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.

Sabra and Shatila

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZjU_Sj8_5KE

The last sips of my chai I took, when I clicked upon the above link to unveil to my eyes, rather my ears - that which I did not wish to see. How does one see with their ears? One see's when the words heard tell of a story real. Pictures take shape in your mind's eyes, and an image crushed comes back to life. Blood becomes real, their cries become loud, their voices can be heard and so much imagined, remains no more - imagined that is.

Many a times I have been there, as have you. So many times I have refused to allow my eyes and ears from living their screams and realities. So many times I have succeeded, but every time that I have not, is when I have perhaps done something right. To what avail is hiding, blocking one's self from pain that was really another's? What does this hiding achieve? If only our hearts were to open and see the pains that exist in a world very much the same as we live in, but oh so different in the lives we live. While I was growing up in a house - fed, loved and safe, they were being cheated of life itself before it even began. While I was being looked upon by eyes of parents that were disciplining my wrongs, and loving my achievements - they were being washed by theirs and buried... or not, for their parents too were gone? How do two such extreme lives continue to exist in a world that in name is the same, but the lives permitted to them both have no one standing up to take the blame? How do we convince ourselves to stop listening, watching - while those who lose, continue without having a choice or the means? How does one find the peace and sleep, when the images are not even real for me and yet this is how they leave me to feel? How does one pray to their Lord, and beg for His mercy to spread over His creations? What a test, their life truly is. In knowing that those gone, have done so straight up to His Promised Heaven, but the plight left behind through their blood, is only watering the bed for more lives to be lost in their name - no matter what side of the game they be shed on. For how long shall this be, for how long shall all this so remain?

With a piercing headache, I only manage to type out my angst... and listen to some more pictures that I shall for now, leave unframed.

Somalia; In Allahá Maá Saábireen!

For every sip we take and every bite we eat, For every moment of peace we sleep and every commodity we buy unnecessarily - May we watch and weep, for how can we not be heavily moved by all the blessings that surround us from so afar unto so very deep, in every moment and in our every heart beat!

Alhumdulillah-e-Rabbul-Al-Ameen!
Alhumdulillah-e-Rabbul-Al-Ameen!
Alhumdulillah-e-Rabbul-Al-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.

Not For Me Or I...

I closed my eyes, and there you were. A distant dream, very mirage like picturesque. A touch beyond surreal you were. Before imagined, not real, not reel. I closed my eyes, and gone you were. An imagination, or true yesterday? I know not now of then when spent. I closed my eyes, and someone's there. A distant whim of wishes, a moments glimmer, a hushed fear. I close my eyes, and try not to care. I hope unabashedly, but my lips are too scared; for it never before happened and what if again it is to be so? Thus closed, leave them to remain shall I. No fear to fester, no tear for lack of gesture. No, not for a lack of you and I. No, not for me or I.

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...

Charades of the Work Force

Ostentatious

the behavior of humans

Depressingly sad

how deep corruption seethes

Volatile

their vicious ammunition

Discord abound

it breeds into creeds

Blasphemous

their promises of things being fair

Malicious disparity

is all they amongst colleagues fruitlessly bear

Disgusting

how matters stand from this vantage point

And Allah swt Always Knows Best.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.