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.

Fake, Flaky, or Forgetful?

They speak to you as if they've never spoken to you before. You remember the room, the lighting, the questions, the laughter and everyone else who was present there each time you had met before. They leave you flummoxed. They keep doing it again and gain. You keep smiling through it each time and reintroduce yourself, when spoken to the next time (again). They leave you perplexed. Close the door? Walk away? Stop smiling? Perhaps just decide to be kind. Yes, again.

Tawakkul

Overwhelmed?

Another wave we must ride

Paddle on to get by

Whatever ripples or gusts galore

Patiently override them

We must; you, just as must I

Many glories come and gone

Singing merrily to their songs

Faces shining with their smiles

Pictures telling of all hues turned into mires

Hurdles girdled into puddles swished

Fancy mapping of things misunderstood

Lacy trimmings to all hideous pies

Making all things distasteful

To position themselves until: Ready - Aim - Fire!

Hit asunder thus, all calm; gone

A memory simply remaining agong

Of bliss smuggled away from them

And to a wayfarer thoughtlessly sold

Thence off on a journey, spent are we

Listlessly surfacing jarring waves

Relentlessly remembering

All our stories that got buried untold...

Who Am I?

Born in a place where she was destined to be. Grew up the only way she knew how, around whatever it was that she had. That was what made her who she was. The people she met, real or reel, they were the ones who she grew up watching; unknowingly - they were the ones she wanted to be like, they were whom she drew inspirations from - and to keep the balance in check - some of them were also whom she grew up fearing and wishing to keep away from - them and all their sorts...

The things, the people, the places that make us who we are today are all pre-destined and not something 'we' chose. It was our Maker (The All Knowing swt), and then our parents (and so on) who made the effective decisions. It was only after the first five or so years later, that we actually began remembering what it was that we wanted to do... be... etc. From there on we began our journey, and when one begins such a journey, hardly do they know what lies in store for them ahead...

... Some find their dreams effortlessly, some struggle to come close to them, some achieve them after a lot of hard work, while many more still are never able to accomplish even one, if any at all. The people that we become is not necessarily what we had planned.

What nation do I belong to?


What is my religion?


Who are my people?

The only question that I knew how to answer early on was that my people are those who love me for who I am, as I am. Some were family and some my friends - be they today near, or far.

My religion was something I was born into but for the lack of practicing examples around me at that time, something I never really believed in. I grew up being a prime example of monkey see, monkey do - and also saying what was always heard - perhaps we can call that what baby hear, baby says? My own opinion of it all was something I had not even come close to forming. To think for oneself was not something I had learned to do until many a years later into adulthood.

To what nation did I belong, is a question I still struggle with to date; three decades into having lived this life. To some that would be a really long time, and to some yet, not so much. Depends on what side of the movie screen one is seated at. Born on a land that refuses to give you it's name. Born around a people who refuse to immerse you amidst the people around whom you are born, thereby confining you to their own kind in 'said land'. Growing up around what was available, listening, watching, eating, growing up thus similarly emulating - you became, you. On visiting the land that 'your people' came from, you found yourself a little lost on finding a connection incomplete. On voicing this disconnect, you found yourself being left on the sidelines, or simply being accompanied to the door to stand outside; you did not fit in. This unsettled your heart. It made you question yourself. It also made you feel a little lost with regards to where you were meant to be, and who it was that you were meant to be.The land that felt like home did not want to keep you. The people who felt like home did not always understand you, and living around them after a short period of time, you began craving your home - theirs was not yours, this was clear as day, and you surely wanted night. Strife seemed to be your solid companion, but such is what by now you have been learning to call life.

Somewhere along all this searching, you had atleast found religion for yourself, and in the safety of your Lord's Omnipresence, irrespective of land or people, there was immense peace! Alhumdulillah! With That Hand to hold, you took on every hurdle, every steep climb and fall with hope. To give up was wrong, this faith sometimes shaken, managed to remain -in general- strong. But who it was that you were, and today see yourself to be, when telling others on being asked - remained a quelling mystery. Rejection from all that was home did not come easy. Acceptance from all that was not home, was a struggle to be faced every now and then. To find energy to last through it all, was one of the many tests that had to be sat through. To find firm footing, to find contentment, to find company, to find understanding, all towards a place to call your abode...


