The time it takes.

The storm you sent,

my way, retreated;

gracefully swirled round,

back your way.

I tamed it with

an ounce of wisdom,


a whiff of smiles.

While the weeds,

you let grow, pull you down;

your storm brews,

I its new Master.

©2014. Habiba Danyal


This poetry answers the question:

What time is it?

in 42 words.




This year I figured that success is actually three steps away.

1. You take the first step. Purely an impulsive act.

2. You may be pushed back, way back than from where you started. Rejection that you need to accept gracefully.

3. Try a leap this time because you realized earlier that a step wont do. Persistence and determination do the trick, if you’ll take my word.

Bingo! You have what you wanted the most, ergo success.

Proudly announcing, that Precipice Volume 3, A literally Anthology of Write On Edge, is now available for pre-order, with a release date of 11.17.2014, courtesy the Bannerwing Books.

This year’s theme “Boundaries” was open to contributions from authors all around the world. The contributing authors granted the honor of publication include :


Duffy Batzer

Valerie Boersma

Shelton Keys Dunning

Sara Healy

Dina Honour

Ashley Kagaoan

Laura Lord

Jennifer Williams

Elizabeth Yon


Elaine Alguire

Melissa Kirtley

Morgan Kellum

Andrea Mowery

Kristin Shaw

Janice Wilberg


Habiba Barry

Angie Kinghorn

Kirsten Piccini

Find my words and their’s in:



Print editions will be available for purchase on 12.1.2014. The pre-order link is:

Happy Reading!

©2014. Habiba Danyal



Won’t let you fall,

she said;

but at the brink,

of the colossal wall,

of the cliffs that stood,

in no-man’s land,

at the edge of patience,

as she held his hand,

she said;

go down the trench,

where I was sent.

©2014. Habiba Danyal


Gargleblasted 42 words for:

This week’s question is:

What did she tell you?


Unkempt Flowers

Where have all the flowers gone,

that rebelliously raised their heads,

beneath the ashen sky.

Albeit the sky held no promises,

of rain besides that of fire

and days save those of murk.


Where have all the flowers gone,

whose only crime, an attempt to breathe

and spread their petals in the free air.

Albeit the air was full of smog,

from the shower of hurtling missiles

and the raining deathly pellets.


Where have all the flowers gone,

whose only wish a chance at life

and a chance to bloom and dance.

Albeit the life cheated them,

of the right to deep sleep of dreams

and days of blissful calm.


Where have all the flowers gone,

who were made to witness the worst of you,

the worst of me and humanity.

We in denial, the cowardly spectators,

lulled by the phoney perception,

that our flowers, our gardens are safe?

©2014. Habiba Danyal


 “The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis.”
― Dan BrownInferno

For Yeah Write Weekly Challenge#170, Summer Series.



Reek of flesh, burnt

by chemical weapons


the scent of sprouting dandelions

species evolve, nations riot

billions born

and billions dead

thousand illusions cast

a thousand political master plans laid

all nullified by

twenty-two men chasing a ball,

made in Pakistan.

©2014. Habiba Danyal


42 words for Gargleblaster#169. This week’s question is:

What does it all add up to? 





Lie spread-eagled.

Could you be more vulnerable? More welcoming?

Embrace the night sky.

Be one with it. Will yourself to fuse.

Let your soul rise, leave the shell behind.

Remember the suffering humanity?

There! You can see more stars.

Sorrow multiplies beauty.

©2014. Habiba Danyal

Exactly 42 words for: Gargleblaster at yeah write #155



Withered I was by the norms of your world,

oppressed, battered and beguiled,

marred by sati my body was, massacred by rape, my soul

anguish, if you say you have experienced?

nay sir, how naïve you have been.

Where ignorance is our master, there is no possibility of real peace.

– Dalai Lama

Happy International Women’s Day to all those women lucky enough to read this and curtsy to those who weren’t ignorant enough to notice that it is an acrostic poem.

©2014. Habiba Danyal