Sara HakeemSara Hakeem

Working Note

I never plan to write, the words just come to me.  If I try to force it, it never comes out right; it sounds contrived.  However, waiting for inspiration to hit me has its problems because I rarely have a pen and paper handy!  I only write about things I feel passionate about.

Faith('s) Lies in Worship

DOOM doom.   DOOM doom.
Open palms fall on aching breasts.
My hand falls too
In rhythm.

But no doom issues from my chest;
All I hear
is the sound
Together we perpetuate the myth.

My ears ring with the pulsing beat.
Faster, louder goes this
Idiot’s Tale.

The chanting follows its own path,
Its own mind,
Its own rhythm:


No longer individuals
They lose themselves,
Assimilate themselves,
Dissolve themselves in Rhythm.

I feel myself slipping too
And I notice my chest is aching more,
My hand falling harder.

They are crying.
Am I?
I want to.
Above the resounding male voices
A voice, as yet un-a-bassed, rises
Louder than the rest.
And I want to cry.

The woman next to me cries.
She mourns the loss of martyrs.
And I mourn the loss of innocence
And free thought
And individuality.

The rows of brightly covered heads are bowed
And mascara streaks down,
Raining across their painted faces,
Leaving watery grey smudges on my own.
I perpetuate the myth of belief.
They perpetuate the myth of brand-name Worship.

Which is the greater fault?

Bio: I am 15-years old, and a junior at Clements High School.  I love reading, dancing, listening to music, and, of course, writing.  I’d like to be a physical therapist specializing in dance-related injuries.

Afghan Writing Feature

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