O my beloved human, will you moon-gaze with me? Will you stargaze with my soul? Will you talk about Rigel, about Sirius, about Capella, about Europa, about Alpha Tauri?
O my beloved human, will you experience otherworldly experiences with me? Will you search with me for the alien code theory in terms of spirits? Will you go mad with me over this absolutely perfect world, built on perfect rules and regulations, to the levels of antimatter?
O my beloved, will you try infusing and extracting teas from my favorite daisies, lavenders, and hibiscus plants from our garden? Will you taste my food when I am creating new recipes? Will you create your own in a ‘sit and watch me do that’ competition of things made in love, in life?
How can you love someone who hates himself so perfectly, so explicitly, so enraged-ly, so violently, so destructively, disturbingly, devouring-ly, mercilessly, venomously, painfully, demonically, diabolically, and humanly that even hate despisesany interaction with their being? I am asking this on behalf of my heart.
Ramadan comes and goes, but some people remain untouched, unmoved, unchanged. They fast from food but not from cruelty, recite verses but never pause to understand them.
They rush through thirty chapters as if tallying marks on a scorecard, as if faith is something to be completed, not lived. They worry about missing a prayer but not about the words they spit like venom between rak’ahs.
They keep their stomachs empty but feed their egos, keep their lips sealed from water but not from backbiting, cursing, breaking souls with sharp tongues and sharper stares.
And yet, they are the first to judge, the first to weigh your sins, the first to decide if God will ever love you. They decide your hell and heaven as if God decrees according to their wishes.
They do not see the filth in their own hearts, but they will carve your flaws into stone, recite them like a sermon, make you believe that your faith is in their hands, that your worth is measured by their approval.
They have never tasted patience, never held gratitude in their palms, never known what it means to truly fast. Because Ramadan may have entered their homes, their mosques, their routines—but it has never once entered their hearts.
May we never be among those whose lips touch religion but whose souls remain dry, whose hands count religious obligations but whose hearts remain starved—who utter words they do not understand, who talk about others religions but hardly practice their own. May God save us from sins that will consume our mountains of good deeds on the Day of Judgment.
In life, there are no heroes and no villains. I dislike dramas and movies because, in stories, there is just one fixed villain or more than one villain, and there is one fixed hero or more than one hero, and they remain just villains and heroes for the rest of their lives until the writer bothers with a redemption arc. Life is not this black and white.
Life comes in greys. I have always said this. In life, there are no heroes and no villains, just ordinary people mishandling other people. There are people mishandling their potential to be human.
There are people who will be villains in some stories and will be human and heroes in other stories. And there will be heroes who will mess up humanity and be even worse than villains, either for themselves or for someone else. So, in life, there are only grey people. And I want the world to see itself in this grey color.
Because we either label someone as a villain and hate them devotedly, or we label people as heroes and expect all the impossible things from them as if they cannot mishandle us. It’s not people’s job to properly handle us. It’s them trying to navigate through life in their own ways, which can make them good or bad.
Perhaps this is why I find it exhausting to place my faith in the illusion of heroes or despise the idea of villains with unwavering certainty.
People are not statues carved into roles; they are rivers, ever-changing, shaped by the landscapes they flow through. People, like rivers, do not remain the same. They shift, bend, and break under the forces that shape them.
Some go through meandering—gradual, quiet changes, their course altering over time through the erosion of old beliefs and the deposition of new experiences. Others face avulsion—abrupt, violent shifts that carve a new path in an instant, often leaving behind traces of who they once were.
Life wears people down like water against stone, sculpting them through trauma, fights, and struggles, reshaping them in ways even they don’t always understand. Life shapes the fluvial dynamics of experiences, eroding some, depositing others, and continuously altering their course.
And yet, just as a river never truly stops flowing, people continue forward, adapting to the terrain set before them. No one emerges from life untouched. We are all products of the landscapes we have passed through, carrying within us the remnants of every storm, every flood, and every quiet, steady current that has altered our course.
A villain in one story may have been a child once, dreaming of goodness before life twisted their path. A hero, celebrated and worshipped, may have buried their own sins beneath the weight of their victories.
We all carry shades of grey, slipping between roles we never signed up for. And maybe, just maybe, if we stopped painting people into rigid archetypes, we would finally learn to see them as they are—flawed, unpredictable, and painfully human.
I think you can be a failed star and still protect the whole solar system, still help life thrive, still maintain that balance that ultimately affects the presence of every single thing in existence.
I wonder how this applies to humans who think of themselves as failures—why they do not understand that it’s okay if they cannot be the sun. It’s okay if they are the failed star. It’s okay if they cannot transition from a planet to a star, no matter how big, how beautiful, how amassed they are, or how much effort and struggle they put in.
