Harud

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I was supposed to be coerced into liking Autumn before Winter, followed by Spring and then, ugh - Summer - neither of us liked the latter. You disappeared before sharing Autumn with me. Now every picture of Autumn everywhere I will see, will burn me like your Chinar trees in Harud.

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.

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

Aspiring to not plead, but be offered...

The weary pendulum keeps swaying back and forth in between making a resolute decision one day and having debilitating questions foam back up to the point of drowning me on another. Words spoken keep coming back of their own accord; haunting me. It doesn't make sense for the one to have said such things, albeit in only a half attentive part sleepy state, but for one to simply disappear mid-throbbing-conversation...? It is a whole another ask of me to leave where one is not wanted. But, to leave where one was assured they are dearly wanted... this, this is an unkind thing to be asked to do.

'Are you trying to figure out how to do this, or are you precariously bordering on an unappetising form of stalking?'

Surely making dua'as for a person's well being absolves me or my actions of being saddled with a negative label. If only the road blocks would be removed, and the walls of silence pierced... Perhaps then some answers could be found to appease the roaring ravaged mind that is left in the wake of this storm. The soul refuses to back down and sit in silence. Amidst prayer it needs to also do all it can before it must accept failure and lay down to rest all it's arms, in order to find some semblance of peace.

''You should not have to plead, you deserve to be offered.'' This keeps playing back in my mind, over and over on repeat.

Inn Allaaha Ma'as Saabireen. Allahu Musta'an. Allahumma Antas Salaam.

''Allah is the Protector of those who believe. He brings them out from darkness into light.''
(Al-Quran 2:257)

''Oh Allah, place within my heart light, and upon my tongue light, and within my ears light, and within my eyes light, and place behind me light and in front of me light and above me light and beneath me light. O Allah, Bestow upon me light.''

Ameen.

Tether Ye Were Not It Seems

The real test begins when you pine in silence, in between prayer, your own audience, and your tears. When you console yourself that The One Who Listens to all, can hear you. When you pray ever more fervently that He will Help you through this because He has a Plan better for you than you can understand. As you traverse the lanes of memories that will be evoked at random, of words shared, of likes and dislikes, of shared emotions and opinions and wishes, every stroke of that uninvited memory will grate at your patience and hankerings. You will break, shatter, crumble, moan, and hold yourself. You will try to breathe in and breathe out as calmly as the moment will allow it, and not let yourself remain on the ground. You will pick yourself back up again. You know how to do this. Life has been a constant practice of doing just this. There are so many compartments that have been designated to demons conquered. You know you can do this. Yes, there will be times of weakness, when questions will haunt you and make you wonder what it was that you could have done otherwise. Yes, there will be times of sadness when you will imagine how beautiful things could have been if only you were not hoping on things alone, but you are. Hoping on things alone. And alone, you can only do so much. So it is best to keep letting go of what has left you. Chasing it is every kind of painful and will leave you ever more so profoundly alone. Hug your soft covers, your pillows, your cushions and be thankful for having these blessings. The blessings that many others don't. So what if they aren't as warm as an actual body. So what if they don't hold you back. At least they offer some comfort as opposed to none. The privacy of your room allows you to relive things in peace. It allows you to cry and pray and beg your Maker in ways where you are free to turn your insides out and pour your grief out to Him unabashedly. Be grateful that your Maker permits you to use His words, His praises, His names, and reach out to Him. In grief many have lost their way. Be grateful you know how to respond to your grief. You are alone, but never so without Him being with you always. He may not be the body that your body was made to crave. But He is your Maker and He will bring you out of this new pain. He will help you fashion a new compartment for this fresh loss and He will Help you get through the prickly path where the roses of words shared will tempt and entice you with their scents, as well as prick you with the thorns of their impermanence, their transient visit into your life; Brief, oh so unreal, surreal, call it whatever you may, but that's what it was. The roses were never meant for eternity. Let the memory of that scent fade away, because if it were meant to stay, it would have found a home within the confines of your precious book, to leave a permanent ink of it's form, or a debris of it's existence, albeit more delicate in it's dried out form, but a presence nonetheless. It's existence would have been proof of it's commitment, and you have nothing but static that typed itself out via a format of numbers and words. It was a binary, a code... human? No one knows because experience tells you many humans come in the most mechanical forms just to short circuit your entire being, with intentions of passing time where you are the toy that gathered their attention for now. You are not a tether for no camel. Only Allah Knows what you are because at most times usually, you are quite a susceptible fool. Your one worthy trait is that at least you can pray. Always be grateful for that. Pray to Him to make you more resilient and more alert to the dangers of those who wish to rouse your heart and feelings with no intentions to stick around and honour you. Honouring things takes more heart and strength of character than what most of this world is capable of offering. So be careful and save yourself before another fall. Your injuries sustained thus far may be plentiful, but you have so much to be grateful for. Just never let go of that. Sabr and Shukr will get you through this life always. Never let go of them. Wash yourself of the pain you feel right now and stand back up in prayer. When your head bows down; weep, and when you rise back up; breathe, and when you are done; savour that moment of inexplicable peace. May He The Most Loving, always be enough for you. Ameen.

