Al-Bayyan

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2015

The Struggle

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From Here to There, 2014Shapla Shaheensophomore

graphite on paper10 x 10”

One Direction, 2015Fazila Vhorasenior

acrylic paint on canvas10 x 10”

Serenity, 2015Sarah Basheersophomore

color pencils on paper8.5 x 11”

3

Struggle.

Do the bells inside your head ring upon hearing this word? For most, the sound of the word “struggle” evokes an instinctual, almost involuntary memory or experience of negativity and pain. We often feel that struggle must be negative because it in-volves pain, hardships, sorrow, and a mul-titude of other “bad” emotions. In doing so we try to help our loved ones, friends, and even strangers avoid struggle as much as possible. That’s because we rarely see the beauty of struggle. We don’t see the growth or the joy that comes from strug-gle. Take, for example, a chick as it be-gins to hatch. A feeble little animal trying to break free from the confines of an egg. We, the watchful bystanders, would prob-ably want to help it; after all, we’d only need to break a tiny piece of the fragile layer, a layer that seems to be so hard for the chick to come out of. Why do we feel this way? It is be-cause we have forgotten how important our own struggles were in shaping us, and instead only remember how much we hated them. We need to change that point of view. Struggle should not remind us of negative things. Instead of feeling sorry for the chick and saying that it is struggling to hatch, perhaps we can describe it as a movement or a dance, and say that it’s ac-complishing something, it’s getting stron-ger, it’s coming alive. You see, it is necessary and good for chicks to “struggle” to hatch, as this pumps blood to go through its wings and makes them stronger and more capable of surviving in the world. Similarly, any form of hardship that we go through can also be a means of making us stronger and better individuals. Anybody that has ever achieved

Introduction

Editor in Chief (SuperFazila)

anything worthwhile has encountered and overcome struggles in their journey, but this part of the story is often left out. The companions of the Prophet, Peace Be Upon Him, are the perfect examples of individuals who went through a lot of struggle for the sake of Islam. They went through terrible torture by the disbeliev-ers while they were in Makkah. They then left everything they had to migrate from Makkah to Medina, a city that wasn’t do-ing well economically at that time. Fatima bint Muhammad (may Allah be pleased with her) would have blisters on her hands from the excessive housework she had to do to survive. They knew that the cause they were struggling for was worth it and it is because of their struggles that the mes-sage of Islam spread so far and wide. The life of this world is meant to have hardships and difficult times. Young or old, rich or poor, we all have different levels and types of struggles we face on a daily basis. Sometimes it might not be apparent when you meet a person and they may seem to be the happiest per-son around. However, that person likely has internal struggles and difficulties that you cannot see. Nobody in this world is free from hardships, whether it is poverty, sickness, emotional problems and so on. The key thing for struggle to become positive is to not let it consume us too much, and understand that we are not alone. “Allah does not burden a soul be-yond that it can bear…” (Qur’an, 2:286). This verse is comforting because it tells us that although the sadness may be cum-bersome, it will not be overwhelming. Al-though times get tough, you are tougher. Sometimes it does get hard. Sometimes we may feel like there is no way out. But sometimes all it takes is a little push to dig within ourselves, to move and to dance, and to pump blood through our wings, so we can fly the distance.

Fazila Vhora

One Direction, 2015Fazila Vhorasenior

acrylic paint on canvas10 x 10”

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Poetry

They always say the struggle is realBut let me tell you how I really feel

My heart aches, my eyes full of tearsThere go more years, the future unclear

Emotions run high, and then they go lowWalking through life with plenty of cargo

Smile on my face, everything is goodHide the anger, sadness, don’t know if I should

Should I be my own worst enemy, worst critic?Always down on myself? Nah that’s not it

Empty inside, but I’ll keep up this façadePlease remove this blackness from my heart, please God

I messed up, I screwed up, I forgot Whatever good I’ve done, don’t let it be for naught

Intent to change, but I always be slippin’Losing my mind, I’ve really been trippin’

Praised as a role model, when I don’t fit a roleHow can I lead when I need to fix my soul?

