It has been a while since I’ve given any updates on my writing. I’ll just cut right to the chase.
In early 2017, I was contracted to write stories for a company called Happy Square Studios, an amazing Toronto-based company that develops apps. It was a short period, but we created some amazing and beautiful stories.
The following is the first chapter of a story, one that I will continuously add to every now and then. It is not real and hasn’t been properly thought out. I write this as I go along. I literally have no idea where any of this is going. – MM
It was raining, and I could hear the drops hit the window of our hotel. It was an unfamiliar place, even though it was the end of our journey. This hotel was conveniently located near the airport, making a mid-night flight a lot easier. I vowed to myself to stay awake, as I would prefer to sleep on the plane. Though whether that occurs seems to be up to chance.
As many of you know, my first ever poetry book, The Traveller: Part I, was finally released in paperback! In this post you’ll find some more information, a sale at the Etsy shop, and a GOODREADS GIVEAWAY!
He found himself awake on the floor. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was lying there, but he knew it wasn’t the result of a fall or anything like that. It seemed to make sense anyhow, as he stared at the rock-like ceiling. He moved his head to the side and saw he was accompanies by piles of dust, thinking to himself that he might one day want to clean it.
He was mesmerized by the ceiling, more so by the fact that he could make shapes out of the unsymmetrical popcorn that faced him. It almost felt like looking at the stars, something he remembered doing as a child. “Child” – his train of thought stumbled on that word. That was a much simpler time, he thought, when he saw the world through the lens of a periscope. The changing colours always excited him, and how storms would eventually bring sunshine. It was a simpler way to view the world, one that he had realized was far different from the one he was living now.
For those of you who are following my poetry account on Instagram (and for those of you who aren’t, click here to see my recent stuff!), some of you may have noticed the increasing amount of poems posted from HaikuJAM. You’ll also notice three names at the bottom of these pictures.
Well, where do we begin?
I recently discovered an app called HaikuJAM on Instagram, and decided to give the app a try. Long story short, I was AMAZED. Not only is this app an amazing and creative idea, it’s simply a way for artists to collaborate.
Writing is a great leisure activity that many are starting to take on. Whether people decide to share their writing or keep it simply for themselves, writing is still an important part to the lives of many people. There are so many ways and styles one can start writing that it allows you to be creative and take risks. Writing is great. That is basically what I’m saying. And you should get on the writing train!
Are you thinking about getting into writing? Do you need a reason to dust off the stack of paper (or finally use your computer’s word processor for something other than a 3000 word essay)? Here are three reasons:
So I know I haven’t posted anything in a while, and I had promised this poem back in March, but I’m back! That’s good, right? I’ll write an update tomorrow so you guys know what I’m up to. I feel like there’s some big stuff.
Anywho this is the second poem that I had prepared for the Poetry Slam at York University. I did not qualify to the second round, so no one has really heard this. Or read it.
Matches and fires, sticks with barbed wires;
Chaos and fear run happily and free.
Great big men in suits, and other liars,
Will be the first amongst you who will flee.
As some of you know, there was recently a shooting in Peshawar inside of a Mosque. The news is tragic, but someone recorded footage of the entire incident on their phone. It was almost impossible to watch; it’s the kind of pain that digs deep into your skin. I really wish this sort of violence would stop. It’s not fair to anyone in such a situation. My heart goes out to them.
I sit in a Mosque, my hands held high Praying to God that I could live another night; That I don’t become a ghost or a memory forgotten, That five years from now my skin won’t have become rotten. Because in such a place of peace can still be infiltrated by hate. Ratatatatat; caught in a surreal state. The carpets are stained, blood on the window panes; A bullet doesn’t touch me, so how can I still feel pain? And yet God has covered me in a blanket; I can go home to my family, not home in a casket.
Recently, I performed two poems I wrote at a Poetry Slam hosted by the Thaqalayn Muslim Association and the Islamic Relief at York University. It was amazing event, with some awesome and passionate talent. It was incredibly inspiring to hear other people’s work, as well as their ideas. This is the first poem that I performed.
A family of trees huddle together in the forest; Some young, some old, both big and tall. Birds come from far, in the forest they nest; They know these trees, together, will never fall.