And such were the many aspirations sought by her seemingly very wanting soul, hereby rendered thus.

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...

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.

That Finger That Points At Others...

... Yes it irks me!

For every piece of news we seem to get hold of, in these globally advanced times of ours; every discovery has to be glamourised, or at least hyped oh so much, that the listener in response either gapes, hates, or cries. Yes, interpret those reactions as you may!

Every nation, culture, and religion has one thing in common. They're all comprised of human beings. These human beings, based on the beliefs of the Abrahamic scriptures (I won't claim to presume about other religions, for I have not read of them enough), are designed in such a fashion that renders them susceptible to erring; the very reason for man to be set down on earth. If humans were mistake-free, or the epitome of perfection, then the very connotation of angels would be moot or void.

The fact that human beings are not perfect, leaves the door open to one, two, or few going astray - perhaps some more yet, having a mean streak stretched beyond what is comprehensible by the majority. The general good all of mankind collects to agree upon, regardless of creed and sect, just as they mostly do over the general bad. But offlate, the trend seems to be name calling; in the name of religion, country, groups, etc. 

-If one person belonging to your group goes astray, does that make the entire group lost? 

-If one person from a specific sect claims to say something that is disagreeable, does that bound everyone from that sect to the same thought/rigidity/stance? 

-If one person from 'x' country does something one way, does that make all citizens of that nation duty bound to do things that very same way? 

-If one person (or even 10) from religion 'y' interpret their rituals and duties as doing certain things in a certain manner, does that mean that all who claim to be under the umbrella of this faith will, and do, every thing that very same way?
Why are communities, nations, and a people being stoked and stroked by a quick smearing of the same brush? Why are we confining ourselves to the limitations of a single story, when what we really need to do is expose ourselves to the possibility of something more that may -and often does- exist beyond our myopic exposure? Why does it have to come down to either Muslims being terrorists, or Americans being Conspirators, while all Indians and Pakistanis being doctors and IT people, and all Arabs owning oil wells and camels, not to forget that all Brits have to have horrible dental hygiene, and everyone in Antarctica lives in Igloos! 

I guess by now, the ones reading who have a working grey matter would have caught on my drift, and woe.

One can only hope so much... and pray, if you're thus inclined...

*sigh*

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.

Crossroads No More?

I think I'm at that point on a road, where I want to stop and reassess the things that I have been thinking I want... Perhaps none of the choices I make will be wrong. I am certain that despite the route I take, the lessons will all meet in conformity at the same point in the end; their travels albeit shall remain undecided upon, ie. whether they will be long, short, easy, hard, or somewhere in the mix of it all. In this thought I want to linger with positivity, until positivity its harvest has reaped as proof to show, InshaAllah - Ameen.

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.

A Wily Facade

Cascades of generousness

flow through cluttered veins

Choking - Staggering - Cackling

Why the intertwining dissections

Why the camouflaged perceptions

Haste makes waste

Undefined tastes

Never lasting promises

Chastised praise

All but a deep burgeoning facade

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

Disgruntled Rants & Voiceless Diatribes!

Sheer exhaustion? Does that make one start to detest human company that makes noise (read speaks)? Anger management... Does that really work? Who decides who gets to manage the ''anger'' of another? Is there proof of how the one's enacting are not NOT acting? Humans are susceptible to anger, because they themselves hold the power to rouse it in another. As with the Promise of our Maker; for every ill that exists on this earth, with in it lies the cure for all ill it holds/allows too. That make any sense out there?

Them all vociferate too much, me thinks!
~ Meh!

Wise, that man |Lincoln, Elbert Hubbard, Mark Twain, Benjamin Franklin, Socrates| which ever of them truly saith:

 ''It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt.''

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.

Fireworked

  

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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...

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?