Fighting the hole

As I spread my hands before me, with Your many names upon my lips fervently hung over Your attributes of Forgiveness, Giving, Listening, Answering, Knowing, Seeing, Hearing, All Ableness, and so much more... I fixate on the spot that looks like a hole. I see around that hole blessings abound; so many that I cannot count them one by one in thanks... but, I thank You for each and every one of them as only You would Know Best and hopefully Accept. But, the eyes... these woefully-possessed-as-if-uncontrollable-eyes keep getting drawn back to that one speck, which is not a mole, and keep looking at it as a black hole. It seems to have a fluctuating depth of hollow never-endingness or perhaps just a slight bend on the road of many gifts, depends on which state of peace the heart is in. As the soul fervently focuses on thanks and gratitude and humility, the eyes are perturbed by whispers of the devil... the nafs... the humanness? Which, I'll never know. But as the focus comes upon it, in all it's ebbs and flows, all it keeps looking at is that one blessing I could not get to hold on to. It came into my life plenty of times, but only to tempt me, make me weak, ungrateful, and so frustrated... because I could not hold on to it. It keeps piercing into the abyss trying to pull itself out of it, and in the struggle of the jump and the pull, it tires itself of the screams that are it's own recriminations. It slumps into the wet mess of it's own tears and continues thanking The All Knowing Able One Who has Made me who I am, to live the tests that have been written down for me, and hope not to fail, and hope to keep surfacing back up with thanks... For if the gratitude were to be lost, so would all hope of sanity and a blessed Eternity. Ya Ar Rahman Ar Raheem, Ya Ghafoor Ar Kareem - please Hold me as I feel like I am drowning... If You Save me not, I will drown myself in my tears. Please Hush my hankerings and Take me away from my human needs and wants that will suffocate me without Your Intervention. My salvation lies only in Your Holding me and Sufficing me. I plead You to Hold me and Suffice me. Ameen, Ya Dhall Jalaali Wal Ikram.




*Written to Sange Saboor playing out in the background. My Lord being my only Pillar of Patience whereupon I stop to cry.

The missing Rib?

The news keeps telling me there is unrest where you are... My mind thinks about the effects of that, alongside the effects of thoughts of you in my heart here, where it mysteriously pinches and bites. Physically, you nor I can see it. What hurts is knowing that right now in this I am alone. I can pray and find spiritual sanctuary, but my physical form aches to reach out and bridge this distance fast. It wants to walk unruffled, beside the havoc of the strung-out world on display, preciously held within the calm surreal black succour you offered. What you offered may live inside my head for however long it is meant to breathe, as only Allah swt Knows Best. What I beg for, screaming with my insides on fire in my agonising struggle alone, is that promised Mwaddah wa Rahmah, followed by a precious coolness of the eyes, and heart, and mind, and being, insha'Allah ta'Allah. I need more grace than what others see in me, or preach at me. On either ends of that measure I find myself lacking. Take me to him, Ya Allah, whose rib you fashioned me from. My bones wish to be reunited. My being wishes to find home in those arms. My head wishes to rest upon that chest. My heart wishes to hear the synonymous beat. My insides twist with wishes upon wishes not knowing whether this tide will throw itself upon my shore or recede apologetically like all other tides, never to return. One day my shore too will not be left dry. InshaAllah, Ameen.

When Everything Aches

Every part of me feels broken, inside out. Heal all of us who are broken, Ya Allah. Only You Know how. Protect us from all that is evil around us. Only You Know what we need saving from. Ameen Ya Rabb Al Ameen.

Mediocre

Empty and Loud

It’s 1015 pm 

on a weekend night,

In solitary silence I type -

Annoyed by the frivolity of

all that surrounds me.

Texture-less fabrics

Spread out before me,

Reminders of ubiquitous nothings,

Jarring and ringing in my ears,

Reminding me of my insignificance

In everything.

You, Whom I Used To Know...

What is the meaning of this, ''Here today... Gone tomorrow...''

Why are you set on repeat? Teaching a new story each time,

Lessons replete; some unpalatable, some in retrospect meant to be a treat,

What is the meaning of this, ''A part of me, you - yet later - no more?''

Why are you transient; with your lessons of stubborn impermanence!

Oh, the new you's, the old few's - the heart, perplexedly, doth wonder...

* Dedicated to friendships... The song, 'cos the chorus sat well with the sentiment - the rest, enjoyable nevertheless too :D

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.

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...

Malcontentedness

A hunger for more

this quench unappeased

A longing galore

unsatiated or not in reach

this quest for more

A blatant hunt for something dignified

disproportionate samples of all things crucified

this tired bonding seems not for me; no more

A tiresome task, all things normal have begun to bore

disconnected; by myself I wish to remain

this mystical enigma sore

Blame no hearts nor fate

for any thoughts and feelings for things of woe

To something anonymous and deliberately undefined

in a blank maze of maybe's - who know's

this understanding of hunger and unquenched thirst,

let's leave, Incomplete and Irresolute,
In a lid-less box; semi-confined

until a more seemingly appropriate time...

