The last part of The Purge Series. This took me a long time to write because my body was physically hurting as I let go of all this, as I purged myself of the last and the most difficult thing holding me back- the enablers of abuse aka my adults. I want to be free. And after this, I hope I am. 
Thank you all for sticking with me through this. I appreciate you more than you can ever know. ❤ 

sad 2


He wrote his name in my blood
and you yelled at me for being hurt

Just 4 years old
I learnt the taste of his blow
before I could learn to write a eulogy
for all the dreams I used to have
and all the broken pieces of my spirit
scattered all over my own home

You told me to forgive him
Taught me how God’s good people give out chances
like free candy, I gave out my peace and dignity
letting him hurt me

And you said to love him more
I loved myself less and less

Every time I called you my best friend,
you brought him in to help tie me down
Because you could never figure out
just how to keep me close

The chains burned my ankles
You were not there to soothe me
And in my misery,
I ran to you each time you were hurt
by the same demons I begged you to lock up
All I wanted was to do something right,
for once in your life!

But you said I was just like him.
And I came back,
wounds still fresh
No band-aids left.

They say blood runs thicker than water;
well my blood fills up my lungs till there is no air left in them.
Then you bang on the door
Telling me to get up when I faint on the floor.

He has used me up
worn me out till it couldn’t ache anymore
He is
with me.
I hope you are ready

’cause now he wants you devoured,
beaten and broken down, just like me.

And here you are again
calling out my name
You are losing your mind,
but he has just begun.

Don’t you look through the glass door
My walls won’t let you inside anymore

I cannot keep looking after
your mistakes
and the mess you’ve made
My heart is still a little girl
I won’t let you overshadow her,
She needs me to hold her
to be what you never were

and it’s time for you,
to grow up.


You taught me how to hate myself
when my soul did not recognise the icy breath
of self loathe on my neck
Ready to chew down my heart and let the blood splatter everywhere
Ready to drag me to a lonely forest where it would devour me whole
And God knows it almost did;
God knows, I almost let it.

I practised not trembling at the sight of you
For two whole years
And only then could I learn to smile with my teeth
Because you see, the absence of crippling fear does not equal happiness
And the fact that I’m not scared of you
Does not mean it won’t hurt when I lose

You talk, no, you bark like you can sniff a terrible secret about me
And you’re doing me a favour by not writing it all over the walls of this city
Well let me say this,
You are a beast that can never come close to uncovering me
To knowing that heart you broke a million times
A little girl with glistening eyes
You wanted to kill her spirit and God knows
you almost did. God knows I almost let you.
But I did not know what to do
When the rains came down and my lungs filled with water
but you said I was the one lightning up the skies
My thunder was too dangerous and I was told to shut it up!
Slow it down”
“Don’t be loud!”
“You’re pretending to be choking
Just drop the act and calm down”

Always one step ahead in knowing what I was
Well let me say this,
You are a beast but you will not devour me
My flesh was made with the spoils of war
My blood as bitter as a thousand corpses
My heart as warm as the scorching heat
Of the open battlefield
So if you ever even try
to come close to me

You will burn
And choke
And throw me up
Like a rotten tangerine

And I will watch
as your animal instincts turn you into the
monster you made me out to be

I am a child of starlight!
And you,
You are just a beast.

“The Purge” series, part 12. 


The second part to the “Purge” series. 


Terrible nightmares, the rare kind
are normal
For people who have seen them come true
Before they even dreamt them.

I’m woken up everyday at exactly 5 am
It’s like my body knows when the monsters come
Like it knows: the unwanted touch
Like it knows: the bleeding wound
Like it knows: the bruises
Like it knows: screams crawling into my skin
Like it knows: exactly where all the scars are.

After I wake
My heat rattles like a wooden toolbox
too big for the number of nails inside it.
My hands tremble, I say, “Hush!
You’re braver than this!”
I say, “Hush! Allah is here.”
I say, “How much of this will be real?”
I say, “We don’t know yet but
lets hope not too much.”

I say,
“You are not alone.”

But, you!
Do you have tears in your eyes yet?
I know you’re there too.
I know you’re just like me.
So listen closely, to
what I’m about to tell you:

The abusers
The rapists
And the liars
Cannot put out the fires
We’ve lit inside our bones.
They make the world bright
They make the culprits burn!
175 years in prison
or 175 million, in hell.

And sometimes, they hurt…
When we don’t want them.

But, honey! Want them!
For they are your recompense
Your own personal miracle.

They are your soul, lit!
Lit enough to light others,
Lit enough to make an example
out of how lit you are
Damn, girl!/
Damn, boy!/
Damn, self!
You are lit!
And I adore you for it.

It is time that you did too.


Hello everyone. I usually don’t write short stories because they end up being really graphic for some reason. This one below is no different. But I think no matter how optimistic we are, we need to still realistically acknowledge the world around us. So I hope you like it!

“Your body is a sacred temple and I want permission to it,” he smiled as he spoke.

She looked at the ground and smiled back as teardrops rolled down her cheek, one after another.

“Why are you smiling like that? Wait, why are you crying? Are you okay?!”

“Don’t worry it’s nothing.
It’s just that… No one ever asked before.”

He held her hands as she looked up to him; and the courage of the five oceans gathered inside one body as she opened her mouth to speak.

“They did not ask before they used me. They did not ask before they took my body like taking something off of a shelf whenever they felt like it. Not when they used me for their anger; not when they used me for their lust.”

