Follow the One

Have you struggled like so? When enough was too much and too much not enough? When this said don't and that said go for it? The places you reached were not there yet and the places you still had to reach had long been gone. You put it in your mouth but there was nothing to chew on, and you kept chewing and chewing and chewing but there was nothing but bile in your throat and polluted air seeping silently into your lungs. Have you ever felt like running with the wind in your hair, everything passing you by, but when you look down at your feet your knees refuse to budge and your back is paralysed. When your arms were picking up the weight of the world but when you looked down at your hands they were blue and white, empty and cold. Do your veins play hide and seek with the eyes or does the needle easily pass through? Does the air feel too thin to breathe or is it too heavy that you feel suffocated? The hair on your head stands sometimes while you wish it stroked your back like silk, and hers lay in a tangled silky knotted mess when she tried to curl it up into curls that you thought were a mess. Was that the sound of someone casually walking into your heart or was that the door you had banged shut, being rattled and torn by all those you refused to let in; why do they cause you such stress, what is it that puts you under such inexplicable duress? The eyes keep looking at beauty while beauty its own tale keeps spinning on. It pays a visit to their doorstep, goes into all houses and surrenders itself to the horizons and valley of the world, but every time it hears you seek it in yourself it leaves the mirror blank and the heart distressed. Do you like the colour of all things around you? Do they tell you of wonders galore? Your ears listen to everyone speak but no one can hear the thud of voices that tingle and tangle within your minds silent screams. The mouth refuses to move and the tongue remains chained. The mouth begins to speak but the voice cannot exclaim. So follow the words of The One. Leave behind all else, and everyone. Many moons have risen and fallen all at the command of The One. Your sun and shade too will one day at His direction come; insha'Allah - Ameen.




* Inspired by Follow the Sun, by Caroline Pennel, from the movie To the Bone

Verbal Blows

Is there no softness to your being?
Not a kind word,
Not a kind look,
Nothing?
Be not so absorbed in yourself!
Please?
You are supposed to be precious.
To her, to me, to us.
Why make it so difficult?
We beg for ‘your’ forgiveness
from the One Who Forgives
But not everyone else will.
And this shall remain a constant fear
In our hearts that pray
For you to soften,
Your words to soften,
Your being to soften…
‘Ya Muqallib Al-Quloob
Oh Turner of hearts,
Please make all that is hard in him
soft.’
Ameen.

You Are What You Make Yourself... ?

Insipidness rolls and lolls, and within it's dumbstruck numbness is confined an immeasurable restlessness... An absurd feeling so non tangible and inexplicable, that the mind wants to shut down into a vacant mode, for time not bound by any human standards. Waiting for a 'that' that seems not to be happening, hoping on a 'one' which is not available, wanting every 'this' that the mind cannot seem to fathom - thus rushing back into the mystical painfulesque numbness that has become a sturdy safe shell of abode for now... hovering be as it may.

You, are what you make yourself. To become it, that what you want to, is on the road ahead; albeit with no guarantees.

Hasbey Allaho Wanemal Wakeel...


Khair inshaAllah.

An Ending, A Beginning, Or An Interim?

To connect the dots, sat down did she

Lost in mid air; her strokes incomplete

Where to from here, knew not did she

Albeit with an unimaginable stock of resolve

Moved on, trepidatiously

Such is life and Allah swt always Knows Best.

Enough, Please?

Lost...

with my heart pounding

silently trying to let my feelings...

Exhaust.

Upset...

with emotions topsy turvied asunder

trying to be fair and respectful...

Unrest.

Diseased...

with intermittent bouts of malice

ununderstood by any balance...

Broken.

Time...

with undue duress has shown

different sides to his neanderthal bone...

Dissipate.

Resolve...

with patience try to swallow pain

praying for only goodness to remain, and...

Wait.

To Be Awakened Again...

