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.

--------------------------

That step. Walking on air. Leaving the ground from before. Arms out in an embrace to face the slowly rising sky as you fall. Smiling. Waiting for that miracle as you soar down, floating, spread in the breeze. Each gust past your face as the wind creased laugh escapes from within. Content.

Carnal Flight. Progressive Fight.

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One

Each remains distinct. A roughened edge, alert to its own despite the steady rise and fall as the swells gather speed to drop down in fatigue. To rest after fight. To submit to gravitated will.

Muted in attempt to remain, no will is ones own, as sucked in and drawn through the narrowed lines, along with the rest it lays. In a mound. In a finely balanced illusion of golden triumph, until from the heights they jump, and roll, and land, slowly raked to the side. And out of the doubled and tethered glass, it is time to upturn once again, another round. Another attempt to breathe, until hurled down once more. In defiance to stand.

Two

Sat. Allowing the upturned to drown. So still, despite the ravaging beats, lapped around, sworn into a numbed dullness. Planted firm in order to recline in a wait. Devout. For a clarity. For the final seams from the inside to the falling that devours, to be drawn tight and inspired. Hidden. Merged compliance. Convenience. A fall to learn, into hand.

Three

Surrendered. Left to learn. Each hurled and fallen to mime. A clarity to stand in time.

Foreign

There was only silence where she sat as though intoxicated by her own life, her breathing and her sighs. She heard nothing else. Not the silent patter of footsteps across the ledge, nor the rapid knocking from far beyond her mind could see. There was only her in the here and now. In the I and in the We.

Rocking, shuddering, soundless in her cries, her eyes searched in hunger for all that she looked upon despite her empty gaze. Grounded. There was nothing left to yearn. Broken illusions and unkept words, she slowly drew the cloak tighter around that which she had revealed. It was no longer to be this way. Not if it would only result in the same.

Upon the floor she sat, unmoving and secure. Chained to the past, of the now-boxed emotions that could hold no truth, that could not bear the weight, the gravity of what could be seen if only one could see. If it could lie to her no more. Colour left her cheeks and she slowly withdrew to what she was before. Back to death and beyond. A state she knew so well, was so comfortable with that she could befriend it once again. No expectations, nothing held. She could simply just be..

No Farce to be

In echoed steps
Towards you I walk
As parted sighs
Combine to mine
As afraid to gaze
In locked embrace
We guard each start
Though still hurl time
To the troubled deep
Into the waking state
Of the softly laid
From the pieced innate
As I continue to walk
In your leaving print
Lasting; each fear
Of hardened beats,
Back, and in time.

blah blah blah

Patience

Scenes of mute destruction remain.

Such powerful steps. Such a bold cry. Startlingly stilled in frozen desire.. And yet we stoop; incredulous at the weight of that which we sow.

To not believe is an act of defiance; To change, the only way to grieve. And the wait? It is but the calm that can only bring with it whatever is determined to be. This is where each test plays their part: a grasping hold to bring each closer to all that we believe. And closer to the What and the Whom. A wilful choice by design. To endure.

A finality of trust. Each to One alone. More than one could need. And more than that each know.

And she? She shall play it at her own pace; shall remain still if it is willed to be. She does like her games. Time really is a tease.

Arms Open

'We must be willing to get rid off the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us..'

Pyaarun or praarun. Still the same. Always waiting.

Slowly each second trickles away beneath us in the shadows we leave behind. Our lives filtering away, the dregs a remnant of our pasts. The good and bad all lumped together into one. What is it really that is important, the things that will stain our characters and our speech from each incident that we fly through, pausing for a moment and then onwards again?

We are always in a state of anticipation, waiting for things to end or as they are just about to begin.

Are we ever happy being as we are, laying down in the middle of our fields, faces lightly touched by the winds, ignoring our innate sense to rush. In our eagerness to live life, we forget to immerse ourselves in it, saturating our lives with all that there is; the simple things, the things that make us smile. You can't stop things being as they are meant to be, so for now, love it as it is.

