"Every man is said to have his peculiar ambitions"

Set Free

It is by sacrifice that wisdom lends us her robe. And it is within the subtle folds that we abide by the laws that let us preserve our own. A strength to revere, for humility is of the elite. To orchestrate in its entirity, we bow down to the will of man, a weakness reserved to the soul for we beget not our thoughts without but crass relief. How then can we be amongst the flames that burn with remorse if the hue of shadowed smoke is the abode of our desire?

Indeed we are fashioned weak and unruly are our cries, for we despair when we take fright of the burdens we are to bear. But to survive is to bequeath our souls to the Will of God. Let you set me free..

"Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even grief itself arose so softened, and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections, that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost all character of pain."

Let us rise

When the will shall amass the truths
And the chimings of time shall pass
It is then that the hurdles of fame
Brings a reality to the love of the farce.
In the window of regret that we open
And wide-eyed to the lies we do learn
No longer are we wrought with desires
For mistakes are wielded to yearn.
But it's in the shadows of space that we lay
In turmoil of the ill-laden grave
As begotten creatures of darkness
In guilt our decisions do waive.
But from the soiled earth do we awaken
As a branded flame of rebirth
And it is in new light that dawn does restore
True faith in the claim of our worth.

Ramblings

1.

Life continues. Events, actions and words remain as the time that is indulged in and spent, but of late, it is as though time itself has crystallised and shattered, scattered amongst the remnants of passers by at the depth of an ocean floor. To remember is as though to fish amongst the wearied souls that are but imaginations of the past.

I seem to have reached a stage of submission to the peace within my own cave, only distantly aware of life itself, absorbed in the timelessness that space can give. But it is a time that stagnates, that dulls the mind, the senses, and in its place remaines a numbness that settles through the cuccoon, a veil to the seasons of change.

It is within these depths that the light of each dawn brings out the words written upon the dark, a reminder and a challenge set forth by Tolkein's words. To fade with the settling of dusk is but a sign of its transient rebirth. Indeed, a warmth to draw slumber to rest. For now..

The rota of the stars are a testament to our growth of age, experience and time. In numbers we are sure to gain, throughout each second to the year, but it is wisdom that we should hope to pursue. It has been a long many years and I feel the subtleties of age more than I knew.

2.

There comes a time when you question your path. When you realise that you spend your days in mindless monotony, a habit born in repeat. Repeat.. But it takes belief to bring perspective to what previously had been aimless play. Again. We do it for Him. And in selfishness, for us. Yet sometimes, it takes a simple conversation to reignite the passion for your belief in the road you walk upon. A difference to make. A change.

I believe that in changing our future, we must change our present. There are those who dismiss their responsibilities to the children that they have born, and to the society in which they reside. It is a lack of understanding which harbours fear, and a lack of acceptance which does not allow for help. With us remains the duty to reach out to the generations before us and allow them to embrace all that which caused them shame.

2 1/2.

Illnesses of the mind. It is a disease, like diabetes or hypertension or even TB. However, mental disorders are shunned as being embarassing, lewd and for some, fictitious. They are real. Ignoring it won't make it go away. Not believing it exists won't explain a friend's behaviour. And hiding a child from society will never give them a chance to get the help that they need.

These disorders exist, and in acceptance there is no shame. It is our duty to educate and to treat. This is my goal. My belief and my change. It is however a dangerous field to play as beliefs are in constant battle against the sience that we are taught. Are we in fact waging war against God's decree. Do we create excuses for those whose cruelty and disregard for love and for life are simply classed as 'diseased'. Are we the ones that allow for the corruption of society to progress further and with little restraint. It is indeed a war, in which our enemy hides from behind our eyes. But what about the abused, the emotionally scarred and the traumatised. These are victims of the depraved. And there are the disabled, the handicapped and confused. They all deserve to be understood. To be accepted. To be loved. Whether adult or child. There is a beauty of that which is recovered by God's blessing and cure in the form of the guidance and support we give. That is to be our aim.

3.