But there is hope, light at the end of the tunnelMaybe an answer to this entire struggle

With the prayers of those better than me, no doubtMaybe one day I’ll go ahead and figure it all out.

“You’ll figure it all out one day.”ABB

I still think of you sometimes.

How it used to feel so good, to do what my heart desired, what my soul loathed,

How it used to feel so bad, when I realized how disgusted He must be with me.

How I could never go back. How this way of life had become my home country and I could never abandon its lifeless soils.

My home. I think back on my past life and how sometimes it still beckons to me and says, “this is your home.”

But I was at war in my home, I knew I couldn’t stay. It was time to go. Something was calling me; I had to go find it. I left.

Now I’ve left my old home behind I still don’t know where I’m headed because it hasn’t called to me again since then.

I’ve tried to find a new home but I’m not sure if I’m even supposed to find it in this world anymore. I try to focus on Him.

Him.

I see now that He is an island, and I know that if I leave I’ll drown in the surrounding waters

Every day I struggle. I go back and stand on the edge I wonder if maybe it would feel good to jump in and feel the waters of sin take me back I wonder if it would still feel good to return to my war-torn home country, To return to a life of my heart’s worst desires.

The war is not over. My heart is a battlefield, And every day I try to tell myself that I’m on the right side, that I’m safe now,

But why does it still hurt so bad? What does it take for my heart to choose?

How silly I was to think the war was overTo think I could be at peace after I gave it all up.

Because the worst part of me is not who I am today it’s who I was. It’s you. I still think of you sometimes.

RememberingAamna Ghafoor

5

I used to hear a voice in my headBringing me ease in everything it said,But then this voice started to disappear, Replacing it with a demon I began to adhere,Destroying my soul and leading me astray,It dragged me down the more I ran away.It left me after corrupting my mindWith these vulgar thoughts I can’t refine.I am aware of everything I do,But I keep failing to please You.The demon is no longer to blame,It is my own fault for which I’m at shame,Forgive me for knowing the right from wrong,Yet struggling to keep my deen strong.

The Ripple EffectAsfia Khan

Struggle is inevitable I can be the richest, Prettiest, And most successful Person But I will still Struggle In some way.I struggle living in a world That depicts me As being A terrorist.I struggle with knowing I am Living a privileged life When my people in Palestine Are oppressed. I struggle leaving the house with a hijab Wrapped around my head, Knowing that there are people Filled with rage and hatred That are ready to attack Any Muslim they see. I struggle with turning Dreams Into reality. I struggle with Forgetting the past, And moving forward.I struggle with constantly Being the Bigger person In Every Situation. With being toldThat my life Is easyAnd that I haven’t Faced Any Difficulty Because I Am Only 19.

With Difficulty Comes EaseLilian Maali

Show me the words you so claim. Show me the wordsthat leap off your tongue attached to that bigoted face and I’ll show you their scars. I’ll show youtheir amputated arms. I’ll bring youtheir desecrated bodies cloaked in bags. I’ll bring youtheir missingeyes and lungs. I’ll show youtheir motherland’s barren dirt that you commanded to be stripped. I’ll write out a list of theone hundredtwo hundredthree hundred gone,And the rest buried under their corpses. I’ll sing youthe songs of my humanityWhile you stand there pitiless. I’ll show youtheir fingers that buried heavy souls into the groundwhile the other side’s grass shone green. Show me yoursmooth edges on your $100 bills and I’ll show you our currency with an occupier’s name on it instead, smeared with our ancestors blood. I’ll show you my people. But where lay yours?

UntitledAnonymous

O Stranger! Give way!Uncertain is the path we treadfleeting is the day,and miles yet to forge ahead

A wanderer I am, A haven I sought, in vainfor they have despaired and-a wanderer I remain

This is the path to Godor so they say,and yet I got onat Sinners’ Bay

So —

O Stranger! Give way!Uncertain is the path we treadfleeting is the dayand miles yet to forge ahead…

The PathAnonymous

6

This is for all the nameless onesWho are “just another statistic.”The forgotten, the abandoned,The oppressed, the randomPeople off the streets,Could be your neighbors, friends and family,Those who everyday you meet and greet.