There are those that question each smile, as though they are rationed, saved only for occasions where they are called upon in the name of formality and good conduct..

Mine are for me, for my secrets and my joys, each memory laid down in my field.. So let me live my moments and let me bare my soul to each of the winds that pass by.

Let me live my smiles..

Alone

There are times when we shroud ourselves in silence; when we can’t gather enough strength to speak. When our eyes remain dull and we no longer care about what people see. We lock ourselves away and feign madness of the soul, whilst we secretly hope to be freed from the darkness that we did create.

It is an oft forgotten torment, to be alone despite the calls, and despite the start we spoke of, we wish for the end of it all.

Miracles

It is within our nature to accept all that we see and not question the miracles behind the 'norm'. I think it is time that we truly opened our eyes and realise the power and beauty behind all the things that we take for granted.

Birth.

People are born every day. We have all been born. We are born to the born. There are souls waiting, still yet to be infused into a body, to give it life, and be born..

We become immune to the act of birth, accepting it as an ingrained part of living, as a part of nature's circle, where we cast the woman as playing only a minor role, despite it being her that is the instrument through which new life begins. Carried, loved, and protected for up to nine months before it's even born.

Whether it is the love in companionship, or the fiery passion of desire or even hate, a man and woman come together in the laws as nature dictates, and carry out the acts of blessings that are ingrained within each soul, somehow aware of what to do. And from there lies the possibility that a life shall ensue from their night.

Birth, I have witnessed a number of times, but have yet to see the joy that one would expect by finally holding one's child. The women that I saw, lay back in shock, exhausted and immune to the dank atmosphere, their eyes blank, unseeing of the others giving birth in the same room. Perhaps it was the metal chairs that stunned them into silence, or perhaps they were afraid for this new life, brought into a world of suffering and pain, although thankfully, there were no bombings or gunfire that day to be heard. But what about the lady who was sharing a bed with two others and had her child whilst laying there with no cry to be heard, from neither mother nor child.. The child had already passed away, held within the womb, lifeless and still, a loss felt even before its birth. Noone could shed a tear.

And then today..

Standing outside a presitigous hospital, with which I had only memories associated with death, I witnessed new life again. Indeed, the circle was broken, and now the memories can start anew.A lady stood by the lamppost, supported by her husband, her pain clear to all those around, whilst passers-by gave nervous glances and hurried along, unsure of what to do. In a sudden rush, she stood in a puddle and cried out that it would not wait. And out came her child, a beautiful baby boy, caught safely in the arms of his father, who looked stunned to say the least. In the time that it took to reach her side and see if there was anything I could do, another lady came by and wrapped the child in her coat, assuring them by the cries of the baby, that it seemed perfectly fine.

I had never before understood how a mother finds their child beautiful when it emerges from birth, shrivelled and in need to be cleansed, but looking past the murky covering, I stood in complete awe. This was a life. A child. A living, breathing, beautiful part of her, and a part of the man that she loved. Together, they had created something unique. Something that now claimed their undying love. The absolute miracle of life, waiting for noone, and on the time its Lord has decreed.

There are wonderful things all around us, that surround us and should inspire us. We are each miracles ourselves and we should be thankful for all it is that we have, despite the pain that we may feel. God sees each child enter this world, God will see each soul leave, and God is always there for us if we look for Him, whilst we live in whatever manner that we choose.

I pray for us all.

Stitched Tight

Cross-hatched in its weaves
As we look up from below
Where each lash curls inside
Stitched in hard to our throws,
From a blanket lined afar
Whilst a veil within our eyes
Leaves us blinded, to reach out
Burnt through down each phase,
And our calcified lies
Pour through a stitched glance
As we are once again born
In the darkness of dance.