The Interim Betwixt; Real or a Lie?

Were you a capricious whim, a fallacy?
Were you an embodiment of my wants and your wants?
Of your comings and goings should I not question your verity?
The chasms of my experience with such emotional feed
is a gaping proof of error of judgements borne of deprived needs.
Time is proof, Time is a salve, Time is testing,
Every second, every minute, every hour.
May the constant questioning of my own sanity
versus a beautiful patience and a belief in all things good,
Yet again, come and sing it's soothing rhyme
allowing the chants and motions to do a slow dance,
and let the heart beat in peace,
always at the behest of it's Maker Infinite.

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.

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.

Mediocre

Escapism...

''... She wished to blow a bubble... nice, big and roomy... all around herself, and get it to be pushed off into the atmosphere, where it would float above and away from all things and people that she knew. In that bubble, she'd be allowed to be herself, and that would be okay with the bubble... and nothing else would ever matter again...''

A Place Somewhere Near 'You'

You know the pain I live; I’m speaking to You, my Maker. The Fashioner of it all; start to finish, and all the in betweens’. I am imploring, beseeching, continuously crushing this heart’s screeching – the pain sometimes feels like it will explode – but You stop it from crumbling, and therefore to You it continues to turn to… Please my Lord suspend these needs and abate their transient hollowness. Make this heart, mind, body, and soul strong enough for the lessons that are intertwined in all that happens - To and Fro. The ride gets too rough, and only You are the balance that can keep it steady or afloat. Please my Lord extend your Hold – for my hands are outstretched waiting, and You’re my only constant Hope – from dawn to midnight, my only companion through the sun, rain, dust storms and star lights. This lonesome walk, rejected reputation desperately needs Your Assurance – That the sea will part and a way will show; That the fire will cool and the heat will be no more; That I will get out of the well alive; That the Whale will blow me out of its belly; And that on Your ship I will survive the storm of this life as it carries me to a shore of Permanence somewhere near You – where there will be no pain, no expectations, no heartache, no loneliness no more – insha’Allah; Ameen.

Her Existence

It's a projection.                                                                     
Standing aside, 
Moving along, 
Drifting around, 
Strung out, and... 
Seldom adorned.

It's a shadow.

Of yesterdays gone,

When things were deeply mourned,

Happiness was ostentatiously celebrated,

Where matters were imminently important,

and not all worth feeling for, stood mostly dissipated.

It's a blandness.

Wishful respites,
Existing despite,
Thankful abounds,
For that, and...
All decreed.

Jaded

This post has been inspired by the song, I don't feel it anymore - by William Fitzsimmons...

william fitzsimmons i dont feel it anymore mp3 | lyrics

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I don't feel it anymore. Much of anything mostly offlate. It was all taken away? I lost it on the way? It's not here, where it matters anymore - and that's what matters. I don't feel it anymore; the care, the worry, the need - I don't see it anymore. Anything. Much of everything - it's all just flitting on by. 20 years and then, 10. Come and gone. I was young once. No more; I certainly don't feel it anymore. No reason to make me try, want to just more than get on by. Nothing to spur me on, better myself... For myself it is this way or that - who cares? Not I, I don't see much of anything anymore. I used to feel once, but it's certainly not so now, no more do I, for you've all taken it all away. The little glimmers of possibility that take life in my heart are put off like a candle just lit but drenched by rain. The down pour has become infertile. No more do the tears release the pain. It locks itself in and seems too afraid to breathe even. I've hurt for quite some time now, and I don't think all that time will ever be returned. To hope for a happiness in anything certain, seems not to be happening; it is to be taken away, just like all things else here, in this now and in this today. Leave it all, I wish for, to remove myself from everything and find peace in not feeling anything anymore. I'm fine. I don't need to feel or see any of it - any way.