Picture this: 20 warplanes block out the sun.Look up at the skyAnd there’s nowhere to run.Soldiers coming at you with ammunition and guns,Nowadays a human life only matters to some.

Now let me tell you a story Of a man and his wife,Living by the sea With their 3-year-old son, quiteThe sight to see when allYou hear about the Middle EastIs violence, anger, and strife.

Fast forward to the next morning:When the tired man woke from theBombs that just shookThe whole house, leaving cracks on the wall, and dirt and sootFlying everywhere, blinding,Terrifyingly loud, causing him to look

Outside, the bedroom wall is now destroyed.Father and son huddled on the floor amongst the scattered toys,The picture frames that were hanging are now shattered, ripped and torn,And the house where his son was born?Half of it is now lying on the ground.

And he’s looking for his wifeThinking, where could she be?The mother of my child,She was just sleeping right next to me!

He looks across the rubbleAnd what does he see?

Sapphire LeavesAsif Mazhar

Poetry (continued)

It’s so cute how you think you belong.You believe you can compete; you are so very wrong.

You’re right about one thing — other schools can’t match us. You haven’t proved anything; there’s nothing to discuss.

Your GPA is flawed, your ACT less than perfect. A merit scholar? Please. Try to keep some respect.

Those awards are all very nice, but they won’t get you in. After all, one of our alumni now lives at 1600 Penn.

You wasted your time; that wasn’t enough. That may have been your best, but it’s not up to snuff.

Everyone takes AP classes; you are no special. Now quit wasting our time. Is there anyone here with real potential?

We don’t want you kid; we want the elite. Perfect scores and perfect grades. You’re just incomplete.

Your dream will always be a dream. We just hope you can acknowledge that jokes like you should stick to clown college.

Admission Decision: RejectedSalmaan Zafer

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Mother’s DayFarhaan Khan

I Hate Mother's DayI hate mother's day with a passionCelebrating this so-called holiday is old fashionAll that attention for my mom just for one dayas if she became the Queen that whole SundayBut I don't hate mother's day because it's for my momI hate mother's day because after one day, the focus is goneEveryday should be special for your motherBecause in this life you will never find anotherYour wife wouldn't be able to show that much loveeven as the woman who says she couldn't love you enoughYou owe everyday to your mom, don't give thanks just onceI mean after all, she carried you for nine monthsShe breast fed you for a yearShe taught you how to walkShe’s the only one who could under-stand you when you couldn't talkShe put you in school to make you smart and give you a careerand in return all you give her is one day of the year...Everyday should be mother's daybecause everyday she's in your lifeOne day just isn't enough to bring all the things your mom did for you to lightI will show appreciation to my mother all year long in every wayI don't need a written date on a calen-dar to tell me it's my Mother's Day

I look with worried eyes, at social Vines, of flashing lights and a lack of rights. Human compassion is lacking where it needs to be. Hate feeds off of hate, but if that’s all it takes, then love should come so easily. In a day of hashtags and profile pages, conversations of the new ages.

We’re eliminating races. Classes are gone, So classless mistakes, are now made daily at the hastiest rate. We’re starving and hungry for the tastiest taste, of what has become the most delicious most suspicious, vicious, fishy, repetitious, superstitious, vision named freedom. It's naive to think we’re free when all that we see, is a sea of beings not being one thing, and that’s free. When was the last time you felt it?

And we’ve been given a life long song and dance of "whoever smelt it dealt it."So if you took the feeling of now and held it, bottled it up and shelved it, you would open up to find your mind in decline. This moment was better while latter’s behind. That’s the path that we’re on but we have control.

We’re not egos and clothes, we’re people of souls We're humans of thought Not students of hate. Evil got a head start, but now truth is in the race. And if truth is in your face, and you choose to look away, then get used to the abuse and not confused at truce less fates.

