You can Leave behind all what you no Longer Need

YOU CAN LEAVE

And you know what?

It is OK to leave.

You can Leave the people

You can Leave the careers

You CAN EVEN LEAVE BEHIND THE OLD Dreams.

It is OK to be YOU

It is OK to be FREE.

IT IS OK TO LEAVE.

She could not bear it anymore.

She decides it is time to go.

A woman heart breaks open.

She asks her God, How can I break this hard?

How can it hurt this way?

She feels so cut off Life.

She CRAVES to be well.

She CRAVES to feel good.

A woman heart breaks so hard.

She asks the TREES what to do?

She cries in front of the Rivers too.

A woman heart breaks open.

………………………………………………….

After so many nights in the dark.

She lights a candle inside her heart.

She touches it with her hands….

A woman heart breaks open.

The candle burns inside.

A woman heart breaks open.
A woman heart breaks open.

A woman heart breaks open.

A woman heart breaks open.

…………………………………………………….

Every day now, she lights candles.

And now her heart is her living flame.

A woman heart breaks open.

A woman heart is her Living Flame.

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A permission to be loved.

She wakes up today and decides something new…

She decides that she gets to fall in love..

She writes this poem smelling the vanilla scent of her candle

She is wearing her night gown full of flowers..

She decides to fall in love.

Love and attraction are so different..

Being loved and being desired are so different..

She wants to fall in love.

She wants to try this thing they talk about..

She wants to feel this thing they talk about..

She realises that her heart was always closed..

Afraid to love..

Afraid to be loved..

She gives her self the Permission.

The permission to love..

The permission to be loved..

Hope to receive your feedback and engagement.

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1- What is Love to me?

2-What experience I identified as Love and I have I Lived ?

3-What experience I didn’t I identify as love and I Lived, have lived or is living? Apply it to your present also.

4-Love is ……….

5-I am loved when ………

6-I felt Love by……

7-I am in love with…….

You can also enjoy this as a man and apply it to you ;-)

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She Cries She Cries

Her voice fills the skies

The Angels hear her cries

They try to comfort her but she denies

She ONLY Cries and Cries

She decides to die

She punishes herself with life

She refuses to see the beauty so she gets blind

She refuses to eat

She refuses to bathe

She denies herself all pleasure

The Crying woman lost her Child

She Falls on the ground

The Angels come down from the Sky

The birds gather with their different colours

They sing songs that resemble her cries

The Rain falls down from the Sky.

The Crying woman Lost her child

The Crying woman died.

*This is a poem in honour of the grief of loosing a child*

I wrote it for all women.

I go deep into me and I surrender.

I go deep into me and I surrender.

I go deep into me and I surrender.

I surrender to what is inside me.

I surrender to me.

I surrender to the infant in me.

I surrender to the baby in me.

I surrender to the child in me.

I surrender to the adolescent in me.

I surrender to the young woman in me.

I surrender to the adult woman in me.

I surrender to the woman I am to be.

I go deeper.

I surrender even more.

I go deeper like a farmer digging into the land he loves.

I go deeper and I surrender.

I go deeper and deeper and I surrender.

Silence No oh Silence No.

SILENCE NO I SAID SILENCE NO.

I choose to see what I see.

I choose to know what I know.

Silence No, OH silence NO.

I Choose to speak my truth.

Silence no oh silence No.

I choose to be me.

Silence No oh Silence NO.

I choose to speak loud.

Silence NO OH SILENCE NO.

I choose to open my mouth and let those words flow.

Silence NO OH Silence NO.

I choose to tell the truth, SILENCE NO OH SILENCE NO.

Silence No OH SILENCE NO.

I choose to sing my song.

I choose to use my voice.

Silence NO oh SILENCE No.

Yes I am ALL this.

YES I AM ALL THIS.

Yes I AM ALL OF THIS.

I am all of this and I am more of this and more than this.

I am ALL of this.

I am my beauty.

I am my smile.