These faint murmurs whispering, deep inside somewhere, leave the vista blank. Discharged batteries is what the self seems to be running on, refusing to spark up a sputter more. Coughing up a semblance of courage to hope on untrod grounds is becoming a little too tasking as the days pile on by wearily; weary is left the heart, as weary is left the body in all's wake. The mind refuses to entirely cave in just yet.  

What is it that your prayers speak? 

Sometimes I don't know how I got here, except for a surety in knowing it had something to do with my own choices - except that I cannot seem to find a bridge sturdy enough to bank on, between that me and the me now.  

When did the bridge come undone? Could it not be mended? Does it really wish to be so? 

To what avail, know not I,
But for now lay these murmurs to rest must I,
For slumber harkens out loud to be tended to thus.
Perchance in a dream I shall awaken again...

Flustered & Numbed?

Tick-Tock of the memory clock raises the little fine hair at the back of her neck. This anxiety has the power to cripple her and what remains of her senses off late, but she manages to abate it all chanting to the words that she holds on to really tight, lest even they desert her.

No, please God, no! I mustn't let the devil whisper into my ears again! Many a times he has left me stranded, feeling a fool for having fallen for his treachery, but not again please! I beseech Ye, my All and Everything! Please save me from my own musings, for a deep ache has taken hold of everything and just about anything that exists in my now.

Recriminations I want not to linger with, Anger I want not to feel, Frustrations I want not to battle - Oh Dear Magnificent and Most Merciful One - please take me under your Shade and make it all feel better?

~Ameen.

And with a giant heave, she silences herself for as long as this while will exist...

An Elusive Escape

Far away from your normal; this is where the mind wishes to go to. Free from the craziness that refuses to stop spurting out at you in mad bursts which make little sense - if at all. Mundane every days that are infused with moments demanding outrageous amounts of patience, creep out from every nook and cranny, which the naked eye cannot even begin to fathom... when you least expect it - BAM!

You breathe in...
You breathe out...

You egg yourself on, to not bend over, not react, but to go on, staggering yet standing tall - as tall as tall can in such circumstances let you get away with. Where does one turn to in order to soak up on a reserve of energy and patience that at times like such seems alarmingly dwindling? Turn one's heart back up to their Maker Sublime and beg for rations that can help cope with such obtuse requirements, for otherwise functioning human aid seems like its knees are diligently being knocked at. So much so, that it could cave thus, any moment now - time is ticking on by in her head, like a set of dynamites waiting to combust at the harkening of just one defining click.

To smithereens all shall come to rest.

Anger Management

In a tiny little box she lives, surrounded by big cluttering voices. When from this tiny box her voice spills, there are few ears or eyes that spot it. In her tiny space she fills, thoughts of all their seemingly arrogant vices. In her age old heart, that's thoroughly tilled, she fills remains of logical advices. Her feelings and thoughts constantly abrogated and callously tossed aside; her musings depreciated and her sanity left locked up in why's. An inexplicable red she sees and this amounts up to even herself scare! An abnormal rage she fights to save herself from its scorching all consuming flare. In her tiny little box she rushes back to stifle, confine and hopefully tame these foreign by intensity non-tangible's before they render her lost to herself...

Walls

Brick by brick the walls are tumbling down. Years of sweat being washed away? Voices of old that used to speak, today lie quivering - feeling weak. Pictures on mantels, walls - all framed; glistening memories of yesterdays remains. Todays all get swept under thread bare rugs. Brooms that hang on to dusty pieces - hankering against letting them go. Airport trips, and moistened feathers with trickled jewels that linger in vain. Wiped shall all be when they return with trophies and degrees of achievements gained. Jobs that consume lives already wrought, leaving tired eyes to see. With broken hearts and heavy souls they wander oblivious to others wretched pleas. Amidst each beating existence exists a trail that is intricately walked upon. And on each trail whilst juggling their own bits, they stumble into the mass of their fragile thunder thoughts. To each his own, when life shall end - not a soul knows of its own destined terrain. Tirelessly they walk, some even fighting sanity's doctrine. What is right or wrong, between voices impolite is lost, and inhumanity's disease is what is left to blame. Brick by brick the walls fall down. Only a handful or two, in the end still stand - tarnished, yet still perhaps able to start again.