The pre action of action is thinking to act. The past is a place where patterns attack. And people are put no matter the facts.

These colors don't bleed, yet we see they fade fast. We’ve exceed the need, to keep things intact.

Feel FreeJaverea Ahmed

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The Struggle of LeadershipA<3

“What is my intention?” Am I part of an organization to get noticed? Do I want to become popular? Am I volunteering at the IAW booth so I can put a cool picture on Instagram later tonight? Do I actually give a crap about of any of this? It is hard. You get caught up at times. You lose sight of what you’re doing and why you are doing it. Be real with your-self. Do you really care about these Syrian Refugees? Are you helping them because you care or are you doing this so you can write some elaborate Facebook posts? Or are you simply bored? I am not going to lie. When I first came to UIC I wanted to become popu-lar. I went to a small high school and did not have many friends. I wanted to be liked and respected and realized being part of the MSA and helping out would lead to that. But then it hit me when I went home on the weekend during my freshmen year and talked to my older sister. She told me the following:

“Adil you are pretty fake. You seek leadership because you want attention. You seek power to become more confi-dent. You want people to think your pious and religious when right after that halaqa you shamelessly went to Spark in the Park being a complete hypocrite.”

“Damn Didi. You are right.”

As a junior, nearly three years after I be-came a UIC student, I realized this strug-gle for superficial power was something I needed to become confident in myself. This made me sick to my stomach. My confidence was linked to how many peo-ple respected me and thought I was some pious and outgoing guy when in actuality I am a pretty horrible person. Let leadership find you. Do not seek it. Those who seek leadership do not care. They care for the freebies it comes with. They care for the power. For the name. It is important to remember leader-ship is forever being linked to you. You will

be associated as someone people look up to. So if your Iman and character is not where it should be reconsider your ap-proach because people will judge you and they have a right. You sought this power and you wanted the attention so ultimately you will be held to the highest standard. The last thing you want is to be one of those Muslim student leaders who sets up halaqas and iftars and two hours later is smoking a blunt with his friends and mak-ing out with some drunk girl named Polly. I know for some this article may come off aggressive and rude so I apolo-gize to those who may be offended.…on second thought I don’t. If I did want to apologize I wouldn’t have written this to begin with. PS: Make sure you have proper intention and I can speak personally to this. Seek-ing popularity helps you gain likes and a lot of fake handshakes, not respect and dignity.

When I came to UIC, I had just one goal in mind. I wanted to grow. Yeah, good grades would be nice. New friends, liv-ing in the city, my mom not limiting the amount of hours I could play basketball each day—all of that would be great. But really, I just wanted to grow. So I ran. I ran away from who I had been the previous 17 years of my life. I ran with a box of matches in hand, and the further I ran, the more matches I lit, burning down bridge after bridge, distancing myself from who I was in a previous lifetime. Or so I thought. I ran with a vague sense of direction, figuring that maybe if I ran fast enough I would find guidance and direc-tion along the way. Somewhere along the way, I began to trip and stumble. Each time I fell, I stood

The Struggle of Growth Farooq Chaudhry

back up and took off running again. But the more I ran, the harder I fell each time. The cycle continued until nothing was left of me but bruises, cuts, and scrapes from attempts to “grow.” The tricky part about growth is that you can envision who you want to be, and you desperately want to get there as fast as you can, but it’s impossible to grow overnight. I wanted to be someone else so badly that I ran there as fast as I could, but I kept falling. I kept falling because while trying to run as fast as I can, I neglected taking the time to learn to jog. And even before I learned to jog, I needed to begin walking in the right direction. Growth is difficult because we want to change as quickly as we possibly can, but that’s not how growth works. Growing

Reflections

comes from experience. From slipping up, deviating off the path here and there, and learning from where we went wrong. It’s impossible to know what’s right until we know what’s wrong, and growth is rec-ognizing and embracing that reality. It’s a long, tedious process, but that’s how it needs to be. Growth in itself requires struggle: the struggle to stay afloat in a sea of experiences, self-realizations, and explorations. And somewhere in that sea, God willing, one learns to swim. As desperately as one wants to grow, it’s crucial to stay patient. You don’t need to sprint towards a “finish line” because there really isn’t one. You just need to take the next step.