New Beginnings

There are times when we run out of words, when all that we can do is sit back and enjoy their light, a noor not seen before, but will the silence be accepted as a part of who I am, when all that they may expect is the voice they hear ringing through.

I am afraid.

Enclosed

As we wait, the shrine of our prayers glides in fixed temptation upon our hands, as the softened strokes call for bliss, and vain glory waits for our return.

It remains as it always is meant to be, another test.

This one seems to be for me.

A Curious Line

It was a hardened fall that broke out each hollowed hope, and let time keep her distance as she seemed to grow down heavens guarded rope. But whilst no longer holding out, a turn of events started to build their place amongst the few that came and went. Dreams for the beginning to let the end build its career in unearthed fires allowed each shadowed figure to glance out from behind the lit and darkened desires. It was time to let go and to let the realities play out their play.

Watching from past lines, I bow down and take the stage for my own, as the ghostly hands applaud the night sky as it rains down in time to each mortal dance that I try. A dance that devours and the mind it enslaves, and drags memories out from deep beyond our hidden graves. And within the graves of sin, we let the dust settle upon our souls, twirling in time to the music, a melody of ancient times, long ago foretold. Awaiting for the signs, our lips struggle to find their place, as in each swinging line, we remain firm in each untold embrace.

And as we wait, the shrine of our prayers glides in fixed temptation upon our hands, as the softened strokes call for bliss, and vain glory waits for our return.

News

There lies a fury of emotion in each angled embrace, and yet the stillness lays within its midst.

And as they leave behind caged thoughts lined in face; in action, they start their ascent.

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Surrounding them, hovers the hum to submit, a fire in their eyes as they drift

As softly breathed sighs speak volumes unheard, never writ; each stride hiding the truth that is meant.

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From the prolonged overt to the hidden sides, each limb must work to resist

And learn to divert the flow from the guide, a depiction of a waited torment.

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And as the fingers slide by, a quick glance left behind; we catch the last before it is missed

Enshrined in their parts of wistful reminders confined, accrued to a goal of content.

Until which therein of the long lines in the mind, the bearer shall do nought but repent..

Wrapped around

In fused submission
To the baser acts
In which we humans fall
Where the flesh cries out
For welded souls
And minds alike
In a heated embrace
And softened sighs
From a tightened grip
Hard in desire
And removed from the norm
Finally able to lay
Together,
In each others arms.

Realities

'The unreal is more powerful than the real, because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it because it is only tangible ideas, concepts, beliefs and fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well they die; but things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on..'

Believers

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Believers! Respond to Allah, and respond to the Messenger when he calls you to that which gives you life.

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Know well that Allah stands between a person and his heart, and it is to Him that all of you shall be summoned.

.

[8:24]

Brought Out

Layers beneath each cover

Within the contortion of smoothed lies

Inured to each cutting smile

A perversion drawn deep and wild

As a broken shard lays seed

From within and through each eye

And within each rising glance

Of faltering cries to the sky

Our hardened forms give birth

To the emptied depth defied

As in a cruel confrontation

We begin to live our lies

.

And detached and forsaken

As a poise of lost intent

Wearied in our actions

And lost through each hidden scent

Of unrepenting scorn

Within each impregnated thought

Blossomed shards bleed through

Each sign severe as it ought,

Ought to have been left

And ought to be despised

But we come round once again

In a full circle upon our lies.

'Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself'

Disbelief

States of confusion and bewilderment coupled with apprehension and fear seem to be phases of living that is an experience endured my most at various points in their lives. The reasons are vast and the solutions never simple. We each hold our own worries and hidden secrets to which even our dearest remain oblivious to; the smiles hide frightened beats, ready to give us away if only we could share. But it is the only way to exist. A blanket upon our frames, a shade from potential lies. Alive behind a life.