I am my degrees.

I am my success.

Yes I AM ALL OF THIS.

I AM ALL OF THIS.

I AM THIS ARTIST.

I AM THIS DANCER.

AND I AM A POET.

I AM those talents.

I AM ALL OF THIS.

I AM ALL OF this and MORE.

I AM THIS FIGHTER

I AM THIS HEALER AND I AM THE WRITER

I AM ALL OF THIS AND MORE.

I AM ALL OF THIS AND EVEN MORE.

I AM ALL OF THIS.

YES I AM.

I ALLOW ME TO BE.

ALL OF THIS AND MORE.

I love to think that I was born free.

That I can be free.

I can feel freely and I can think freely.

I love to believe that I am free.

Am I free?

Or are there chains around my ankles?

Or are there big stones tightly pressing upon my feet?

Am I free?

Or are there thoughts that are keeping me stuck?

Or are there emotions that are seizing my body and not allowing me to be?

Am I free?

Or am I drowning?

Or am I burning?

Am I free?

Or I am being a rebel against what they taught me?

Am I free?

Or am I running away from them?

Wait, am I running away from me?

Am I free?

Sudan is a woman.
She is crying, she is bleeding, she is breaking—
but she carries the weight of war on her back,
the scars of betrayal on her skin,
the names of the lost in her hands.
She is Fatima Ahmed Ibrahim,
writing, resisting, rising—
the first to take her place in a parliament that never wanted her voice.
She is Khalida Zahir, healing the wounded,
fighting for women’s hands to hold the scalpel,
to shape a future they were told was not theirs.

Sudan is a woman.
She is violated, yet she stands.
She is torn apart, yet she fights.
She is mourning, yet she hopes.
She is Bodour Osman Abu Affan,
breaking walls built to keep her away,
speaking for the women who were never meant to be heard.

Sudan is a woman.
She prays in the dark,
she runs through the fire,
she holds her children close,
whispering promises she does not know she can keep.
She is Alaa Salah, standing atop a car,
dressed in white, wrapped in history,
a lighthouse in the storm,
a voice that would not be drowned.

Sudan is a woman.
She is weary, but she walks.
She is wounded, but she rises.
She is grieving, but she dreams.
She is the past, she is the present, she is the future.
She is every woman who fought, who fights, who will fight.

Sudan is a woman.
She traveled. She fought.
She left the known for the unknown.
She surrendered. She healed.
She is writing, she is speaking, she is using her voice.

Sudan is Bouthaina.
Sudan is Halima.
Sudan is Khadija.
Sudan is Salwa.
Sudan is Salma.

Sudan is Sarrah.
Sudan is Mona.

Sudan is us.
Sudan is me.

Sudan is a woman.
She will not disappear.

That she will no longer take it (no matter what is the situation she is at).

She decides internally.

Suddenly when she decides she knows that change is coming. And somehow she gets ready.

She starts focusing on herself, she starts putting some boundaries, suddenly many things she used to do and accept don’t make sense to her anymore.

And in the process maybe she starts crying.Maybe she spends long nights crying on her pillow.

But also she starts laughing more. She starts taking on a new hobby. Something she always wanted to do, or maybe a suggestion from a friend.

Some friendships starts to fade away and others start to be stronger and deeper.

A place of new friendships and relationships starts to form.

She starts noticing the difference.

She begins to dare more.

She questions her comfort zone.

And the change starts to be noticed..

Suddenly she notices the trees and the sky colours more, she enjoys the cold more and every day she is enchanted more..

That is a healing woman? Do you know one?

As as a biomedical engineer I started my career working on ultrasound machines with majority of my focus being in Ultrasound in Obstetrics Gynecology but also I worked with different radiologists and I saw different cases of breast scans. So this is also a valid reason for writing this article.

But the main reason for me is to highlight the reality of the disease for African women.