Every time there remains a longing. I realise, I had fooled myself, but now time is up again - must come back to reality. Reality is the mother of all things hollow, painful, resounding those two traits over and over in order to achieve a complete cycle of pain and it's many myriads. You're still typing the angst out of an empty vessel, that wishes to bemoan a thousand and one things, but is lost with words not enough - perhaps words precise - to narrate itself. This is a longing pining to be filled. This is a pang longing to be fulfilled. This is an anguish hardly unleashed, barely assuaged of what it wishes to achieve. Buries itself in prayer and meditation; Dhikr. Ups and downs, to's and fro's. Redundant rebounds, absolute - paramount; Alas bare and vagabond. I confirm to nothing. Not I, nor my being. I only submit to the Will of the One, and His spin wishes me to swirl some more reels of lessons down pat, before I can breathe my last. With in these spins I have to find my smile, and mean it. With in these spins I have to unwind. The doubtful possible will be made possible - and on that note I shall end this diatribe, a rant even. 

I don't need to feel anything else, anymore - You, they, Hey, go on - take it all away, for I don't feel it anymore. The wait on for eternity will keep me going, nothing else from any of you do I need to feel something, only for it to go again. It did before, and it will - that is the only certainty. So just leave me with my thoughts, jaded as they and I together may seem. I don't need to feel anything, anymore. I will wait for that certainty, I will wait, certainly - I will wait forever more...

         

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...

Resilience Through A Reminisce?

Rihanna:
 

The things we do for attention
For a little moment in which to be noticed
All for what?
A test after test after test after test...
This too shall pass
It all has to date
You too shall become a memory
Hopefully to fade faster
Now that time has given us
Ample practice to weather such storms and breezes
Or just a slight draft even
Frail no more shall we be!
Force ourselves to be sturdy
Brush our shoulders we shall
No pain shall we let through
Resilience is the love that shall be ours to stay
Hope is our companion through pebbles such
That are strewn haphazardly along our every way
Let our head hang low we wont - Nay!
Our heart shall not dwell in dismay
What length and width giveth our silly moments and time
To something so trivial!
  A mountain of age old molehill
Boredom perhaps has tilled?
Who knows whether potential it had
Or was simply imagined
Another day, another plan
Time shall surely unravel
And in its wait our patience shall be the guide
Assuring that no disdain or angst
In our life shall stay too long to tar or mar
Our faith in all those whom we wish to remain by our side
In times of reminisce when we sit back tomorrow...

...inshaAllah, Ameen!

Misplaced Faith...

someone like you adele mp3 | lyrics

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Where I saw perfection,
You saw distaste,
With time's intervention
And some deep introspection,
I realised it all was God's blessed grace...

... Alhumdulillah!

My Little Birdie Said...

Exposed to wonders beyond my possible imaginations, I watch my little baby grow. She does me proud as she stands on her two feet, blooming into a beautiful woman; one of distinguished character, caring heart, timid disposition. She has developed a taste for art, literature and music, like I could have at best dreamed a thread of. She manages to develop tastes that I missed being even introduced to. What I got not, I am happy to see her live. Masha'Allah, my little baby lives for me what I could not. My time came and went before I could even stop to realize it was to have been enjoyed; alas sadly missed. Watch my little ones get it all, I shall persevere towards thus...

Thank you for sharing this beautiful song with me, my little boo! It hit scars -otherwise buried deep- the last few lines specifically!  





Susheela Raman: What Silence Said

Glib Tomorrow's

Glib Tomorrow's embarked upon amorous seas of promise. Hearkens not a word of it this soul full of woe, relentless in its grip of yesteryear's tirelessly strapped about its existence. Remorsefully it trudges on, on a weary course, reservedly submitting itself to vague possibilities of perchance. Vacant musings at best these - virulent and vapid - their sheer contradiction bearing mark to the internal havoc thereby wretchedly wreaked.

Atif Aslam  

Uplift Myself

This is the Future , by Owl City 


~No wind beneath my wings 
~Not a single aspiration set on fire 
~No dreams to sit back and long for 
~No hands, the lack of wish, I would desire 
~No plans that in the future could backfire 

Lost my motivation and my will to aspire 
Lost my dedication to work for things once ardently desired 
As my only salvation I then fell into a ritual   
Of earnest dhikr and prayer  
Every night before I retire