Living in the form of our selves lets the opportunity arise for ones seeking eyes to stare back at us in contempt, dredging up the old, the forgotten and yet the very true realities. It has always been there, its presence murky, and its realisation only dawned upon now. Its apparent loss had been humbly yet confusedly accepted as an undeniable truth, but now that its existence is no longer buried deep, the old bonds regrow, a force to be controlled. As though a slap on the face, it is the shock that creates the fear and the curled intentions that bring to light the ruse; a cruel play.

When trust is no longer a witness to the all-encompassing embrace, it is the closest within our prints that have created their own hardened fall. Shall it bear witness to the failure of secluded desires, or shall it be the point from which we learn to fly?

After all, there are some who still can't help but give..

It is only known to me what lies deep within

A Reckoning

It was strange the way we spoke. The silence from before had disappeared and in its place had left behind an unholy hold, as though stroked by demons themselves into a terrifying obscurity from both sides to one, then none. Another scene. Another lie. A loosening grip on garbled thoughts, alone in the display through times, I watch and recoil from the earth filling the grave and look upon with hollowed laws of the blind. Dust settles upon each sunken root, their eyes askew, a view searing deep to the soul. A soul stretched out to the sky, twisting away from the grabbing hold of deepened sores, raw, unconfined and bold.

Maybe it was the night air upon my skin that sent the shivers far beyond each breathing layer of mind. It was that same touch that I felt, a shadow of emptied past. The same remembered fear which guides our whispers, direct in their cry and punctuated by each repeated fall.

It's frightening to realise how thin the line is drawn as we slip into states beyond that of which we can never know..

To Foretell Behind

I wake.

Unaware
Lurching
And reaching

A broken wait
Sifts through layers
Of an unending maze
Leaving behind
The forgotten remains
Lost to the fury of flight

Whilst ghosted hands find ravaged flesh
Of dreams undone
And loosened states
As the conscience barely wakes
From lidded eyes
Deep in a trance
Where shrouded emotion
Is lost to burning spines
Of bending moans
And cries divine
Until finally at rest
The heat settles again

Awake.

A future note to me..

Rediscovering our childhood through the innocent words of a child, my friend and I read through her diary, amazed at the world we could see through a perspective that appreciated the small and simple things in life. We rediscovered an outlook of the young where great importance is attributed to things only valuable to those still fresh in thought.

Reading through a collection of childrens' ideas, free and uninhibited, brought together from various ages and backgrounds, an idea formed and cemented that my future children (inshallah) will have their own book, a journal of their life. Their expressions and the words they use, the ideas they have and the things they hold dear to them, I want it all recorded, stored, and frequently sought, a refuge they adore, and a communication for them to learn. It shall be theirs to love, a memoir from an early age, and always their own additions through time.

By providing them with such a place, I hope that they will learn and appreciate more than what snapshots and videos may show them in later life of the days gone by. It will be an interesting read..

Lost and Found

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Engraved in wood
Within the lines of age
As the craft from birth
Takes attempt at rage
And through furnished thoughts
Guided by hardened palms
Rubbed raw, rubbed fresh
Do the grains learn calm
And as the roughened edges
Give rise to rooted soil
Each withering spark
Stands in feisty recoil
And in humble recognition
Of the outgrowth in time
The fire quenches all tinder
In resonance to fueled climb

And brought forth from the ash

In a yield of loosened earth

Followed are the lines

That trace from first birth

True in Colour

Whether it is being bombarded by media, or moaned at by teenage girls, there is no escaping the obsession that people have with superficial beauty. Beauty itself is a subjective term, but is extensively used in relation to the aesthetics and the fleeting pleasures that we often perceive.

To forget the immediate associations that we hold of the word, and to truly delight our senses, we must learn to see what our eyes cannot seek and to go into the world blind, any sight a blessing, and all experiences divine.

Submerge yourself in to a simple and innocent love where the winds ghosted trail, rains padded feet and the warmth of the touch of skin on skin softens your lips into a smile.