They are designed to be that planet. They are designed to be the failed stars. Everyone has their own purpose, and they do not have to find it; they have to remember it. It is ingrained in their bones—the purpose.
And then there are brown dwarfs, often called failed stars, which never gather enough mass to sustain nuclear fusion like the sun. They are neither destined to become stars nor decreed to be planets. Yet, they are not useless. They radiate heat, influence the orbits of celestial bodies, and exist as vital pieces in the cosmic puzzle.
They are not mistakes; they are simply what they were meant to be—intermediate, not stars yet not planets either, occupying a space that still matters.
Perhaps humans, too, misunderstand failure. We chase transformation, thinking we must become something else to matter. But maybe purpose is not about becoming; it is about remembering. Even if we are not the sun, even if we are the failed stars, we still hold gravity, still radiate warmth, still shape the lives around us in ways unseen.
It’s okay to be the failed star among planets in a star system, whether it’s solar or another. It’s okay to be a dwarf planet as well. It’s okay to be Jupiter. It’s okay to be Eris. It’s okay to be Haumea.
It’s okay to be anything other than the sun and earth for someone’s existence. The sun isn’t the only force that helps life exist. And the earth is not the only place where life exists.
It’s okay to simply exist—because just existing matters for the universe to exist.
Every girl, at least once, has whispered to herself—if only I were a boy—not for the freedom to dream, but for the ease of being heard.
— Sadia Hakim
There comes a moment in every girl’s life when she wonders—if only I were a boy—because strength shouldn’t have to be proven, and freedom shouldn’t have to be fought for.
— Sadia Hakim
Not because I don’t love being a girl, but because the world would have made it easier—if only I were a boy.
— Sadia Hakim
Every girl has thought it, not for the absence of beauty, but for the absence of barriers—if only I were a boy.
— Sadia Hakim
They label my dreams as terrible acts of rebellion. If only I were a boy—maybe my voice wouldn’t be a disappointment, maybe my dreams wouldn’t be a rebellion.
— Sadia Hakim
Girls don’t wish to be boys; they wish for a world where they don’t have to think—if only I were a boy.
Lovely Seyferts, I am officially launching the Neo-Logophilia Series—a neologism-based poetry project for those who love rare and aesthetic words infused with real-life depth.
This journey began in 2019, when everything led me to pioneer the Blue Academia Project—a space dedicated to my lifelong love for words and the weight they carry.
I have been a logophile since childhood, fascinated by the way language shapes itself into existence, forming meaning out of the intangible. Over time, as my creative direction evolved, I decided to integrate that entire project into a dedicated category on my official website.
This project is more than just poetry; it is a fusion of human depth, language, space, science, knowledge, and learning. For me, this is what contemporary poetry and art truly represent—a boundless exploration of meaning and existence.
What to Expect?
• Rare and powerful words—some coined by scientists, linguists, or existing across different languages.
• New words and translations—created, redefined, or extended by me.
• Poetic expressions that give words a soul—turning language into an art form.
• A word for every feeling, every emotion you carry—You can either use these pages to spill your emotions or simply let that one word become a substitution for all the chaotic thoughts in your heart or mind. The choice is yours.
Each word I integrate into my poetry is crafted into a specific artistic and emotional expression, making it uniquely mine. Since a distinct expression of a word carries creative originality, it is inherently copyright-protected. In academia and literature, redefining or extending a word’s meaning is recognized as an intellectual contribution.
While simple words belong to no one, creating a new word or assigning a unique meaning to an existing one falls under copyright protection when integrated into a creative work. This means that while not every word is intellectual property, the words I specifically coin, redefine, or uniquely integrate into my poetry and writing are undeniably my intellectual property and I want you to respect that.
Welcome to the Neo-Logophilia Series, where words are more than letters—they are entire worlds waiting to be felt.
A word for every feeling, a thought for every heart!
Scientists—they forgot to derive the equation of love.
— Sadia Hakim
The Symbols of Love: A Scientific Metaphor
— Quantum Entanglement
In quantum mechanics, Einstein called it “spooky action at a distance”. Two particles, once connected, remain intertwined beyond space and time.
So is love — no matter the distance, the souls remain bound, responding to each other in ways unseen, untouchable, but undeniable.
— Gravitational Attraction
Newton’s law states that every mass pulls on another with an inescapable force. Love, too, is gravity — drawing hearts closer, keeping them in orbit. The stronger the connection, the harder it is to drift apart.
— Love as Superposition
A quantum state exists in many possibilities until observed. Love, too, exists in infinite versions — every universe, every timeline, every whispered what if.
— Time Dilation
Einstein taught us that gravity slows time near massive objects. Love, the heaviest force of all, does the same—when you are with the one you love, time stretches, moments linger, and the world seems to pause.
