There was a time the sun refused to rise — 
My soul, journeyed lonesome in despondency,
In life’s most harmonious moments.
And hope came limping, lost behind.

I cursed the sky, then cursed my name,
Declared a silent war on life itself,
Each breath a burden, each day the same,
An iteration of ache I could not outgrow.

But time, carved anew
Not in sudden bliss, but scaring grace,
A lesson wrapped in every bruise,
And emerged a mirror held to my own face.

Pain returned, as pain will do,
In moments wound through joy and ache.
I walk now with an almost nonchalant view,
Not free from weight, but wide awake.

I’ve learned to cry without collapse,
To wage life’s war banner held high.
To let wound and wisdom lapse,
And journey on with blistered feet.

Not numb, not cold, not falsely still
But willing, raw, and unconcealed.
For life was never meant to fill
A perfect script.

So here I go, no map in hand,
No foreknowledge, no warning whatsoever
A stranger still to where I’ll land,
But freer now
A journeyman.

I wrote this piece in the quiet aftermath of a loss that shook me loose from who I thought I was. It wasn’t a dramatic collapse, just a slow unraveling, the kind that makes you look in the mirror and meet yourself without the usual filters.
Pain has a strange way of humbling you, then teaching you, then reshaping you consequentially, for better or worse. Free journeying is about learning to keep moving, embrace the worst, shed a tear when the need arises, all while giving the journey your all.

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A Poem

Must be one of your infrequent cheat days,
where the dark side briefly dispossesses this host.
This exposé is a testament to your fleeting absence
remnants of you still linger, I fear,
so best I get my testimony out of the way.

Still, before you settle back into my bones,
let me confess a truth I rarely dare admit:
You have blessed me in ways I fear to praise.
The boldest feats of my life
the risks I leapt at, the peaks I claimed
were half your doing.
In my quietest sanity, I would never
have reached for such impossible fruit.
You lent me the fire.
You lent me the nerve.

Yet human I remain
and ingratitude sits at the core of my design.
I despise you.
I hate the way my body bows
to every whisper you breathe into my blood.
I hate how I dissolve
just so you can feel a moment of living.

Truth is, I’ve long been a third wheel
watching us move in frightening harmony
you, and the version of me you animate.
Sometimes I wonder if you were meant for each other.
But this is my body.
My thoughts.
My personality.
And I will not stand by
while you claim authorship of my malice,
my love, my hurt.
These are mine to bear.
Mine to shape.

Maybe what we need is balance
a treaty, a split throne,
a two-host solution where I still have a voice
when you surge to take over.
But knowing you,
I doubt peace sits anywhere in your dreams.
You chase your cravings
with a devotion I have never mastered,
and you tend to your vices
as though they were holy scripture.

And every time you leave,
this body collapses into withdrawal,
shivering through the tiny slivers of time
I am allowed to exist.
My own presence, a bore
even to myself
My own self!

Already my consciousness flickers
your footsteps echo through the hollows…
You’re back
already.

© Haashimite

I wrote this on a day when the voices inside me felt unusually quiet, just quiet enough to let me speak first. Dear Devils is my attempt to sit across the table from mine, to acknowledge the strange blessings they bring and the ruin they leave behind.
If any part of this mirrors something in you, I’d love to hear it.

Lest we live our days in gloom,
Gazes transfixed, monotonously bright,
Blinded by the blessing of lights,
High off the high life — 
The curse of true sight
Lost for good.

Lest we should know no honest joy,
Eyes squinted, brows furrowed, lips pursed,
Our profile feigning joy like a mask,
A rictus smile, oblivious to the persona;
The curse of true glee
Lost for good.

Lest we become mere shadows of ourselves,
Our truths obscured in sunlight’s glare,
Reflections warped on fractured glass,
Our essence blurred beyond compare.
The curse of self, identity — 
Lost for good.