In doing so, we find the allure in the depth of character and the elegance of sincerity. Suddenly, we find that like the newborn in awe of the wonders it beholds, we gather around and hold dear, those who radiate a genuine and unaffected kindness with no arrogance in their gait and no mischief in their words.

I cannot conjure an image in my mind of any face that I have seen, unless I am remembering a picture from which I can attempt to recreate. I see it as a blessing, for the outside that we see is not what resonates its hold upon me, but it is the beauty within others that I remember and feel.

Perhaps it is time that we teach each other that there is only so much that bought products can do. It is the noor upon our faces and the grace that comes with the truth that is the true beauty that will never fade. It is not a matter of brown or white skin, but that of an enlightening view that it is in Gods gift that we remain, and only through self-realistion through the truth of His words can we shine.

But I guess we all want to be seen as beautiful, outside and in ;)

Henna Nights..

Two words: strangely terrifying..

When we are younger, we only see the glamour of what this night is with the brightly coloured clothes, the dancing and singing and a chance to enjoy a girl's party. But older and more aware, seeing the bride-to-be walk down the stairs, a friend i've known for years, and watching her hands shake at the prospect of the looming day to come when she goes away from everything that she has known her entire life, I have to wipe back the tears and can only begin to comprehend why.

The traditions and customs of the night make me cringe back from all that it is, a pointless exercise, a waste and all so wrong. It seems that for some, in starting a new chapter, it becomes unimportant to enter into it holding firm on to their faith and beliefs. Religion seems to be lost for the night and shame and self-respect are put on hold by friends in order to provide 'entertainment' pieces, leaving some in the audience appalled and with their eyes covered, whilst others will look on and applaud..

Should a compromise be made for the friends who although may not hold the same ideals, are friends nevertheless? When the time comes, lets see what decisions are made..

Secret Sorrows..

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Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often at times we call a man cold when he is only sad


Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Wise Wilde...

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He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realise.

Oscar Wilde
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A Lesson..

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They say the songs of the blind are sad because they show the listener things their eyes cannot see
.

Too Light to Stay...

It is a choice that we make within the lifestyles we lead, to keep ourselves busy, absorbed and always haunted by the perpetual voices of what there is left to do. Therefore, it is only natural that to allow this deepening preoccupation to continue, in which we bury ourselves, we find that from time to time, we need a break, a refreshed view, ready to face it all once again.

The fact that it has become an obsessive necessity to submerge ourselves in a few days of peaceful rest away from our everyday norm, is an obvious sign that within the recesses of our quashed subconscious minds and souls, we are more aware of our original states in which we were made to walk this earth than we seem to accept.

It is time that accumulates, that weighs heavy upon our selves. It is within the time passed that we create our shield, our armour and our mask. And it is time that we leave behind. Her roped strands are gradually drawn away and all that is left is the dust carried by the winds.

Nested worries and rooted needs transform into states dealt with an ease and a natural flare. Emotions and ideas are no longer opposed but entwined in a union previously forgotten. A union that is the purest to be found.

And it is in nakedness that we return.

Unattached, unaware and floating newly born, it becomes easy to simply 'be'.

In lost forms we rise..

Within the traced lines
Upon my skin
I slowly lose the feeling of 'why'.

Remain blurred edges, of an existence before
Of the memories held close
And the fire within my blood,

Whilst a sculpted form drowns,
Only a ripple left in time
Draped in the mockery of lies.

And with each wavering stroke,
Crushed fingertips loosen their hold
Sinking in through their palms.

Grotesque and alone
A standing statment to remind
For those who start to forget..

A Transcript..

"Coincidences happen.. But what about the coincidences that brought me to you in the first place?

Einstein once said that coincidences are God's way of remaining anonymous.."

So strikingly phrased, it is a reminder of our intertwined lives and how destiny shall always play its role. Perhaps if need be, God shall hear our prayers to change what may or may not have been writ before, and with His blessings, nudge our paths to our dreams and let them join, unified, and complete.