Sabr! E-Illahi !!!

Sense pervades... silence resonates... the within is amassed into confusion... the system ignites... the body it fights... resilience begins to administer, but doesn't always succeed. Some fights are fought, some battles lost, some victories stand hollow despite succeeding. Emotions at loss, pains that last, families are stricken yet standing. Generations mean nothing sometimes, all gets wiped out, and nothing remains... no one to even remember.Your battles with in, you fight fear, you wont let it creep in, but disease listens only to Allah, and to Him we must surrender. In hidden signs, lies the better good. In resilient faith stands the test of time. In patience hides real strength. All things Good or Bad in this lifetime are but for so long...Tomorrow, is but a breath away from not happening, and yet - Tomorrow is but a breath away from how we choose for it to become. It all depends on how we see it, and how much we are blessed to see. It all hangs in the balance of how much we open our hearts, minds, eyes, ears and souls to accept.

To Him we belong and to Him is our return. May it be smooth, may it be bountiful, with Right on our side through this ragged, jagged, mysterious journey. And while on this traipse, we beg: Sabr - E - Illahi !!!

May the Lost be Found!

Blatant disregard for another,

Be it mother, son, wife, or brother,

Sister? HAH!

Daughter saw little care

The one's who did

May Allah reward everyone's fair share

In his heart knows not man what lies

In the wake of his manners

Many a hearts do though cry

Massive stones have been turned

Perhaps one day this one shall too

Insha'Allah may Mercy be Granted

To patience abound that stands in lieu,

May the lost be Found

Before their time comes due,

May the lost be Found

Before their time comes due,

May the lost be Found

Before their time comes due...

... Ameen!

Uninspired

This was not her call

She was not enthralled

Opaque windows, tinted bygones

On a road yonder

A wanderer in her heart she found

Barricades risen like blooming hail

Wishy -washy thoughts amidst them sail

Amidst the cries that laugh and hurl

Words hollow, blows unfurled

Tinsel town with intricate shadows

Names like tags on pages followed

This was not her call

She was not enthralled

Even on fingers they lasted not;

Numbers few, remained through life's cast

Haunts That Taunt; Salvation Sought!

You've done this before, and You'll help again; again and again, as many times as help shall be needed or sought. With this faith I find myself able to survive. It is the crossroads that I have arrived on again. The before has become alive now, and this now is harder to forget than it was before. Could it be that I had been so successful in dealing with the gravity of it all in the past, that I have forgotten the struggle of it then? Could it be possible that the struggle anew is to remind myself of the good that can come of it, if successfully dealt with again? What fails to make sense is, why that? Why that, which no one else would understand unless they were to have lived it, seen it, or been through something akin to it themselves? Someone who is not aware of the issue can never understand the issue. Between this logic I see a thin road that is hard for all to tread. Barely any are able to find a foothold firm enough to get past a step or two at best. The test for me remains, to keep my silence and maintain respect despite the odds. My love for her lives in my soul, for her to know, for Him to bless, and for me to be able to successfully share with her. This I find hard, but am adamant to achieve it, sooner than later. It is the silently monitored respect for the other half that I find interspersed between a better me and a weak me. The better me had succeeded in forgiving, but the weaker me could not forget. The better me had managed to bury if not forget for most part, but the weaker me has managed to let it trickle back into my now as it stands today. It's unwelcome presence in my now is affecting my better judgment and making me more weaker than better. My fight against the weaker me, is essential for me to be able to find some peace for my eternity. Without that goal to achieve, my existence feels lost and wasted. In the trapped hollow of that one wretched WHY, I cannot allow myself to despair and excuse all my wrongs. While being judged for my weaknesses, I pray for a renewal of strength, faith, and guidance from You, The One Who Knows Best, and to be saved from losing my way on the slippery road of pride and its other wretched brethren. In Your All Empowering Light I hope to be Enveloped, In Your All Healing Embrace I pine to be Held.