In reevaluating the point at which I stand, I look to those around me and I see change; in character, in maturity and in deen. We each have reached the stage where we are now veering into an unknown territory of humbled intentions in search of a commitment not to be undone. And yet, my insignificance quashes my desire to seek, for there is nought I think I may offer in goodly returns. How then can it be?

I am afraid.

And yet, the alluring beauty it provides, still remains..

'He created for you mates from among yourselves, that ye may dwell in tranquillity with them, and He has put love and mercy between your (hearts)' [30:21]

4.

Humans are however made weak. They fall. Sins are meant to remain between the believer and His Lord, for even when seeking guidance for ones salvation from those of knowledge, in standing before them, your forgiveness was always with Allah.

Havingly recently been made aware of a situation in which a righteous Muslim man held an affair with his daughter-in-law, I fear for their unborn child, an innocent caught in the midst. It would be arrogance to judge and humility to fear for ourselves. No one is safe from the advances of Shaitan. May Allah protect us all from the traps of lust, boredom and mistakes.

"And whoever does evil or wrongs himself and then seeks forgiveness from Allah, he shall find Allah, All-Forgiving, All-Merciful." [4:110]

5.

Forgiveness for humans can be a test of our patience and patience, once inculcated into ones personality brings an undisruptable peace of the soul. And yet there are times when our unwavering belief lets us do nothing but fight. Until we waver. Wisdom may not have been ours to attain and logic may have held discourse, but in sacrifice, we are to learn the truths that were once obscure. It is however in our patience that we attest to the Will, no longer on our own to fight. To decide. Let the balance of living and life find its place amongst the chaos that new thoughts pursue.

"..On no soul does Allah place a burden greater than it can bear.." [7:42]

 --

Jumbed up thoughts- an attempt to express my every day life :)

Working to a Clear Plane

Inspiration can only come from accepting the natural order of the living. An order crucial to our walks; our core. Yet we see that the living are made to evolve. To grow. And it is in learning each stance that we start to dance through each move. Indeed, we may learn to manipulate the art of life itself.

Our dance is a ploy, for unaccustomed as we are to learn, there are times when it is in the grace of a timely pace that we move swiftly in the arms of change. But it is to the beat of the mind that we are bound. Bound to bend to the power of creation, of the rules and ties we have clasped, and the solitude in which we rose. To break is unnatural; an unknown path. And in stuttering strokes, twined tracks of fear lay camouflaged within this lighted trail of spring.

A trail of a rise. A trail we no longer bring. A change. The heart can however lie and defy what the mind already knows. And it is in defiance that the charcoal lined course signposts its way through the iron-laden fog of the diverse. The plane.

And upon this plane, in floating alongside and clearing the mist one woven strand at a time, we allow our wombs to breathe. To be accustomed to grow. And we let our hearts be nourished through the mind. A new bend. Our own.

We create and manipulate the forms that our art can take.

We decree.

Losing

At a loss.
To be lost.
To lose.

All of the above.

Another Year

Exactly six years to this date and time.

Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi rajioon.

My Write

There are times when it feels as though ghosted traffic screams through you as you stand on a deserted road, struck by a realisation so severe that neither awe nor fear can translate the design.

How different we are. How different.

Neither logic nor love works on those who have lost their fight, for they wish to no longer believe. A choice.

Time only works to strengthen their cause, their resolve; a victory of sorts. But such triumph can only bring grief to those that have already left. Disappearing footprints remain as a testament over the void that the darkness now fills. Already at a different plane.. A purer rise. To suffer is to return, and in return, to suffer is waived. And to move beyond is to bid all a disdainful farewell. A choice.

I cannot.

He(r)art

Desert Fairy

Gritty

Painting a green world

Art refers not only to the traditional forms of poetry, prose and paint, but it is the vision with which we adore and engross ourselves in the expressions that signify the discoveries to which we concede. It is in this, an ability that is almost intuition itself, that we forget, in fact, it is all an art.

I'z

One hundred billion million more times than you could ever imagine, did the garish light creepingly blind all that its touch consumed.

Corner by corner, the world illuminated to the grabbing hold of the new moons pull.

