After the Storm: Part IV

*The truth is,
I didn’t see her slipping away.
Not at first.
She would smile at me,
but her eyes didn’t shine
the way they used to.
She asked me how my day was,
but I barely answered.
I thought she’d always be there.
I thought love didn’t need tending,
like it would keep blooming on its own.

But love isn’t a garden
you can ignore.
If you don’t water it,
it dries up.
And when it did,
she went looking for rain
somewhere else.

I remember now
how she used to sit by the window,
watching the world outside.
She wanted me to join her.
She wanted me to notice her.
But I stayed lost
in my own thoughts,
in my own storms,
not seeing the one
building inside her.

She didn’t leave me right away.
No, she stayed.
She waited.
She tried.
But I was blind to her loneliness.
I didn’t hear the questions
in her silence
or see the pain in her smile.

So when she found someone else—
someone who listened,
someone who noticed her—
I couldn’t blame her.
Not really.
But I did.
Because it was easier to be angry
than to admit I was the one
who let her go.

I didn’t ask her why.
Not at first.
I only raged.
I broke the quiet of our home
with words I’ll never forgive myself for.
She stood there,
tears in her eyes,
and whispered,
“You stopped seeing me.”

And that was it.
The truth came down on me,
harder than any storm.
I could have saved her,
saved us,
but I didn’t.
And when I lost control,
when my hands moved
before my heart could stop them,
I sealed it.

Now, I sit in this garden,
where her hands once planted life.
I press my fingers into the soil,
searching for the pieces of her
I’ll never find.
I want to believe
she forgives me.
But forgiveness feels far away,
like a place I’ll never reach.

I should have loved her better.
I should have seen her pain.
But I didn’t.
And now,
the storms stay with me,
raining over a love
I let wither and die.*

After the Storm: Part III

*I stayed in the garden
long after my mother went inside.
The air felt heavy,
like it knew the weight I carried,
the truth I buried
In the rosemary she planted.

She was my swan.
Pretty and innocent-
or so I thought.
She moved through life
with an elegance I didn’t question,
a beauty I was too blind to doubt.
And me?
I was the fool who taught the swan
how to cheat.

I gave her trust,
love,
freedom.
And she took it all,
used it to hide her lies
In a veil,
I never saw through it—
not until it was too late.

It was a letter.
Not meant for me.
Folded neatly,
tucked between the pages
of her favorite book.
His name was there.
His words were there.
Words I had never written.
Words I could never take back.

I remember confronting her,
the way her face changed—
how quickly grace turned to guilt,
how silence gave her away
before she even spoke.
I was the storm then.
I raged,
I begged,
I broke.
But she didn’t deny it.
Not once.

That night,
the clouds hid the stars.
The sky watched
as I held her trembling hands
and asked her why.
She didn’t cry.
She only said,
“I was lonely.”

The world shattered.
A thousand pieces of us
fell to the floor.
I didn’t know who I was anymore.
And she?
She wasn’t the swan I loved—
she was something else,
something I couldn’t bear to see.

In the end,
I don’t know what came over me.
I don’t remember the moment
my hands moved to her throat,
the moment her gasps
turned to silence.
It wasn’t anger.
It wasn’t hate.
It was loss,
A serene loss.

Her body crumpled to the ground,
fragile as the petals
she used to press between books.
And I stood there,
the storm inside me
finally quiet.

Now, every step I take
is soaked in her absence.
Every breath I draw
is heavy with regret.
I come to the garden
to search for forgiveness
in the soil she loved,
but there’s none to be found.

She was my swan,
and I killed her.
The rain has stopped,
but the storm never left me.*

After the Storm: Part II

*The rain had stopped,
but inside me,
it kept falling.

I walked to the garden,
her kitchen light behind me,
her shadow moving slowly—
a habit of love
that I barely noticed
when I was young.

I think of my wife now.
Her smile,
the way she laughed at things
I thought were small,
the way she loved me
when I didn’t deserve it.

I didn’t care enough,
didn’t see her for what she was,
until the day she was gone.
She told me once,
“You’re always somewhere else,”
and I shrugged it off.
Now I know where I was—
lost in myself,
blinded by my own storms.

She left quietly,
as if she didn’t want to disturb me,
even in death.
And when they called to tell me,
I stood still,
the phone cold in my hand.
I didn’t cry.
Not then.

But now, I feel her absence
in the spaces she used to fill—
her favorite chair,
the empty side of the bed,
her cup cooling on the table.

My mother sees it.
She doesn’t ask,
but her silence speaks louder
than anything else.
Her love feels like forgiveness,
though I haven’t earned it.

I kneel in the dirt,
the rosemary brushing my fingers.
My wife loved this garden.
She planted these roots
while I stood in the doorway,
too busy to help.

The rain has stopped,
but the ground is soft.
I press my hands into the earth,
as if I can find her here,
as if I can say,
“I’m sorry.”

This is how loss feels—
not like thunder,
but like the quiet after,
when the world keeps going
and you are left behind,
still soaked in the storm.*

*October 7th

It's been a year and they are still screaming,
Telling each other to run for their lives,
To seek shelter so they can somehow hide,
To hold each other tight, hoping they'd survive.

It's been a year of deaths and crying,
Of the media telling only lies,
Of no longer having a normal life,
Of wondering how they'd managed to survive.

It's been a year of constant bombs dropping.
It's been a year of homes being destroyed.
It's been a year of shortages and suffering.
It's been a year of innocents dying.

It's been a year since terrorists attacking
Caused the world to wake up and be shocked.
Only those 'terrorists' are innocent
And it's the oppressors with everyone backing.

They say that it's been a year since that day,
But really, it's been almost a century.
Governments may try hard to lead the way,
But the people now see more clearly.*

#anotherworldpoem #poemaday #currently #Palestine

"If injustice is the law, then rebellion is a duty."

I don’t always show it, but it’s still there,
Like the sun hiding behind the air.
You might not see the warmth I give,
But in my heart, it’s where you live.
It hurts to hear you doubt my heart,
to think we’d ever fall apart.
Haven’t I always stood by your side,
with nothing to hide?
I gave my vow with all my heart,
How could you think I’d tear it apart?
This love is strong, God knows it's real,
How could you doubt what I still feel?

"If you desire this world, you must seek knowledge, and if you desire the Hereafter, you must seek knowledge. Knowledge will only give you part of itself if you give all of yourself to it. If you give only part of yourself, it will give you nothing. A person remains knowledgeable as long as they seek knowledge, but if they think they have learned everything, they have become ignorant. The student of knowledge prioritizes the Hereafter over the world and thus gains both, while the ignorant one prioritizes the world over the Hereafter and thus loses both."

You know the number of martyrs in Lebanon, the next turn will be upon us. So, we ask God for a good end and martyrdom in the defense of truth and the oppressed. What is happening now does not bode well; the world is in turmoil. Hold on to your faith and your prayers, for no soul knows when or where it will die.

O Allah, show us Your mighty power against the Jews, destroy them in this world before the Hereafter. O Allah, make them taste multiple times the torment they have made us taste, and make us among Your sincere soldiers in Your path.

The story repeats with different characters, different times, different places, but with the same mistakes, the same betrayals, and the same victims.