In aspirations thus I let my tears glide over my guilt and wrong doings that I am aware of, or not, and with this prayer I struggle towards some residue of peace to be found...

... InshaAllah, Ameen!

Asunder

She needs to walk out of the door. Not look back or try to compromise with her thoughts. Where they lie in their present state becomes apparent when she hears that in her sleep she cried and tried to beg for something that only made her cry some more. What could be plaguing her mind; perhaps a deeply rooted, recently molested rudely awoken state of duress? The pains she imagines, and consistently gets told that she does nothing but imagine them, live inside her body - surely they exist. Perhaps time in its mystical way will unfold what is to be. It will unfold what is to be! Perhaps is just my denial. It stems from the untapped fear of it all being too late, by the time reality comes to terms with it all. Maybe's and What-if's together comprise the main ingredient that concocts and brews this dilemma into a froth of mayhem inside her fabric of being leaving it thoroughly wrought, plundered; asunder.

Puppets

The bellowing twist that is embodied by you, is all empowering as it holds all that should be under your care and love, with tight hurting strings instead. Each string you seem to have intricately woven into a tight knot of control for every twitch and breath that may ever dare to escape them. The emotion and action that you seem to beguile your own with, seem to have swept away under an unseen rug of mystery all that is understanding or kind in a way desperately needed. No memory succeeds in remembering if they ever existed to begin with. The ever fair minded heart that beats with in one of yours, wishfully thinks that just may be perhaps all were missing an integral piece to your logic, but sense precedes over this naive hopeful heart's magnanimous yet deceived reasoning. When sense prevails, a buried memory can't help but remember how you once raped her soul of it's very breath and being, but she quickly tucks it back into the gloom of dark denied captivity where it best remain before a tsunami of inexplicable thoughts plunder an untrod zone that renders every sense that could be hoped for, into a numbed state of irrevocable shock. You, in your mistaken guise of King, remain failing in my eyes today when I see you lash, lash, and constantly clash with all who and that, that make sense; when most things around you seem to be turning to gloom; when fear's the dominant emotion super ceding care, respect, and love whilst in your company. Two wrongs don't make a right; I fail to convince her, for she has become far too embroiled in your controlling grasp and mostly functions to your loosening or tightening of the strings that you and only you command and control. Futile her own reason and wants become when you wish for her to perform to your precise whims and insanities. Voiceless she has become, voicing often as a result to a preoccupied audience mostly, having lost her voice of reason to your vociferous diatribes and verbose unpleasant insulting atrocities. Her heart, it still shines though. I fear for her luminescence, lest it tires and stops glistening. Your tightly strapped tactics that rampage and gorge uninhibitedly leave gaping holes in places where existed the heart and soul of those who wished to keep emotions and feelings alive. It is indeed worrisome, as to how long they will -each through their dreary worn out weathered to the end of their tethered existence- survive. The wail that silently lurks our halls, day in and out for some time now, is becoming louder and harder to keep out. Silence, her temporary refuge, can only stay resolute for so long. Perhaps if you ceased to exist, the others could? But when has the death of a dictator brought with it lasting peace? It would be only so long before unrest wakes up again. For now I think I will shut my door and block all its crevices again in order to return to my hole of subdued essential silence.