9

Our Struggle Was Not Their StruggleSarah Basheer

Take a look around. The heat of the sub-continent is gone and in its place is an icy tundra, the wind is bitter and snow is fall-ing. The scenery doesn’t take on any of the movie-like qualities you imagined. The conversation around is you is unfamiliar and the language is foreign. You slowly recall the English classes of your child-hood, back home. Your food, clothes, and mother tongue don’t fit the cultural norms of America. Life in America is lonely and your family and comforts are left behind overseas, far, far away. We might take for granted the benefits of being first or sec-ond generation Americans, but what goes along with appreciating the lifestyle we’ve grown accustomed to is recognizing the struggles our parents and grandparents faced in coming to a strange land and cre-ating a new life from scratch.

We may not always realize what our parents sacrificed before we were born, and the seemingly mundane attributes that are now constant in our lives didn’t exist for them. Family was further away than just down the street or a few towns over. Years stretching onto decades separated reunions between mother and daughter, brother and sister. And time is not always kind; life happens whether you are there or not to celebrate a birth or mourn a death. Today we have the financial backing of our parents, but this wasn’t a luxury for our parents or grandparents. Often as newlyweds, our parents began a life of their own, starting from the ground up they bought a house, a car, and support-ed an entire family. They put us through school, gave us clothes and toys and all

without an American education and a sturdy job market waiting for them. Life was unpredictable and uncertainty was looming around the corner. Can we really begrudge our parents the security they want for us and themselves? With our own struggles, let us not discount the struggles of the generations before us and the ones that will come af-ter us because they have a lot more to do with us than we think. Especially put into perspective the struggles of your parents and the debts that we can never repay, and also realize that while we rally for the rights of people all over the world and fight the injustices here at home in America, or toil in whatever struggles come our way, we have the duty to protect the well-being of our parents and to honor their strug-gles. For Mama & Papa

Depression. Chronic depression is what I have self-diagnosed myself with over and over again. I often ask myself, “What’s wrong with me?” and, “Why am I always so sad?” Each time I know exactly what the answer is, yet I deny it. I am weak. My connection is weak. My faith is weak. De-pression. Depressed because I am in my 20s, and I still have not found myself. I struggle with my identity. I don’t know who I am, or who I am supposed to be. All I know is that I want to be my old self again. The good Muslim. The one who always prayed on time, read Quran, and told the truth. How I miss the old me. I am depressed because I keep living in the past. I keep giving myself excuses, telling myself I am sad because of this or that. Pitying myself, when I know that there are people who have it worse. Much worse. I am sad because I let Shaytaan into my life. I am sad because I sin over and over again. To the point where I can’t help it. My

My StruggleAnonymous

struggle is my faith. I am depressed because I forgot about Allah; I struggle because I allowed myself to be a slave of the Dunya. Caring too much about what others think of me. Always trying to please the people around me. Forgetting about the one that matters most. My struggle is my quest to recon-nect with Allah, and in the process find myself. Depression. Chronic depression is just an excuse.

“He who has Allah, has everything.”

There will come a time in your life when you will sit face to face with your most im-portant decision: to struggle or to remain satisfied. It will come to you when you are least expecting it, a small whispering that crawls under your skin and into your veins. It wraps itself around your bones and seeps into your heart. And there it waits, for a spark; for a moment of truth that will illuminate your life. At that moment you must choose whether or not to ignite it. Because once it has been ignited, it will place above you a mountain of hardships, and below you a sea of hopelessness. It will test you with everything you thought yourself incapable of. There will be many times you will feel that it was a mistake, that these whisperings were unfounded, deceitful, and unyielding. You will see that many around you who chose not to find that spark are leading lives of comfort and ease. But know that they are no more liv-ing than those lying beneath the ground. They have chosen a life of drear and mo-notony—because they are scared to live.