Lest we should flee from the brilliance that blinds,
Let us dwell where solace winds
In shadowed hush, where truths unwind.
Yet how can we flee from the glow that defines?
Are we lost in the brightness, or trapped in our minds?
In seeking the dark, do we kindle our spark?
In a world full of light, must we still hesitate?

I’ve always had a habit — perhaps a compulsion — of questioning everything: norms, ideas, values, even the things most people accept without second thought. It’s not an act of rebellion, but a quiet exercise in understanding. Over time, this reflex has become the lens through which I see the world, and the compass that guides my thoughts.
Flee the Lights emerged from one such mental exercise — an inner dialogue sparked by my fear of losing myself. I wrote it as a reflection of my own insecurities, yes — but also as an invitation: to pause, to question, and maybe to see the shadows not as voids, but as sanctuaries.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you — truly. Whether the piece resonated with you or rubbed against your thoughts in friction, I’m grateful you spent time with it. I welcome your reflections, criticisms, or disagreements. Feedback — positive or not — is always a gift.
© Hashim

A chapter closes
A truth and a lesson stares me head-on
And here I stand
At the cross roads
Of what must be
The outset of a journey
Written not in fear
But in hope and resilience.

With a heavy heart
I shoulder the weight of the days to come
Each decision, each turn
A stone placed
On the scale of my fate
And the power to carve my own narrative
I wield lonesome

A dance of cause and effect
Where men are broken
With my thoughts
Weaved into the echoes of my being,
I free my fate
From the uncertainty of chance
And from this alchemy
I shall rise or fall.

Notes: Six months into work life, I find myself reflecting on the path that led me here — the trials, the lessons, the sacrifices, and the growth. Completing my Bachelor of Science in Civil Engineering(a passion only second to this) was no walk in the park. The past four years tested my limits, sharpened my resolve, and shaped my perspective.

Yet, as this poem was scribed to capture, graduation is not an end, but a transition — a shift from structured academia to the vast uncertainty of the real world. The challenges have not ceased; they have simply changed form. In these three months, I have realized that the journey after school is as much about learning as the journey through it. Every decision carries weight, every challenge refines, and every opportunity is a chance to build not just a career, but a legacy.

I am grateful for the experiences that have shaped me, the mentors and peers who have inspired me, and the unwavering resilience that keeps me moving forward. To those still on their academic journey — stay the course, embrace the process, and prepare to navigate the road ahead with courage. And too all who this piece would reach, let us all gather here, readers, writers, we all hold jobs (passions, or just a means of getting by), share with us in you worlds of experiences how best this path should be journeyed.

As I stand at the crossroads of what must be, I choose not fear, but hope and resilience. Here’s to building, learning, and growing — one step at a time. And as always, thanks for reading, feedback whatsoever is very much welcomed❤❤❤.

The sights we chase, lure bright as stars,
Voices near, whisper paths beyond our ground — 
Gleaming heights, yet paved unclear,
A taste, a thrill, they coax us high,
To skip the stone, to chase the peak,
We stray from Maslow, lose the whole.

A self-made mask, a life pretend,
With lives lived light, though roots run thin — 
To please the eye, abandon kin,
In silken masks that show and bend.
We chase the image, bright and bold,
A hollow sage, all silver, none of gold.

For walls unbuilt are walls that shift,
And borrowed wings can’t bear the weight — 
What heights endure when roots grow weak?
When happy pills have lost their light,
The inward cries no longer contained,
We’re left as emptier in fate.

It’s time to pause, to slow the race,
To feel the ground, to find our place.
To nourish, shield, and heal what’s broken,
To reclaim truths long left unspoken.
Let us rebuild, from root to crown — 
And be remaslowed, before we drown.

Like my mum would say, “if you rush, you’ll crush. And when you crush you would have to start all over again”. For the longest time, I perceived this saying as something she made up to get us boys to slow down, to be more careful in performing our chores and to get us not to rush our Salat.
In truth, I was right. She did want us to slow down, and her saying worked, mostly. For we saw the truth in her words. The garments weren’t as clean when washing was rushed, we got back home with buckets half full when the walk back from the well was rushed and we always got less then perfect scores when we rushed through our home assignments. Mum was right too all along.