The Seemingly Impenetrable Door

The lock on the door was tricky. Seemed like it budged only to reveal that it was actually jammed. Innately faulty or an engineering defect? One would wonder but would fail to arrive at an acceptable mortally conjured verdict. Sometimes this doorway allowed a tiny peak of light from the other side, viewed for long enough to get one to pine for what it could get a glimpse of, but before the eyes and heart could have a fill of it - it was jarred back tight into its mysterious but age accustomed grooves of familiarity ensuring that the latch was back in place rendering all passage through - surely impossible!

All is as it should be? Perhaps only time can tell. But how impossible could a walk through a door be? How solid or impenetrable could a lock be? Why was this step beyond the a-fore crossed, seeming to become more and more of a tedium? On counting, realisation weighed heavy and divulged thus; the number of diligent attempts to walk past the threshold were on a statistically recorded high, but the breaths which enabled them forward, were definitely not just low in power but also noticeably limited.

One day, to see the other side of the door remained a yearning which silently hoped to be fulfilled in its one blessed lifetime...

InshaAllah, Ameen.

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.

Unlabelled Diagnosis

Uncertainty...

No clarity...
I wonder what people see...

A mystery?
Disparity?
This confusion's testing 

To begin with, questionable sanity.

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

Distrubed Limbo

The cursor on the screen blinks at me while I, in my resigned silence, stare back at it – for how long I know not. The noise, the chaos, the upheaval, the utter disturbance of it all has seeped into my very existence as I painstakingly try to breathe through the insect repellent, cement dust, and chips of wood that have been abandoned and left to waft around at their wily leisure. With a mechanical sweep of the hand I kill a buzzing stray mosquito number infinite, about to mark its territory; with a whack of a kitchen tissue roll, housefly that was waiting by in planned silence to attack by daylight meets its abrupt demise. These 'bugger bys' seem to exist in platoons un-defeatable!

The astounding profundity of getting by another day looms at me. The joke of our everyday existence based on utilities, ergo technology, mocks at me. The tick in the background warns me of precious minutes waning off quicker than fathomable; the beep of a repetitive sound numbingly snickers in seemingly glee at its accomplishment of not letting me find peace in that which really needed to be done. My sight glazes up, my tightly coiled emotions further coil up -alarmingly so- into twisted twists unappeasable! Disdain for all -et all- reeks through my very everything. Why can't all just settle down and let the dust of me breathe? In this wretched not knowing I mask myself and end my sleep weary musings thus…

''Tomorrow, please be kind to me?''

At the shaken end of an unplanned sneeze, I gawk unattached at a confused bit of lint flutter by, akin to my deranged sense of uppity all; inexplicably appalled.

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

free music downloads | music videos | pictures

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...

The Reel Rewound Itself

Her innocence was soiled
Her hopes
Her feelings
Her aspirations too

Then time played its toil
Her feelings uncoiled
And in a him her hopes
Aspired to live through

Her hopes were boiled
Life churned her feelings aside
And him she lost
Giving priority to her religious aspirations

Her innocence was soiled
Her hopes
Her feelings
Her aspirations too

Then time played its toil
Her feelings still coy
A friend found his way through
Giving her hope anew

Her aspirations changed
He played with her games
In hopes unfulfilled she remained
To greener pastures he trod off to leaving her shamed

Her innocence was soiled
Her hopes
Her feelings
Her aspirations too

Then time played its toil
Her emotions uncoiled
To his tune of reassurance
That ignited hope in her aspirations again

He spun his wonderful tales
Once enraptured was she
Truth he then confessed
And on a whole new level broke her entirety

Her innocence was soiled
Her hopes
Her feelings
Her aspirations too

And to time there on thus
No matter what tune life thrust
She heard not their songs
Her feelings froze and no one would she trust

They came for themselves
And they left her without
She learned from them though
Her hopes remained in a picture unframed

Her innocence was soiled
Her hopes
Her feelings
Her aspirations too

Impostors

Impostors we are, gliding past shadows our own, convincing ourselves of being someone else. Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder; conflicting thoughts incessantly manifest from this golden adage. In reality we judge ourselves more times than another could, while those of us that really need to, remain cast inside the immunity of our denial. Simple beings exist in a minority, at least from being obvious they do actively refrain. Complexity is the new it. It draws attention, it demands to make a stand, it dares to contradict. In the differences of opinion do we exist as humans, while in arguing the differences we highlight our flaws. Complacence in all can only be aspired for; beauty, peace, and all that exists between right or wrong.

© Hayaah

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?

Life Quite Suspect

The build ups
The chasms
The piercing aches
From chaffs; poignant sarcasm

The break downs
The spasms
The silent wracking
From screams; loud sirens

The catharsis
The imagined
The fortitude sought
From horrors; land barren