“I know. But it’s okay now.” He tightened his grip around her hands and brought them to his chest.

“I have marks on my body of bruises that once were blue; scars from wounds that bled and the traces of hands that did not remember they had a God. I have the air from that locked, dark room inside my lungs. I have the sound of the man who whispered  “its only a game” in my ears and the man who screamed at the top of his lungs inches away from me, telling me I will be killed if I don’t shut up, if I do not stop crying after he beat me up. So shut up I did as they all got away with their actions.

I have been used over and over again and not one single time was I asked beforehand.”

“I know, my love, but I’d never use you. I am not them; even though I am a man. I did not marry you for that.”

“Then why did you marry me?” She looked back at him, replying to his gaze with a hopeful but afraid look in her eyes.

“Because… because you’re so much more. You’re more than the hands that made your skin go blue. You are more than the hands that didn’t know where to stop. You are more than filthy gazes and lies. You are more than forced obedience; or used goods.

Stars filled her eyes as he continued:

“You are human. You are kind, you are smart, you are gentle and mighty. You hold entire galaxies within you. You have no idea what you are. Not just to me but to the whole world.

So don’t you dare define yourself using incidents and people who do not deserve to even see your smile. You are not what happened to you. You are what happened by you. and I swear to God that makes you more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever known in my entire life. And your body, love, is not your prison. It is your home.”



If one was to look up the word “abuse” in a dictionary, it says “treat with cruelty or violence, especially regularly or repeatedly. 

Domestic abuse or “home violence” is an issue effecting thousands of women in Pakistan and yet whenever a victim or an activist decides to raise voice against it, they are faced with ridiculously idiotic statements from people, even their own families. For example: “mard hai, ghussa a jata hai. Haath utha diya tou kia hua, ainda tum dheyan rakhna”, “aise kon karsakta hai ke bewaja galiyan de, haath uthaye, kuch na kuch tou kiya hoga tumne jis se is inteha tak baat pohanchi”, and “mard ka ghussa tez hota hai, ghar bachana aurat ka kaam hai is liye bilkul chup raho.” These are only some of the many statements most “ghar wale” throw around to justify this odious habit of the beasts they have raised in their homes.

According to a study conducted by Human Rights Watch in 2009, between 70-90 percent of women in Pakistan have suffered from some form of domestic abuse. An estimated 5000 women die every year, or dare I say, are killed by these abusers, with thousands of others maimed or disabled.

It is high time that we stop treating these men, these creatures, as some sort of heroes, without whom the poor, frail women will not be able to live another day. They provide you with shelter and food? They provide you with money for your children? Let me tell you one thing:

ALLAH is the one who provides. No man has the power to give or take anything from you unless He wills.

And Allah never asked you to forcefully stay at the mercy of a human being who continues to physically, mentally or emotionally harm you. He asked you to refrain from revenge, yes. But leaving and letting go was never prohibited. Your hesitation is understandable because we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that in our culture, a divorced woman or a girl who left home to escape from domestic violence, are considered filthy and unworthy. You might not have the financial or moral support you were hoping for, from any of your relatives. But again, I remind you, Allah is the one who will support you. And you do not need anyone else. He will take care of you, I promise you that.

Now let us address the common man or woman of Pakistan, the mass population.

How in the world could you even think that it is righteous to keep your daughters, daughter-in-laws, sisters and nieces inside the houses where they are treated worse than animals? You say it is not a big deal that he verbally or physically abused her because of course, ghar bachana aurat ka kaam hai aur mardon ka ghussa tou hota hi taiz hai. humain chup rehna chahye. Islam ne mard ko hukmaran jo banaya hai.

Undoubtedly, Islam has made a man, the care taker of the women and children at his house, but this does not mean that he has full right to beat or verbally mistreat any of them, whenever he wills. If that was the case, at least one of the millions of great names in Islam must have done it. One prophet, one sahabi, one scholar must have mercilessly shouted at and tortured the ones who were physically weaker than him. For certain, their women also at times made mistakes that irritated them? Surely, they too, didn’t find any other solution except beating and swearing on every little thing?


This is not Islam. Islam is never unjust like this. It is you and your sick cultural tabboos. It is what you hide behind, the coward that you are, so as to escape from the harsh reality that someone you love is in need of psychiatric attention, because of his addiction to the feeling of being more powerful than the woman in front of him. You keep telling the victim that he will stop once this or that happens, as if the mess inside his mind can be fixed by doing nothing at all. As if the addition or removal of a certain circumstance in his life will magically change him. It is not going to happen. He will never change by himself. If he gets a job, he will work silently and come home to take out all his frustration by torture. If you get him married, he will start beating his wife too. If he has kids, he will treat them the same. There is no amount of love or attention that will be enough to change him. He needs medical attention. And it is your responsibility to get it to him. But if you still choose to be ignorant and indifferent to what is happening around you, I am sorry but you are equally involved in the sin as the one by whose hand the sin is committed.

To anyone who is reading this, it is my deepest request to you:

Domestic abuse is more common than you think. Acknowledge it. Raise your voice against it. Our nation might be full of people who try to bring down anyone weak, wanting to become strong, but it has been neglected for long enough. Who knows who the next victim will be. It can be, God forbid, a girl or child that you know and love. You have to stand up now to protect the children and women of the present and future who might at any time, find themselves threatened by a seemingly normal man who does horrible things to them when the curtain’s closed; while they scream, “please stop! It hurts!”

May Allah keep us all safe. Ameen.