A Letter to My SonAnonymous

(continued on page 10)

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“Sometimes we cannot do what feels good. We must do what is logical.” These logical, if I may, words of Alan Turing ring true for me, sometimes too true. Acting ever so calculatedly, I speak in a certain tone to certain people, and dress in a certain way to maintain an appearance. Some may call this a type of maturity; to be able to assess a situation and act ac-cordingly. However, how often do I act completely in accordance with my own ideals? Do I always come up with a com-promise? Getting ready for class, I groggily run my hands through the items in my closet. I find a chic thobe imported from a dis-tant desert that I’m tempted to wear, but

I silently chuckle to myself and throw on a hoodie thinking how out of place I would look if I’d gone with my first choice. Do-ing a group exercise my female partner introduces herself whilst extending her hand. I think about declining and explain-ing why, but I decide it to be too much of a hassle and opt for an awkward knuckle touch. Strolling in the city trying to find some good eats I realize that what I’m feeling isn’t the CTA gliding above me, but the vibration of my phone telling me it’s the sun is about to set. I think about praying in that corner by Dunkin, but don’t want a passerby to look at me weird so I end up waiting until I go home. Why is it that I struggle to stand my

ground and practice my faith the way I know it should be? Why am I instead a plastic bag drifting through the wind? Why can’t I just do it? I’m always hearing that we should express ourselves and ignore what others say, but that’s really only if those expressions are within the confines of what people think is acceptable. This paradox leaves me in a place where nei-ther my peers nor my Lord is pleased. Maybe if I could act on what truly mat-ters, the pretending will cease and I can actually be. Maybe, the absence of inner struggle can eliminate the outer ones for everyone. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll find the answers to this and more on the next epi-sode of Dragonball Z. Who knows.

The Imitation GameAnonymous

So I say to you my son, do not let that whisper die out. Let your heart beat like a war drum, your blood rush like the boiling sea, and your hands toil until tears, sweat, and blood have dripped from your body. Do not wait until it is too late. Do not wait for the leaps of your youthful heart to become dull throbs. Because when you struggle, you fill your life with mean-ing. Because when you struggle, you are beautiful, and you are strong. You show the world that you seek a higher purpose

in life. And when your struggle has ended, and your bones have finally settled, you will find yourself at the top while the others are dragged away in the current, defeat-ed, waiting for an unfulfilled life to come to an end. Because when you have lived as long as I have, you will know that struggle is the essence of our existence. Struggle is what shapes us, moves us, and in the end, comes to define us. To my dismay, I found the whisperings of strife to be bothersome

BreatheAsal Wahdan

Breathe in. Breathe out. With every hard-ship comes ease. Indeed God is with the patient. Breathe in. Breathe out. God is the best of planners. Trust in Him. What-ever is meant to be will happen. Breathe in. Breathe out. Expressing your feelings and emo-tions is difficult. To let yourself feel, to let yourself be, to take it all in is not mastered by many. Often times, in the midst of our busy schedules, in the midst of our lives, we forget the essence of living; we forget

the center of all life; we forget to feel. We are quick to dismiss our feelings and sub-stitute the reality with the fantasy, to make ourselves feel less. We indulge our mind and bodies with anything but the truth to make ourselves feel nothing. We binge on our nothingness to feed the fallacies of our lives and believe a modified truth. We ruin our lives by neglecting our emotions, by telling ourselves to forget and suppress. We desensitize ourselves because we are afraid to feel.

Open yourself up, do not harden yourself to the world surrounding you. You are a machine of feelings and emotions: to deprive yourself of expression is to de-prive yourself of life. Follow your soul, it knows the way. Breathe in. Breathe out. This too shall pass. God does not burden a soul more than it can bear. Breathe in. Breathe out Tie your camel. God knows how much you’ve tried. With patience comes ease Breathe in. Breathe out.

