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.

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

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.

This Was Not Her

This was not her; the mess, the anger, the reactions, the words, the feelings. This was what she was not equipped to deal with. Her head would speak to her, while her tongue went on and did as the surrounding induced. Her mind only won when on the mat she let her tears wash away her guilt, recriminations, anger, hurt, sorrow and everything else that was not welcome in the form of negativity. While those around her continued to live, they continued to be - she continued to see, and continued to plead. The overflow of pain, confusion, discord, mayhem and disrespect was no more overwhelming - it had crossed thresholds of patience some time ago, and was barely managing to keep adrift in the ocean of foreign deprivation she found herself immersed in. Swimming was something she had never been taught, and no amount of self help books were coming handy anymore. Something was deeply and surely amiss, for patience used to be the one thing she prided herself in being able to practice, and that too now was a lost blessing. With it's loss, she had lost herself (the self she had been familiar with), and knew not how to coerce back this lost self to a state of acceptance. The present unfamiliar person that existed in a shell did not understand anyone, and with every passing day was beginning to stop caring about love in all forms that it could exist. The only love that was still surviving was the love for her Maker, and if it were not for that One Familiar ground, she would perhaps have stopped existing courtesy the riot that roared in her head for the most part of her every day off late. This was not her; the mess, the anger, the reactions, the words, the feelings. This was what she was not equipped to deal with.

~ In prayer she then went back to throw herself.

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...

To & Fro; Lo, Again We Go!

Constriction;
in your own mind
torrid friction

Concoction
of your own views
blatant affliction

Contention
of do's and don'ts
obsolete dictations

Correction
of your inner woes
bland distractions

Convention
of a norm outdated
beyond satisfaction

Exhaustion;
in your own mind
tossed reactions

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

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.

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.

Disjointed

Frail Ms. Heart
React doth nay
Voices that smart as they blare on their ways
Caring not
For thine timidness, such heartless of hearts!

Brace ye self
And pray to last
For when they're done with their firing remarks
Tired Alas!
Survive you must until then...

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...

Protests & Discord

Death by bomb, rifle, or stone
Injustice and crime we must condone
Lives at stake
No one will be 'forsaked'
Your brother, mother, 'et al' they'll take
They will pester and break
Till they muster enough ache
And let all fester with hate
Until all that exists
Perishes beyond a requitable state.

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

From Ripples to Peace

Sturdy ripples of doubt, sometimes visible and sometimes not, linger... With every breath she assures herself it will be alright. With every anxious thought, she starts murmuring to the self, ''Hasbey Allaho Waneymal Wakeel, Hasbey Allaho Waneymal Wakeel....'', incessant chants to appease the whirlpool of all that is negative and questioning with in her being. A silent hand takes hold of her and walks her through the insipid moment. Faith is reinstated, affirmed, foundation strengthened, momentary peace sought and claimed. Assuaged spirits, since left to the exposure of mankind and deviling's abound, find themselves huddled into corners of grief and pain every so often. The mind wonders, ''Yet again, I am here - Why? Must I fall short over and over? Is not my triumph over the last time a badge of assurance that I have passed the test and do not need to travel the roads of finding myself over again?'' Apparently not. Each success, seems to be a lesson on its own no matter how much of a resemblance it holds to the new one. Each lesson remains unique and demanding, to be tested through an exam entirely its own. Thus with each doubt, each question, every faltering anxious moment we may ever face and survive, we are to be tested afresh. Gauging with the help of our yesterdays we can hope to find ease, but no guarantees. In knowing that there lurk ahead many a tests to come still, we allow ourselves to be human, and remain in grace of our Ever Magnanimous Ever Omnipotent Maker. We also allow ourselves to fall short, when we do, knowing that there is hope of forgiveness from an Ever Forgiving All Knowing Maker. Under His Ubiquitous Shade lies abundant peace, In His Remembrance lies hope, in His belief come to a semblance of rest the ripples of all natures and ambivalent tests...

Saturated Compliance...

My side of the story...
 

Saturated Compliance
To your Deceitful Alliance
Thank you for the Opportunity
But our Gratitude to you was just a Commodity
Two-facedly out of your way you did go
To blatantly placate and assure us with your ''prowess''
The honesty of Employees you flippantly Frayed
Complying by your incessant rules we quietly obeyed
But like a silent ruse, a goodbye we still feared
On standby we wait, our reins in your hands until you tire
And tomorrow inform us thus, of your plan earlier conspired
That us and our services ''sadly'', by you are no longer required

Nonchalant Symphony

Wading through waters of contempt; for what, your heart wonders itself to define. Shifting through forms of discontent; you drag yourself away from things that make you for them pine. Others who live in the moment; others, who care not for you. You talk to your voice when you hear it tremor; It tremors surreptitiously when a matter deep it has to speak of or unwind. When moments like such, amass in a pile, a numbness invades wherever; wherever a hole that it finds. The holes when plenty, from moments in past, cave in to whatever in them decides to encase themselves or bind. Entrapped in a net that tangles up further, when out of it you wish to yourself find. Find yourself instead, in a transitory peace; in that seemingly second you rejoice a grace, that to your name comes undone when with deep faith - resilience even- it you seek and mine. Then on your solitary walk, you walk on beside moments of leisure, to speculate your every thought otherwise escaped or confined. Such are the thoughts of me - my soul - wading in nonchalant symphony of time, time, and more time...

A Decapitated Yo-Yo; I

Flap your wings about, flail your empy hands away. Nothing seems or sounds right anymore. All your wretched todays begin to accumulate into a froth of monotonous distate. A malaise wretchedly familiar begins to take over. You work quite hard, but you discover that the wall you so diligently began building has met with yet another engineering challenge of sorts, and must come crumbling down before your eyes to its fate - yes - once again. You start piling up new bricks, start scurrying around for some emotion; cement, let's call it. But the supply is too low. I feel no more like constructing these walls that are destined to fall into a hapless mass of shambles. The foundation of me feels akin to this... these shambles. I find no strength with in me, to muster up any efforts with which to indicate that I care. The supply has been too scarce in my own experience when I most seem to have needed it, and now I wish to give back just that - what I have always seemed to have gotten; a sparingly limited supply of this much sought for care and its share.

Give, Do, Listen, Watch, Agree... these one sided actions are beginning to fester at the core of a me, whom I know not anymore. Take! Leave me just be please, before my sanity to et all I forsake!

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!

Wretched Need!

I just want someone to talk to
Some one who can hear me when I speak
Some one who cares enough to actually listen
Some one who doesn't think I'm an idiot and treat me like one
Some one who would mean enough to me to care for too
I don't mind sharing the load of their worries, so long as they can help me with mine
My head wants to explode
I am tired of wanting, wishing, caring, yet standing back still wanting, still wishing, with my hands left hanging in the air
I am tired of speaking when no one is listening
Tired of looking at someone never looking back
Tired of doing for one who doesn't see it
Tired of sharing with those who care not for my doing so
Tired of trying to explain myself to those who are supposed to know me inside out
Tired of existing in such a state of wanting
Tired of existing with this NEED for belonging
Tired of existing in such a sorry state of hoping
Tired of existing in such a morbid state of feeling incomplete no matter what I do to make up for it
for i know I shall always remain incomplete in some way or another in the eyes of someone or the other and therefore I'm fine with who I am the way I am, but Im also just so very desperately tired of everything and I want to rest now.
I want to rest
I want to rest
I want so badly to rest and even more, I want so badly to talk to someone!
Sadly the one that I want to, rather the sort that I want to with, does not exist.
Perhaps my time doesn't allow it?