It was simply the beginning of this new ravaged land, a sight not seen before.

Darkness unveiled.

And barefoot and dishevelled, eyes awakened in newborn rapture to this world of unknown grace. Who would have thought their foetal form had matured to birth in the time that they had dreamt of their demise. It indeed became a noted date of cries. And indeed, it was but one gush away.

Lay still, and breathe.

.

Unfathomable.
Inert.

Let the dreams begin..

Altered

Each faltered step
Eats shadows into depths
Whilst starved intentions
Let cries run tracks
Into the burdened minds
Of the once elite
And thus once again
We hold our tongues
And hold each fright
As we leave our lies,
To mind.
To rest.
In dreams
We sleep.

Unbound

To live by time seems impossibe and each stretched moment a noble pursuit. Yet, when we record by the strokes of the line, it is in one that we can encompass, and belittled in all we'd forgot.

And though at a leisurely pace, trodden paths seem not to have progressed, as though stilled in voyage, an immortality bent in our failure to resign. And as each collapsing ride hails from a stunted rise, yet unmounted, each steed shall stand alone.

In portrayal of a mustered zeal, glazed and indistinct, a wish of the seer rises into the dust that she walks upon, a fellow amongst the wiles.

Strike.

O

That's all there is to say.

Lest I Should Forget..

Nostalgia always brings with it a deep remorse for lost appreciation. Yet, the beauty of imprinted signs leaves aside the fallen heights of desire, and emboldens us to embrace our blood's calling once again.

Renewal aside, we remain the same and only sheath each brilliant sword with but a cloth of farce. And farce forgot, we remain allied alongside our shield.

It is in our advance that we clasp from behind, so that our future shall not forget. That is a must to accept; my sword cannot be left behind.

I am.

Lessons Learned

Between one heart beat and the next, we seem unable to acknowledge the possibility that we may fail. That all we work towards may never bear the fruit of our efforts, of our dedication, and of our time that we spent, mastering and honing each skill that we use. The intensity of our pride in the lives that we build, blinds us to the truth of our mortality. A shock when it is realised, and amounted to dust when our soothing words of 'not yet' give rise to the ruins that we build for ourselves in that which lays beyond our sight, away from all we know.

We spend our time as hypocrites, languidly idolising the memories we created, having been made in the intensity we wished to gain. Drained and wrung dry, to hoard in the short space we perceive.

One would think that death would awaken us to the reality of life, to the dreams cut short. Again. Another life, another friend. Were they lucky enough to have planned for their now? Did they have the wisdom to prepare? That, I don't know. But tomorrow may not wait for our fruit and so it is the seeds in which we need to invest our lives. Another push. Another time to grow.

Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi rajioon.

Poised

Recoil. Recline. And Strike.

To accept the power that you wield can only mean a rented choice to covet all that is already yours. Sucked into the emptiness of a void world, each extension slowly drifting past, catching onto moments of meaning, a whispering line on the blank platter of instruments to communicate; we make that choice.

Raised in dug grounds, in an attempt to stain the latched, we work to familiarise, to recite; frozen in a grabbing hope towards the dawn.

First or third? You choose.

Precision Point

Resounding but ignored,
A right I create
Out of the laws that I hold
More than that which I learnt,
My pace a hidden rate.
And yet again,
Ignored.

And in the lines drawn to point
On either side of my own
In working for a loss
Of a point,
Of a line.
To include and to encompass
At once,
To be all mine.
A point.

Content

The Works of Charles Dickens
Two Volumes

Special Limited Edition of 4000 books individually numbered
RRP: Too much


Huge, beautiful and more than a thousand pages long for each volume. Plus, illustrated and gold-edged.

Now added to my collection :)

Ivy

From times that know not of our physical birth, there exists an ancient drive, an unknown entity discovered. A hidden arousal. Born.

From there, no path is paved for return.

Fuelled by resisitance, a rite of passage of some sorts, it is for the frenzy of vulnerability, a complete sustenance in closed eyes and a rhythmic tread for which we pray.

In Joining. To Compete. Complete.