Such a Brief Picking of 'Nuts'

You saw the crimson in the sky and thought of me... Now I will wipe away tears at any sight of the colour crimson, or a sun setting scene somewhere, anywhere, or just a static bleeding horizon in real life or pictures. Were the raven-crows flying away from it, or into it? This shall remain a mystery, as shall knowing whether black was actually succour or just a swift and sudden unexpected cloak of painful gloom.

Let's Look Into Our Mirrors?

Flawed beings demanding perfection?
Ostentatious – Ridiculous – Preposterous!
Blind to the reflections of imperfections
That stare them in their face
Focused on counting
what’s not right in others
Rejecting reality and living facades
Portraying the decay of their heart
Exhibiting grotesque beliefs
that reside in a cavity of
culturally misconstrued
culturally maligned
and culturally misguided
utter nonsensical paradigms
that failed themselves to begin with
and are now being cast
upon you!
Yes, upon you and I!

Indeed My Lord Is With Me, He Will Guide Me

Mistaken Love?

to kia hua bilal khan coke studio mp3 | lyrics

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Broken hearts across the globe
Come together in melancholic melody
For some rhyme or reason
To share their tragedies of
That same someone who
Was meant to be with another,
Stories of that same someone who
Was just a transient fantasy
 And a real life misnomer...

As Good As Gone?

The Weepies - Same Changes


Today I am sad over something I never had. I hate you PMS, go away because you don't even let me pray and you always lead me astray. I really don't like you. It's always lonely here with you. I don't want the company of your tears. I want peace back in my heart. These last few weeks have been beautiful and I want that peace back please. Please...

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.

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...

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.

The Fear of Death/Acceptance of Life

Crossing over

such a cleaver to the head?

It's just a moment

When your breath comes to a final end...

... only to live on for sure.

Perhaps our real fear and worry

should lie in making haste

towards deeds that would allow us

to reach that aspired for shore!

... inshaAllah, Ameen!

Time's Peril

Kate Havnevik: Timeless

kate havnevik timeless mp3 | lyrics

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Watch the lull repeat... Feel that heart beat... Watch that life around you; replete, yet somehow still feeling incomplete. Watch expressions retreat ... Hear that heartbeat... Watch some life around you, some of which that runs and fleets; knowing somewhere something had been mistreat(ed). Watch life repeat - in ways new - lessons for us to by our side keep... Watch that time delete, memories you had confined with in you to long ago go some where dark, quiet, and lie low to sleep. They in time's peril, bit by bit, found that they did sometimes still waver and did still sometimes weep; albeit mostly silently.

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

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.

Why, The Age Old, Why...

So you cry? Or do you choose to live the lies? Somewhere there are those who die. Somewhere there are those who live, but still won't. Where was it that you left her? Was it you who swept her, off her feet to places unknown? Was it you who forgot? Or, was it she who forgot? Where were you when the time came to live the promises? Was it you who broke them, or was it time who was the blamed mistress? Was it circumstance that came in the way, or was it weakness; perhaps fear the evil seamstress? Why was she not the one, while ''she'' was? Why were you not the one, when there was no one else? Why was loneliness so astute when patience was perched at a precipice? Why were answers sought, for questions already answered? Why did time deem it necessary to rewind vacant musings that held no good with in them? With in the why's lay another fold to the mysteries.

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!

Rolling In The Deep

Adele: Rolling in the deep


Exactly how it feels... for the person I knew when I knew you.
But... the person that now exists because of you, I fail to understand.
The memory of her comes alive when it knows the words to this song.
The body of her quietens it.
The soul of her, prays for you and her... and her.

~ FiamaanAllah

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?

Loose Footing

I am not a part of here. I feel like I belong elsewhere, doing other things...
And yet, this is where I am.
So, this means?