Poetry Corner: Salma Ibrahim

My name is Salma Ibrahim. I live in London but call many places home. Recently I had a discussion with a friend about what makes somewhere home. We both agreed home was anywhere that took you in warmly and lovingly. There is a lot of love to be found in this world which is why I welcome new faces with good hearts and strong minds. Being an occupational therapy student means there is amble opportunity for meeting inspiring and fantastic people every day.
I first started to write when I was eleven. My mum gave me my first journal and I have since utilised the art of writing in my everyday life. I was thirteen when I wrote my first poem about my love for books after having a silly fight with one of my siblings over my harry potter collection. Poetry for me is both a medium for sharing my thoughts and opinions with others as well as a therapeutic outlet for myself. I will forever be grateful for my mum as I truly believe it is thanks to her that my creativity was stimulated from a young age.
Amongst the many things I love warm hugs, long and meaningful conversations, spontaneous coffee dates, lone walks (to anywhere) and all the positive souls God keeps bringing into my life. These often serve as a muse for my writing. As a poet once told me: ‘find inspiration in the little things of life.’  

 

 

Child’s Cry

She did not know how to ease her child’s pains
All she wanted was to make the hurting go away
But there was no fist directed at her girl,
Just the emotions of living life.

She felt that she did not succeed,
In protecting her child from harm
But how do you keep your teen
From figuring out her path outside of your arms?

So she listened behind the closed door,
Her daughter’s soft crying from the toilet floor,
She whispered ‘child I love you with all of my heart,
Did I do wrong to bring you into this world?’.

 

Maturity

“Maturity comes with age” I said.
“No” he replied, “maturity is a result of the harsh experiences you survive. You haven’t lived a hard life
Realise, that you have been fortunate until today
Because no one you love has passed away.

I cried for days the first time,
But by the second death
I took a deep breath
Only knowing to face the skies
And praying that they rest in paradise.”

I have to know
That maturity does not come with age;
It results from the hardships you’ve faced and braved through.

 

All Things Borrowed

All things borrowed must be returned eventually,
That is the norm.
I had forgotten and tried to break myself,
Hoping that the crushing of my bones would purify my soul.

I attempted to drown myself,
My body fighting with gravity but my heart rushing down to meet sorrow.

I would wonder if I should, whether it was appropriate,
Whether it felt right, whether I might just appreciate
This gift, if I were to lend it to illness or to misfortune.

Years I have looked through the windows of nearby lives
Caught view of a loved one slipping out the back door towards eternity, Whilst their beloved wept in despair.

I have seen blindness,
Felt paralysis
Heard deafness
Spoke mutely
And lived as the dead.

I must thank You,
For the stars that they tell me to wish upon
For the history that keeps itself on repeat
For the unknown that I am afraid of,
And for the life that I know will be given back to you.

I know that you give not a soul more than it can burden
Yet wonder do I if a moment may arrive,
When life will be too much of a squeeze to … breathe.
When the trails of those around me become mine,
When afflictions become an everyday misery,
When I will feel like I can be tested no more.

Yet you created hope for me,
Knew I would forget my mannerism and so reminded me
That I must thank you for every atom of good in my life,
Pardon myself for every atom of evil of mine
And never must I forget,
All things borrowed must be returned eventually.

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