Unimportant Fool

One feels stifled and wonders untiringly so, over the ache that comes from not knowing where to belong; who to belong to. There remains only One constant through all the dries, through all the cries, there remains only One constant one can turn to and cry their angst to. There seems to be no place to call home, there seems to be no person who knows you. In fact, they seem to work like the mechanics of a clock, where in some parts work in desperate compliance while the single or more who dare to defy work under constant emotional abuse to end up in a heaped corner comprised of a wretched mix of perpetual defiance and miserable compliance for the sake of survival. Where does one go when there is a lack of means to get to anywhere but here? What does one do when there is only a lack of possibilities doable that exist? Who does one turn to when there is not a single soul that hears it without derision or insult instead of with patience or even a morsel of respect that it aches to be accorded. How does one fit in a slot when while trying to do so there are constant pins pricking it, drills drilling it, hammers hammering it, and voices vacillating it? What ever cords one manages to nourish, the fatigue amassed from such intense repeats manages to derail and disappoint. Useless, Worthless, Unimportant; one is left to feel. Finding that place and people to belong to exists as a wasted dream. Finding peace in a life away from this world's is all that seems important; is all that one aches for in one's now, inshaAllah...
Ameen!

Fireworked

  

katy perry firework mp3 | lyrics

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She dragged herself out of bed in order to sort out the rifling verbosity that had been streaming with in her head all day... the boom of the song in her ears as she tried drowning out the sounds that pervaded the peace of her being from the outside of her sanctuary... soon to be dismantled and resurrected elsewhere. She did not want to risk profanities and discord to make their way into her already havoc riddled complacence which was her very feeble now. The escaping silent stream that was trickling its way down a crevice warm from currents that had left streaks and creeks in their wake, was derailed; wiped away. She sat up straight with a purpose, or so she thought. When to let it out she sat, escaped they all; scattered and withered much from their excessive abuse today. Reminiscent moments finding their way in at random. Purposes losing their track due to unforeseen troubles... Waylaid? Only time mysterious would know. Dead beat and worn out everything felt. Resolve she mustered yet again and decided to give up trying for now. To silence back she receded... with the boom of the same song in her ears, playing faithfully to a part of her that listened while the rest of her numbed itself back to filling out its crevices and creeks with a warmth that needed some more to flow tonight for reasons she wished not to dissect...

A Breakaway?

BREAKAWAY Lyrics - KELLY CLARKSON

When they're twenty, they dream of dreams, they make plans. They take steps towards them, failing at some, nearing some, achieving some. Yet some, remain struggling and hoping on for some ten odd years or so, standing in a place feeling oh so familiar. Another starting point? Wasn't this where we'd been at when we began dreaming of dreams? Why was it that we seemed to have missed the train when we were at the very same station alongside others who made it? Would my present ails be acceptable had they come 10 years after having been coined with a Mrs before my name? Would they have been more acceptable if they had come after having birthed a few little ones? Would my lack of success at something, anything really, been more acceptable had I an excuse of having put my family's needs before mine? But what if I did? What if I did put my family's wishes before mine? What if I had a lack of support, while not even realizing how short on time I was, in order to set off and achieve my dreams? What if my falls were fewer than my medals? What if my medals were made of love that survived the test of time? What if my tears had been more happy than distraught? What if my emptiness had been full? My guess is, that I would be surmising over something that nevertheless remained not. That I would still be questioning what hadn't been, over looking all that had been. I would still be human and wanting, wishing and jaunting over untapped dreams. I would be unappeased, with most things displeased, pining for anything-everything that sadly remained unfulfilled or shot. Now I am thirty. I think I still dream of dreams, but the difference is that I work very hard at stifling their existence instead of embracing them. I fear that if I accept that I have dreams still, I will lay myself open to pain from them remaining just that, dreams not actualized. I have myself pretty much convinced that I am to be different; that I am to be of those who will not reach where they wish to reach, but remain lost amongst masses of normalcy. That I will remain struggling to find footing, in the while trying to convince those who mean something to me, that I am worthy. And while on this battle amidst my people and people otherwise, I struggle to unmask myself to the self. Unconsciously perhaps, I shall keep dreaming of breaking away from all that has become me in order to dream of dreams and make at least one come true, in a tomorrow that may be exists. A breakaway?

Bedlam

Madness runs riot in bundles here
Vacant emotions stumbling blindly
Thoughtless words pelting like bullets
Stealing away all possible quietness
 
Peace is raped here almost everyday!