair.

Stay humble
through your flight so high.
Emerge with a special glee
of bustling-buzzing excitement.
Let your golden stripped wings
carry you to scope lands for enchantment
to collect those dusty pollen
and transfigure them to honey
for you and others.

A honey comb of a heart
resides in you my dear
so allow the honey to drip from your tongue.

And when science tries to prove
with their theories and mathematical proportions
that you cannot fly high
let them taste the sweetness
of your hustle
and the sight of your flight.

Edition XXXV

Self-Doubt - by Sabila Siddiqui (Photo by Ioana Casapu)Photo credit: Ioana Casapu


By Sabila Siddiqui

Crippling self-doubt
plagues my existence.
Injecting itself into my blood stream;
immobilizing my muscles
numbing my tongue
and muting my voice box.

It quenches its thirst
by tearing my self-image
limb from limb and
ploughing my insides
till there is nothing left.

It either bombards like
gunfire inside my head
firing flaws into questions
or drain each cell’s confidence
leaving the muscles to shiver and shudder
and words hesitant to leave my tongue.

My flesh that houses doubt
is familiar with every capillary of my insecurity;
Whispering my shortcomings
and scrutinizing the details that make me, me.

It is a constant fight, invisible to the eyes.
it’s all in my head.

Edition XXXVII

She is Art - by Sabila Siddiqui (Photo by Suz Darkan)Photo credit: Suzanne Darkan

She is Art

By Sabila Siddiqui

She is the unsung lyrics,
the pieces of her favorite quotes stitched together.
When one plucks the lyre of her heart
melancholy melody soothes another heart.

She is a pallet full of rich and moody colors.
Sometimes she is bold like the streak of red of the sky at dawn
or delicate as soothing soft colored pastels.
At times she’s vibrant
with her colors high on hue
and at times she is dim and quite.

She is contoured with passion;
whirlwind of colors
coaxing the brushstroke
as she is canvassed.

She is the evocative strokes
of a tempestuous soul
of curious contrast;
an exquisite chaos.

She is the raw,
broken tiles pieced together
into a mosaic
intricate masterpiece like Picasso’s.

Her body
Her soul
is constantly molding
sculpting into a phasing masterpiece.

She is an album;
a gallery.
She wasn’t built to validate
to be understood
and loved by all
She’s supposed to make you feel in the way she thought.

For she is the enigmatic narrative of her truth
and a beautiful ambiguity.

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