“A Hand to be Held” by Imaan Siddiq

I close my eyes shut,

In the hope of a face.

A face I long to see.

A voice I haven’t yet heard.

A scent that makes me grin,

And the embodiment of a beautiful soul.

I can’t help but contemplate upon the thoughts previously contemplated upon,

Through the ravines of time,

And the brains of wisdom,

And the hearts of love.

I can’t seem to fathom,

The fact that they come to rest in my broken, bleeding arms.

The fact that they come to live in my corrupted mind.

I look down with embarrassment,

At my own flaws, at my own inferiority.


It is then when,

I wish to see the one that inspires the feeble virtue in me,

The one that looks down at me,

And grins at me, knowing the nature of my non-existent mind.

I close my eyes,

In the incessant wish to see a figure,

A figure of hope, light, comfort and warmth,

Someone who takes me up in their arms and says it is fine.

A soul which has itself been through trials and tribulations,

But wide enough to hold the regrets of another human soul.


I hesitate for a split second,

And wonder if I am worthy or not.

But it all comes back to me,

The sins I have committed, the vice in me,

And the hearts of the people I have let down.

It aches again, the accustomed throbbing of the lifeless stone.

I overlook the pain,

And oversee that which tends to show itself,

A mixture of black and white, a greyness of utopian ideals.

It is then when I long to feel the warmth,

Of the one that felt in a similar way,

A feeling perhaps,

A touch,

A sentiment,

A flicker of the eyes,

A gentle smile,

Or even a hand to be held.

– Imaan Siddiq



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