The house is on fire…

Regardless if it’s a conspiracy.

Dead bodies still lay cold on the ground.

Families now have holes that can never be filled,

like the holes in his chest

and the holes in her back.

Like the hole my heart that mourns for the lives lost.

No more value placed on a human beings life.

No more lives lost.

No more mass shootings.

No more killing.

No more murdering

No more innocence and peace lost.

My heart cannot handle it.


Gone are the days where we walk down the streets,

thinking that we are free.

Paranoia is the zip code that our minds now live it.

Distrust fills our heart and anger clouds our judgement.

These are not peaceful times.

As a Black (strike one) Muslim (strike two) woman (strike three),

Am I supposed to be out?

Those that I identify with are harassed, discriminated, oppressed,

and murdered in cold blood each day.

These things are getting closer and closer to home.

No one has the luxury of pretending that everything is okay anymore.

Racial profiling, systematic oppressions, false accusations, wrongful deaths…

Wrong is wrong and there is no justification for that.


Will my father or brother or husband be next?

Will I?

Will you?


What is left of this world?

What future are we giving our children?

What future?

…if we’re all dead in the streets






Melanated Child

Dark skin

Coconut oil

Weaved crowns

and crowns grown straight from the roots that stand straight up and defy gravity.

Beautiful melanated children

how sweet you are.

Dreaming sweet dreams of the summer sun on Juneteenth.



Playing hopscotch and double dutch,

standing on the side lines,

watching Bubba dunk on Ray Ray.

The innocence of childhood flies past you

as you play on the playground.

Indifferent to the realities in this world.


The horrors of Tamir Rice flash before your tired mothers eyes,

another baby, another life,

another black boy whose body lies cold in the ground.

His name forever intertwined with the memorial of every single black boy

whose life ended a moment too soon.

While your granny makes silent prayers over you each night.

Praying that you name doesn’t join the ranks.


Brown eyes.

Full lips.

Sweaty palms.

Melanated child

hold on to your innocence


because soon, your hands will become tired and you will loosen your grip,

and they will try to rob your innocence from under you.


The days of diabetic causing kool-aid and seed spitting watermelon

as the juice runs down your cocoa butter skin, are numbered.

Because even if you make it out alive,

you will still have to hold firmly to your roots,

for that too, they will come for.

Even if the revolution is televised,

it will forever be intertwined into your history.

For them, it’s just another documentary.


Melanated child know this.

You will have to work twice as hard for simply half of what they have.

But no matter how hard you work, at the end of the day,

the only thing that they will see is

a melanated child.


What does it mean to be human?
Sir, why so you ask me these questions
That I do not know the answer?
What does it mean to be human?
You are more than a brain and blood vessels that being oxygen to the heart.
You are more than lungs that fill with sweet air, with nostrils that filter out the tantalizing smell of hickory smoked chicken on the grill at your grandmother’s house on fourth of July.
You are more than  a student in a classroom who stares at the white board, filtering out the Read More

Ramadan Lonesome

as ii sit here in this big apartment that is made for two, all by my lonesome

surrounded by things because quite often ii don’t like being surrounded by people

at the beginning of this blessed month

ii sit with tears in my eyes

for 5 years ii have been on my own

away from my family for Ramadan

despite thinking that wouldn’t be the case again this year

a week ago

ii sit with these tears in my eyes because Ramadan is the greatest time in my life where

Read More

Thoughts from my prayer rug…

This morning as I was praying Fajr, I read Surah-al-Fatiha like normal. Then I read Surah-an-Nas. And this thought popped into my mind. That is how short this life is. That’s how short this whole world is.

It was kind of like that notion of the tombstone.

“Khabirat Abioye-Tijani. 1992-2992.”

That dash represents your entire life and accomplishments. (Obviously I’m not going to live a thousand years. But I didn’t want to sell myself short.) But as a Muslim, reading the first and last Surahs of the Quran, it really made me think. That’s how short this world is. The beginning of the Quran till the end.

My life is fairly insignificant compared to the trillions of people who are living and who have passed. Everyone had a dream, everyone had things that they wanted to achieve, everyone had a mother (except Adam and Hawwa/Eve, unless you believe in evolution. But that’s an entirely different story.), everyone lives no matter how long or short and every died.

They all lived.

They all died.

And that is the only thing that is promised.

I think what I’m trying to get at here is, what will your dash be comprised of? No one will know unless they lived in your lifetime and Allah. No one will care about your fancy clothes or shoes. How big your house was. What type of car you drove. What fancy school you got your 6 degrees from.

What will matter is you role in society. How you treated people. The charity you gave, and not necessarily monetarily. Were you kind and gentle or stern and rude?

Your good deeds and bad deeds will be the only things that matter on the day of judgement. There is this video of Muhammad Ali that is circulating around the internet when a fan asked, what will he do once he retires. His response was, “Get ready to meet my maker.”

He recently passed, but that interview was many years ago. We all think that we have time. I’ll pray later. I’ll go to the Masjid later. I’ll call my parents later. I’ll read Quran later. I’ll fast next year. Excuse after excuse because we are caught up in this duniyah/worldly life.

If you died today, would you be ready to meet your maker?


If your answer is no, then you better start today, right now, preparing. Because it could happen at any moment.


Ramadan Mubarak!

I wonder if you think of me…

I wonder if you think of me,

As much as I dream about you.

Praying that you’re not a figment of my imagination.

I wonder if you think of me,

Leading me in Salah 5 times a day,

Building us a home in Jannah.

I wonder if you think of me,

Rubbing my belly as it grows Read More

Flying While Muslim

Flying While Muslim: My thought process.
Checking bag: Please don’t flag my bag. Please don’t flag my bag.
TSA: Please don’t stop me. Please don’t stop me. Just pat me down and send me on my way.
Air Marshall Gets On Plane: Please don’t pull me off. Please don’t pull me off.
Crazy Old Lady Whispers To Flight Attendant: Please don’t let it be about me. Please don’t let it be about me. Read More


I sit in the back of this classroom with my head ducked low.

Too smart for the black kids, taught that I am inferior to the whites, so I keep to myself.

My grades reflect those of a mediocre middle class school kid, whose parents care, but work too hard to pay me any attention.

My mouth don’t twist with a twang, so this Ebonics feels unnatural and foreign on my tongue.

As I sit in this classroom, my teacher attempts to fill these empty souls with knowledge, not knowing that their hearts are empty… Read More

Dear Future Hubby pt. 2

Dear future hubby,
You’re my liquid encouragement and I’m your crystal meth.
We find comfort in our addictions.
Trying to get my fix,

I need you.
Never wanting to let go,

so take my hand and guide me down the path that we are meant to take together,

Read More


There as so many blessing that come from the month of Ramadan. We’re only on day 13,  and I have already reflected on a lot of things that I struggle with. I felt the need to share.

Stressing out on things that I have no control over is the biggest challenge I face. Fearing the worst, I’m afraid of what will be said of my  past and afraid of what is to come in my future. I have this fear of the unknown, which I face every day. A good friend once said, “It’s not the unknown, it’s just written in invisible ink.” I hold on to that because it helps me reaffirm my trust in Allah, for he is all knowing and the best of planners. Return to Allah.

Desire is our enemy, when  we become slaves to it. Happiness is fleeting, no matter how hard you try to make it stay. Turn to Allah, for He will always be the answer.

Read More