For Each Other

By S. H. Miah

The latest poetry collection from S. H. Miah. An evocative voyage through marriage, from one heartfelt poem to the next.

 

Told from anonymous him and her perspectives, this collection of 200+ poems encapsulates marriage from beginning to end. The sparks, the fights, the glimpses of paradise.

Holistic in its scope, S. H. Miah leaves no stone unturned as he explores the journey of a Muslim marriage with lyrical prowess.

Both heart-wrenching yet soothing, allow a poetic journey to lead you through the high, lows, and everything in between. Rhythmic poetry through half your deen, in a manner never before seen.

 

An inspirational and poetic tale of Muslim marriage. And a narrative that will wrench your soul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Muslim Fiction Project
• Release date: Jun 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223341550

Book preview

For Each Other

a poetic journey through marriage

S. H. Miah

Muslim Fiction Project

Copyright © 2023 by S. H. Miah

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This publication is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Her

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Afterword

Newsletter

About S. H. Miah

About MFP

Her

Mum came up to me

The other day.

Told me,

"Shuna, you have

To get married."

I balked at her,

Eyes wide,

Suddenly timid.

That topic of discussion

Was never on the remit.

Not yet, I said,

Face turning red,

Heart beating faster

Than a ringtone.

"It's the twenty-first

Century," I said.

"Let me have my career,

Then worry about

The other gender then."

Mum gave me

A disapproving look.

"Your husband is your

Jannah. Do you not

Think of that?"

I don't care, I said.

Then guilt struck

My heart. Sorry,

I muttered.

Mum was all I had left.

I couldn't tear her apart.

I'll think on it, I said.

Think long and hard.

But I knew, deep

Down, within the crevices

Of myself, that I

Would never accept

A man in my life,

Ever since Dad left,

Abandoning his child and wife.

Him

Thursdays felt like the worst days.

I'd wake up at six in the morning,

Roll out of bed whilst yawning,

Then inch out of my room, body aching.

One day a week I worked at Uncle's factory.

The other six days at his Indian restaurant.

We weren't even from India, instead from

North Africa, but that didn't matter to Uncle Nadeem.

All he cared about was money, and making sure his

Free labour—me—did everything properly.

Wednesdays were the days I spent at the factory,

Toiling away, muscles crying from the pain,

But I had to do it to earn my stay at Uncle Nad's house.

His wife, Aunt Jas, was my father's sister. After

My father passed, she begged Uncle Nad to

Take me in since I'd just been orphaned.

Uncle Nad had been reluctant, glancing at me

With a level of contempt I'd never before seen.

Can you work? he asked. Back then I wasn’t even a teen.

Sure, I said, grief pulling me apart at the seams.

Anyways, back to Thursdays, the worst day of the week.

I stumbled down the stairs, eyes bleary and red.

The factory closed at eleven, but I had to stay over instead

To make sure everything was ready and well kept.

Less sleep, more work, starting at nine o’clock.

On the dot, of course, Uncle never gave me an off.

I sat down for breakfast, Cheerios with milk that sploshed.

My face felt splotched, tiredness sinking and hot.

Aunt Jas came in, gave me a kiss on the head.

I smiled. At least someone cared for me in this world.

She sat down after making her coffee, a thick and rich blend.

Another day, huh? she said, stirring the sugar in.

Did you expect anything else? With a sigh, I said.

"Not really. But sometimes, you'd like a change.

I'm old now, so I can't really expect that. But you,

You're young, you've got your whole life ahead."

Aunt Jas was cool, not a miserable old wrench

Like my Uncle, who could never take a joke,

Never laugh, never smile, always frown, always vile.

But he gave me a roof over my head, so I had bits of gratitude.

Just before breakfast finished and I got ready for work,

Aunt Jas placed a hand on my arm. I turned

To look at her, and there was an odd look in her eyes.

I need to speak to you after work, she said.

About what? I replied. But that was

All she said. She removed her hand, then began

Making Uncle's breakfast. Pancakes with tea

And three biscuits, neatly displayed for the master.

I waded my way through the hallway, grabbed my coat.

It was autumn now, the sun's peak finally stopped.

The taste of a new beginning settled on my tongue,

And as I worked, Aunt Jas' words were all I wondered about.

Her

Mum still didn't let the issue go.

She stopped me by

The refrigerator, cold.

Gave me the stare of doom.

She'd been watching me,

Observing, trying to

Break my resolve.

Why did she want

Me to get married anyway?

It’s not like