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sakina bharmal

@sakindites

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i write.♡

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by @sakindites

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2 months ago

by @sakindites

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3 months ago

let the fierceness of our remembrance of Karbala and Imam Hussain (as) be an assurance to our own selves that though we may be far away, we are never truly separated from our Aqa Hussain! by @sakindites

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4 months ago

wordpress in 2016, substack in 2026 :p
different corner of the internet, same old urge to share my thoughts :D
link in bio :* by @sakindites

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5 months ago

need an english major to compare and contrast this with ada iii😆 by @sakindites

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9 months ago

a collection of pieces written at varying points, that didn’t feel worthy on their own. like me, my words also feel less vulnerable when accompanied. a reminder for me and anyone who this makes sense to: the beauty of stories isn’t in their endings, but in their telling. by @sakindites

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9 months ago

where else does a land embrace you as if you were always meant to return?
only Najaf, only Karbala.
destinations, yes —
but more than that, a homecoming.

the only foreign land that can feel familiar after over 14 years ♡. taken in Iraq by @sakindites

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10 months ago

bleeding in اردو by @sakindites

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a year ago

Ashura is here, أغثني يا حسين by @sakindites

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a year ago

to love is to lament is to live – for Husain (a.s.)

this piece is my personal interpretation of the journey of finding Imam Husain (a.s.) in one’s heart. the metaphor of a seed’s life cycle—planted, sprouting, growing, rooting, blossoming, pollinating, fruiting, and dispersing—mirrors how our connection to Imam Husain (a.s.) grows and deepens across the stages of life.

for many of us, this is our inheritance—the first and the richest legacy we receive. from the moment his name is whispered into our ears, the seed is planted, and its roots sink deeper through every moment we spend doing fāqa, matam, performing ziyarat, listening to waaz, majlis, nohas and marsiyas.

with time, this seed blossoms into a devotion that is both love and lament. these fruits it bears nourishes us spiritually, shaping our identities. eventually, we scatter those seeds ourselves, passing on this inheritance to the next generation—ensuring that the memory of Imam Husain (a.s.) lives on in every heart.

قلبي معك يا حسين by @sakindites

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a year ago

You used to be a person.
Now you're just a memory.

I cling to those memories now,
like I used to –
to you.
The smudge of my fingerprints
on the only photograph I have of you,
from holding it for so long, so often,
is reminiscent of the bruises I left on you—
from holding too tightly,
refusing to let you leave.

I try so hard to conceal my loneliness.
I call it solitude, so I look less pathetic,
make it seem like a choice.
My choice.
But—
but.

They all see me walk,
as only my shadow keeps me company.
It grows smaller
the closer I get to the light.

In the end,
maybe you will do me a kindness,
though I know it is asking too much:
Speak of me.
The girl you knew,
before you couldn’t recognise her anymore.
Speak of her,
so I might remember
one final time. by @sakindites

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2 years ago

felt so good to write again after such a long time. feels even better to be able to share it here. hi! by @sakindites

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2 years ago