A Letter to My Son (continued)Anonymous

Reflections (continued)

and daunting. Now I sit here writing to you in hopes that you do not make the same mistake as I did. In hopes that you too will not be haunted by the remnants of a once whole dream.

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This is for all the nameless onesWho are “just another statistic.”The forgotten, the abandoned,The oppressed, the randomPeople off the streets,Could be your neighbors, friends and family,Those who everyday you meet and greet.

Picture this: 20 warplanes block out the sun.Look up at the skyAnd there’s nowhere to run.Soldiers coming at you with ammunition and guns,Nowadays a human life only matters to some.

Now let me tell you a story Of a man and his wife,Living by the sea With their 3-year-old son, quiteThe sight to see when allYou hear about the Middle EastIs violence, anger, and strife.

It’s the end of the day.The wife is rocking her son to sleep,She loves him more than she could ever say,Hopefully he’ll become a handsome strong man someday,

Just like his father.

She still remembers As clear as can beWhen he put that ring on her finger,A ring made of sapphire leaves.

Fast forward to the next morning:When the tired man woke from theBombs that just shookThe whole house, leaving cracks on the wall, and dirt and sootFlying everywhere, blinding,Terrifyingly loud, causing them to look

Outside, the bedroom wall is now destroyed.Father and son huddled on the floor amongst the scattered toys,The picture frames that were hanging are now shattered, ripped and torn,And the house where his son was born?Half of it is now lying on the ground.

Sapphire Leaves (complete version)Asif Mazhar

13

And he’s looking for his wifeThinking, “Where could she be?”The mother of my child,She was just sleeping right next to me!

He looks across the rubbleAnd what does he see?A pale white handWith a ring made of sapphire leaves.

A silent scream escapes his lipsAnd he sinks to his knees.How could she leave me?How could she leave...?

And he looks at his son,Everything is in disarray,His son looks backSaying, “Dad, it’s going to be okay.”

But it’s not, and he knows Nothing will ever be the same.Today, his world changedAnd tomorrow will just bring pain.

Yet the sun still shines While the skies continue to weep,The gardens continue to growAnd the people continue to breathePeacefully unaware, asleep.

The shopkeepers continue to sweep,Sweeping the dust awayAs if the bombs never fellAnd it was just another day.

This is when he realizedLike a flash across the sky,He needs to leave ASAPOr else they will surely die.

Now think about his story,Think about his pain,How he struggled for his family,Was it all just in vain?

We don’t even know his name.

Look at all he went through He is but one of many,But the voices of the manyAre too far and too few.In this war of broken hearts,Broken souls who just want a fresh start,Broken men on the lookout for the next family to tear apart,Broken politicians who see what they’ve done as a perfect work of art.

Everything else is collateral damage.

And he knows this.He knows what he has become.He knows what he must doFor redemption, for the sake of his son.

So he says LET THEM.Let them blaze the fields with their hatred,Let them burn everything he once held sacred,There’s nothing left for him here,It’s time to start fresh, it’s time to disappear.

I don’t really know what this poem was for…Maybe to raise awarenessOr maybe something more?

See, we never see the hardshipsThat can occur behind closed doors of The social media that we just absolutely adore.We’re so used to the peace from our own ignorance,Ignorance that’s hard to ignore,And if it isn’t on Humans of New York, Well how are we supposed to knowThat one woman died today,And a father lost his soul.Two casualties amongst many, many more.

So he’ll take his son across the sea,To somewhere with a nice summer breeze,A summer sun, away from the war, Where they can just be at ease,Where they can relax andJust breathe.Somewhere free.

Wouldn’t that be a sight to see?This story is just one of many,A story of a refugee.

Interested in contributing to Al-Bayyan? If so, email submissions to albayyanuic@gmail.com

Editors in ChiefFazila Vhora (SuperFazila)Farooq Chaudhry

Staff WritersAbdul Basith BasheerSarah Basheer

LayoutNuha Abdelrahim

Copy EditorsIbrahiem MohammadAsif MazharLilian Maali

Creative DirectionNoor Abdelrahim