Life’s not so different.

Thanks for reading as always.

Juvenility possesses an actuality so true,
Void of doubt, at least to the young beholder.
An outlook borne of the innocence of youth,
One the aged onlookers long lost in senescence.

The world was light, lit with genuine smiles,
Free from the complex politics of maturity.
We danced, eyes wide shut,
Oblivious to the shadows looming on the horizon.

Untainted by the gray of weary minds,
We saw the world as our doting guardians described.
A world of endless possibilities,
Perfect with blue skies and radiant sunsets.

Our world crumbles, by the hands of time.
We morph, shaped by wars we never fought,
By the stories of shattered dreams,
And the despair of hearts that resisted time’s cruel hands.

The light of our youth is lost,
We bustle, glaze-eyed, shadows defining our light.
Our newfound reality dims the hope we once radiated,
And our lost face becomes a goal unattainable.

Infrequent flashbacks, glimpses of history,
Hold our joyous moments, our hope.
Where love is inadvertent, in its purest form,
And malice, unnatural.

What is the truth of our reality?
Perhaps, a perceived less childish outlook on life?
Perhaps, an uncertain, fleeting perception?
Perhaps, a pseudoreality?

Our values, our goals and our whole being is in a constant state of change, some might attribute to growth. However, most times, we find these changes conflicting the self within, subjecting one’s peace to a grueling journey of self rediscovery. A journey to rediscover ones true reality. My journey inspired this piece.

“ If you could relate to the words above in any way, do well to express your thoughts on the subject in the comments section. Feedback and criticism whatsoever are most welcome, for more than likes, I hope to get better at this. And as always. thank you for reading💙💙💙.”

“ PS — I recently discovered the ‘gift membership’ feature on here. To any reader who would find my work worthy of appreciation, the ‘gift membership’ feature would do just fine 😁”

Of the many gifts overthinking has bestowed upon me,
And the litany of penalties I suffer consequently,
The love-hate bond I share with my paranoia
Unsettles my soul, filling my pillow with thoughts.

In the still of the night, doubts start to creep,
Questions linger, cutting deep.
Am I destined for greatness or bound to fade?
Will mediocrity be my burden?
Am I destined for a life far from so-so?
Will my efforts be enough, or will they be betrayed?

With every failure and every setback,
The threatening shadow of mediocrity looms ever nearer,
A specter that feeds on my deepest fear.
For truly,
To be ordinary, to blend with the multitudes,
Is a fate that torments, denying me rest.

I strive for a life of my own consequence,
A life perfect in its own way — my way.
A life forged through stumbles and falls.
I seek a path of peace where my heart longs to play.
And the fear of falling short,
Is a burden I carry, a price I’ve paid.

So I’ll embrace this fear, let it fuel my quest,
And flourish where my doubts and fears reside.
For in the heart of this struggle, I find my will,
And in the fear of mediocrity, I’ll surge forward, undeterred.

To the reader who reached out to me, and ended up getting me back to writing on here, Thank you! I hope you enjoy this read.
And as always criticism and inputs whatsoever are more than welcome.

A version of me once detested with a passion,
So painfully suppressed,
In shadows deep, where whispers dwell,
To finally welcome,
The grand unveiling of this ideal me.

In the reflections of a fleeting stream,
I glimpse upon the fragments of an image,
Perhaps a reflection,
Depicting a semblance of what has become of me,
What life has meant since my morphing,
What virtues I had eventually let go in pursuit of this ideal persona,
And what the innards of my soul scream.

How far gone am I?
Hopefully not too far condemned beyond redemption,
For the reflections I gaze upon,
Stray from my life’s path,
The melody of my heart’s song,
And my soul’s peace,
Grudgingly conflicts with what I have become.

“Hi, thank you for taking time out to read my newest piece. Criticisms and congratulations whatsoever are more than welcome. Likes and comments likewise. Once again, thank you!”