the Pride

Below the blazing Arabian skyline camouflaged  by a  smooth sea of dust , lies a thick oiled golden mane. loveySheltered by the shadow of his firm stature crawls out his bold yet sleek bride, full of pride. Every step she calculates, he already equates…in harmony they glide towards Paradise.
halfSafely tucked between every muscle is heavy artillery – a bullet for every enemy who dares to see.
When he falls, she roars to get him back up,  she Is his spiritual armour reminding him of His power.
On each mission they strive towards Paradise.
 
lion fight
 
On harsh days tempers flare, hot ego pumps through their veins.  A fuming argument, one of them has to submit. In  a moment of rage she subdues and he steams off. Only a bump along their everlasting journey towards the bliss of  Paradise.
 

halfhalfFrom the battle field they return,a day’s victory. Away from the brigade, they feast on their well-earned booty…

she glances

    he licks

she purrs

    he bites

she shrugs

    he strokes

their tails intertwine as they begin to dine

towards the Gardens’s of Paradise.

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pacemaker

“The breeze you yearn
Stress coagulates your veins
As my heart pumps – willingly”
 
~ zaahida
 
 
 
 Photo: The human heart stripped of fat and muscle, with just the angel veins remaining
 

There’s a certain inner-peace and contentment the person who believes in a Higher Power feels that some may never get to feel. A breeze within, knowing that your heart is with Him.

Their heart stresses constantly, living with uncertainty. 

Yet the believer’s heart pumps blood throughout the soul, doing as it should – knowing that it’s safe  with the  Creator of all hearts. 

the charity-case

“As the soil begs for moisture – just enough to suffice the roots
As the roots plead for minerals – just enough to sprout the green
As the green offers oxygen
              The human coughs out what the plant welcomes in.”

~ zaahida

Humans breathe out Carbon Dioxide which plants absorb in to provide Oxygen to the air.

What little thanks we give to those who love to share.

16:48

“A corroding leaf
An intangible sign of existence protrudes below
A shadow – prostrating. “
~zaheedah
 

“Have they not considered what things Allah has created? – How their shadows turn round, from the right and the left, prostrating themselves to Allah, and that in the humblest manner” ~ 16:48

the search for my (beetle) life

4 months short of being two decades young , responsibility and material independence are looming towards my adulthood shadow. Truth is, no matter how much of an intellectual a person may be, not translating the thoughts and nouns into actual verbs is futile.

to do list:

# find a job

#draw up a budget

#save

#save

#save

and lastly…

#become a smart consumer.

The idea is: once I am consumer, number one on my list is a  (used) RIDE.

a classic Volkswagen Beetle would be an ideal first car for an unusual lady like me.

In South African Rands these go for about R10 000 – R30 000.

In Pounds £722 – £2 166

In Euros €887 –  €2 662

In US Dollars $1 155 – $3 464

Not too shabby huh?

combined beetles I found separately from the net

•InshaAlllah – God Willing•

self-love affair

Last night my physical and mental engaged in a cold war. The cycle of knowing my purpose but failing to engrave it into my daily life has become obsolete. Luminescent ideas spark my body throughout, escaped from the brain they sit idle in the bones- f l i c k e r i n g – a second away from dimming. Action – they need turbulence. Our mouths move yet our bodies remain.

At a desperate attempt to feel useful, 21:00 pm on the clock, I grab my Queen ~ Your Highness Sewing Machine , empowered to create.

Queen ~ Your Highness Sewing Machine

Threads, needles and swords out; the combat begins. The aim was to make a lovely black textured Burqa for Praying. Idea = fresh. Actual process = dull. 23:00 pm on the clock I lay numb on the couch, my Queen let me down, “technical difficulties” she tried to explain.

Defeated, as if the now malfunctioning sewing machine has a vile vendetta against me and only me. The cold war swells up, tensions tighten – my bombarded brain still yearns for a release. I refuse to give up. 02:30 am on the clock, I decide to bake. My very first love.

Tins, whisks and swords out; the combat begins. Realizing that at this moment, my temporary happiness relies on whether or not I achieve this one thing – just this one time.

Well…

Cinnamon Bun with choco/coffee glaze

Cinnamon Bun with choco/coffee glaze