But when you look back, it feels like it all passed too quickly, slipping away like a dream.
— The Singularity of Love
A singularity — where physics collapses, where equations break.
Love is that impossible point where all logic dissolves, where distance ceases, where time bows, where two become one — infinitely, irreversibly, eternally.
The Equation of Love — poetic derivation
Scientists spend lifetimes solving equations, but they forget the one that truly matters — the equation of love.
Scientists forget to derive the equation of love.
— Sadia Hakim
So, let’s derive the equation of love.
1. Love is Quantum Entanglement
Two souls, like entangled particles, once connected, remain inseparable — no distance, no time can break them.
Love exists beyond space, beyond logic. Wherever you are, I am.
2. Love is Gravity
Like binary stars locked in orbit, pulled by an invisible force, we fall — closer, deeper, endlessly.
The smaller the distance, the stronger the force. Love is a gravity that no force can counteract.
3. Love is Superposition
It exists in every universe, every possibility, every state of matter. We are here. We are there. We are everywhere.
Even when unseen, love is never absent — just waiting to be observed.
4. Love is the Event Horizon
A singularity of emotions, pulling everything in, beyond which time stretches into eternity.
Love bends time, distorts reality. Inside its pull, past and future blur.
Final Equation: The Singularity of Love
As distance vanishes, love becomes infinite. As time stretches, love becomes eternal. It is the force that bends the universe, the constant that even science cannot define. And yet — we feel it.
کبھی اپنی عادتوں، عداوتوں، نفرتوں اور رویوں کی تلخیوں سے کسی کو زندگی سے اتنا مت تھکا دینا کہ اسے مرنا آسان لگے۔ اپنے کینوں سے کسی کو رشتوں سے مت ڈرانا۔
کسی کے اندر اعتماد سے نفرت مت بھر دینا۔ کسی کا بھروسے پر بھروسہ نہ توڑ دینا۔ کسی کو تنہائی کا نشئی مت بنا دینا۔ کسی کے خوابوں کو اپنی تلخ حقیقتوں کے زہر سے مت بجھا دینا۔
کسی کی روشنی کو اپنی تاریکی میں دفن مت کر دینا۔ کسی کے دل کو اتنا بوجھل مت کر دینا کہ وہ زندگی کے ہر رنگ سے بیگانہ ہو جائے۔ اپنی سختی سے کسی کو اتنا کمزور مت کر دینا کہ وہ خود کو بےوقعت سمجھنے لگے۔
کسی کے اندر محبت کے لیے زہر مت بھر دینا کہ وہ ہر نرم دل کو دھوکہ سمجھے۔ کسی کے احساسات کو اتنا نہ روندنا کہ وہ پتھر بن جائے۔ کسی کی امیدوں کو اپنی ناقدری سے اتنا مت توڑ دینا کہ وہ خواب دیکھنا چھوڑ دے۔
کسی کے وجود کو اپنی بےحسی میں اتنا گم مت کر دینا کہ وہ خود کو غیر ضروری سمجھنے لگے۔ کسی کو لفظوں کے زخم اتنے گہرے مت دینا کہ خاموشی ہی اس کی پناہ بن جائے۔
کسی کے درد کو اتنا معمولی مت سمجھنا کہ وہ اپنے ہی درد سے شرمندہ ہو جائے۔ کسی کے جذبات کو اپنی سختی سے اتنا بےجان مت کر دینا کہ وہ زندگی کو بوجھ سمجھنے لگے۔
سعدیہ حاکم
Never push someone with your hostility, hatred, and actions to the point where death feels like an escape. Do not let your jealousy and toxicity make someone fear relationships.
Do not fill someone’s heart with so much distrust that they begin to hate trust itself. Do not shatter someone’s faith in loyalty. Do not turn someone into an addict of loneliness.
Do not extinguish someone’s dreams with the poison of your harsh realities. Do not bury someone’s light within the darkness of your own soul.
Do not weigh down someone’s heart so much that they become indifferent to all the colors of life. Do not harden someone to the extent that they start believing they have no worth.
Do not poison someone’s heart against love to the point where they see every gentle soul as a deception. Do not trample someone’s emotions so harshly that they turn to stone.
Do not break someone’s hopes with your indifference to the point where they stop dreaming altogether. Do not let your apathy make someone feel so unseen that they start believing they don’t matter.
Do not wound someone with words so deeply that silence becomes their only refuge. Do not belittle someone’s pain so much that they begin to feel ashamed of their own suffering.
Do not drain someone’s emotions with your harshness to the extent that life itself feels like a burden.
— Quantum Entanglement
— Gravitational Attraction
— Love as Superposition
— Time Dilation
— The Singularity of Love