An Extract

"Sometimes at night he woke from bizarre dreams and whispered to himself, 'Careful, careful.' Be careful of chaos, of silence, of words, of other people, of myself..."

Give Way...

We make friends in life and sometimes we invest so much of ourselves and so deeply in others that we feel we almost have a claim over them. A possession almost. A jealousy. Wanting them for ourselves.

I finally understand the power of our emotions and the bonds that we create. To receive, we must give, but what happens when we feel we've already given our all, but are still waiting for even the smallest sign that they are still there. Ours. For life. Never swayed despite the attractions on the side. The sin of delight. The delight in sin. Or perhaps it is the creations within our minds that hides the truth of no sin indulged in at all. Perhaps it is in imagination alone that we have lived our lives, in our dreams of late, and it was lies that smiled our souls to sleep.

From this point forward, I just don't care..

Or do I?..

This One's for Me...

Kun saath chu insaan wetsan wadun magar pai chunna aasaan kih, ye kyaazi chu gasaan. Kabhar dillas menz maa chu thyuth kath aasan kus chu emis ander phutrouwan, magar ye kath chunna emis ti pai aasan kih, ye kya hekh esith.

Im cheez chu khetith rozan. Paansi nish chu khetith rozan.

Khabar beyis ma legh pai beysund dillas menz kus kath chu kus chu emis wadnauwan..


Aaz zan phetus. Kah gus bruhkin eun, myoon ath ratun, bei me kun wuchith wanun myaanin uchin menz kyaaz chu ush wasaan.. bei be kath cheezas chas pyaaran..

Just that Once...

Things happen and there's nothing you can do. It's not something that you can control once your foot steps over the edge and you've tumbled down into an abyss of the unknown.

At the end of the day, I think what we want most are answers to whatever questions there may be that keep haunting us, even whilst we sleep. Whilst we dream. And more-so whilst we fall. We want to understand, to learn, and to accept the intentions behind those hands that pushed us. Still yearning for light's hope of the warmth of spoken truth, we find ourselves absently floating into an empty space, waiting, and waiting alone. Drowning within the dark hole, our hearts silently surround, and we take refuge in what we imagine our fearful ends to be.

I wonder what's on the other side...

Giving Thanks...

Thank you. Thank You. THANK YOU!

They do say that if at first you don't succeed, then try, try and try again.. I certainly did that!

Alhamdulillah :)

Rejuvenated Soul...

To spend time away from all that we are used to, amongst those who seek the same as ourselves, all gathered for a common goal, we stand blessed, as hoards of angels stand at our sides.

From time to time, we find that we need that push, that atmosphere of peace and love and the thirst to seek the truth, to finally allow ourselves the chance to flourish and be. A chance to soak in the words, their shine apparent in our faces and dancing from our eyes; a clarity of the soul in the darkness of the night.

It is then that we can stand alone in the silence, at the time when our own heartbeats are the sounds within our ears, that the words can silently permeate our souls, their life infusing into our minds as we succumb to the power it holds.

Rising from one dream and standing in the next, listen with your ears but witness with your heart, as the truth whispers from your tongue, softly shaped and piercingly heard. Understand its beauty whilst time is running out. And when obligation turns into choice, lift off the veils and taste a purity that only the secrets of shadows cast by a darkened sky, can show without the searching light of day. A hidden deed. A higher reward.

Let us not concern ourselves with the waiting for the end. The end of the line, the end of the page. Let us be the ones to follow, and not the ones who are followed. Followed by our soul's true call. Left behind, forgotten, and waiting to be found.

At a measured pace and a lilting tone, let us stand and truly see. Let The Word be our witness. Let it become our shade. And even if you call, though it may be by mistake alone, know that your voice is always heard. Waited for. Rejoiced in, and loved.

Let your hearts feel shame, and may God be your friend.