According to the World Health Organisation In different African countries, preventing and treating breast cancer is a pressing public health issue. Breast cancer survival rates five years after diagnosis stand at a dismal 40% in these countries as compared to over 90% in most high-income countries.

In countries showing successful reductions in breast cancer mortality rates, most breast cancer patients are diagnosed at an early stage, when the disease is more likely curable, making late-stage diagnosis and inadequate access to quality breast cancer care lead to high death rates.

Most women are diagnosed at advanced stages when treatment is difficult, costly and less likely to achieve a cure.

For African women, Breast Cancer has alarming statistics highlighting its prevalence and impact.

The incidence of breast cancer in Africa is rising, with a reported age-standardized incidence rate of 37.9 per 100,000 women in 2018, leading to 168,690 new cases and 74,072 deaths Breast cancer burden in Africa: evidence from GLOBOCAN 2018

Notably, early onset breast cancer (diagnosed before age 45) is particularly prevalent among African women, with rates of 51.7% compared to 15.6% in other populations Molecular characterization of early breast cancer onset to understand disease phenotypes in African patients.

Childbirth, also known as labour, parturition and delivery, is the completion of pregnancy where one or more babies exits the internal environment of the mother via vaginal delivery or caesarean section (Childbirth).

I was a PhD student (once upon a time), and as much as I loved my research topic, I admit that I HATED academic rules. I hated the pressure that perusing a PhD put in our shoulders, this background tedious running anxiety that I don’t hear enough people talking about and about its effects on mental health of junior researchers, but that’s for another article.

I found my rhythm of study very cyclic, very changing, never was able to have a solid routine that I was able to maintain. This bothered me, I felt challenged by my own self!!!  how can I not follow the rules that I was taught as a kid of how to peruse my studies. The rules of study hard every day for long hours, and then the external validation of everyone that this is it, PhD is hard like that, it is boring like that 😊 but like why?

Besides my best efforts to follow the rules, work hard every day, long hours every day, I FAILED big time. I found myself doing many other activities, social work, a part time job, new projects, yoga, art class, ……etc and the more I had fun and just being the rebel that I am ALL MY LIFE of going in the other directions of the rules, the more new ideas flew to me in my research, the more I felt I am going in the right track.

And I came to notice (FINALLY) that my PhD research was something that I was creating just like a painting in art class, a healthy dish of food or an article in my Blog!!

What a discovery? ha, sometimes the obvious truth is in the blind spot of our vision maybe because it is so restricted and so obstructed that we cannot see it clearly or come to realise it.

And when I started relating to my research like this, everything changed. I allowed myself my rhythm. My rhythm as a woman, and this is something I want to talk about today.

I have been reading recently about the lives of two women that I highly admire. The Swedish abstract painter Hilma af Klint and the American poet Emily Dickinson.

(Hilma af Klint)

(Emily Dickinson)

Hilma spent long years practising her spirituality in her art and Emily long years of writing her poetry. I cannot find the words to describe the excellence these two women had in their craft, and it is something that doesn’t need lots of explaining. But for me how they spent their lives following their creative impulse is what has come to fascinate me and inspire me.

They followed the impulse with it’s intensity, it’s passion, and it’s honesty.

Both women earned recognition after their deaths (of course our inheritance of sexism and its injustices) but the most form of oppression we suffered as women is in our creativity and the way that in today’s world, we are not allowed to follow it.

Yeah, I repeat in our creativity. Having ownership of it, harnessing it, and giving birth to many things because this is what we are here to do. Our function of giving birth is not only related to birthing children (as much as it is wonderful and amazing) but we were oppressed in our creativity. The patriarchal system is a man-made system. It suits how men function (not all men also to be fair) but as women we are not created to function in rigid systems or rigid platforms of following the rules. We have cycles, and to function and give our best potential we need to follow those cycles in our creative process.

Like Hilma and Emily, we as women are intense when it comes to our creativity. I notice it as a pulse, that pushes, and an act of giving birth after lots of preparations (as gestation process).

I think this article is to be continued.