~

These past few days have been one of learning and re-inforcing, and most of all, of aiming to be the best me that there can be and letting the innocence that childhood brings to reaffirm my belief in the peace that we all hold in our souls, and the ability we all have to remain in the purity of love.

Why is it that as we grow older, our expressions of love seem to change? Children give so freely of themselves to others, their smiles lighting up their faces, their hugs more sincere, and their gaze enraptured as they walk amongst those who have that freedom of play. The freedom of not worrying about hidden smiles from those who fear to laugh and run as the children do. The freedom to give as easily as they receive.

I. I count myself amongst those who stand unafraid to express what lies within my heart. Without shame of my love, without cares for who sees, and that is why I feel truly free. Free to embrace, free to hold hands, and free to scramble up on to laps, in comfort and at peace, whilst others look on, amused and unaware of how easy love can be.


It's never too late to be free.

Bare for now...

.
.
My room is my canvas.
My work is my paint.

And the dreams in my mind, the tools I create.

As always, summer calls for a change and as new souls start to coyly weave their songs through the dances of light, I learn to listen to their beats and find my own rhythm in time. For now, I am to lay within an empty frame whilst the shadows from tonight leave their footprints as a trail, waiting to be found..

Innocence...

.
.
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

- William Blake
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.
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A Break...

In life, we may find at times that the expectations we hold of people are all but a farce, an invention from within our own minds. We build characters to suit our needs; to suit our vices.. In fact, just to suit ourselves.

Perhaps it is our need to be accepted for who we truly are that gives birth to these shadowed beings that we create. To be embraced for our souls, individual and unique, we ignore the real gap, the differences we hold, in both emotion and times; and we join each side with a thin and fraying string, upon which we place their persona, fashioned from hope, to be amongst those who allow, even to accede, and wholly partake in our joy.

Although there are some that lay content within the rules imposed on the very way that we think, there are others who have outgrown the ideologies and the acceptable way of being in the way that culture ordains them to behave. If we do not stand guilty of breaking any laws God decrees, then we are able to remain firm in our faith, that we have done no wrong, and it is here that we draw the line. Generations will slowly come to understand that the children who were born of their wombs, have made no mistake in the decisions they make, and in God's eyes, they are blessed if their hearts remain to be pure. God alone knows the whisperings of our hearts and if indeed the changes that we no longer hide, remains in heed of His truth.

Resigned to our binds, we allow old ways to weave their hold until our hearts choices let us finally be who we were born to be, in a journey of acceptance and joy.

I pray that my heart remains firm in my goals and the changes I make, whether misunderstood or dismissed, are all for Gods way alone. Let Him be my strength in the journeys we are yet to take and let Him guide me to the truth and keep me there, always.

It's time to make a break..

Fly High...

Whether they are ambitions and goals we wish to achieve, or the flickering pictures we see within our mind behind closed eyelids when we sleep, both are considered to be 'dreams'; both states of mind that can be characterised by abstraction and a release from reality.

Each night that I lay in bed, recounting the days events and thinking through each thought, I wonder at the power of the mind and our ability to create. I eagerly anticipate my sleep, thrilled to see what my subconscious empowers me to achieve. To discover. To enjoy. Images and ideas in play with a vividness of life that only the darkness can bring, formed from the half-truths seen in the light of day and longing thoughts to embody each fantasy and dream.

For some, there is only a thin veil that separates our hearts desires from becoming the reality we wish to attain. To look from either side of the divide is to live but only half a life, neither complete and never content. It is our passioned devotion to the voice of our hearts that allows us to achieve our goals. And in finding the strength to lift our own veils, each world can combine and we will find ourselves to be free.


But most of the time, I dream that I can fly..

Spoken in Time...

Se che gindaan - She's playing..

There remains only two people left in the world who truly understand the meaning behind those simple words sobbed out by a mere child. Afraid of the stranger that was in fact the idolised hero of later life, the stranger sadly let their beloved angel go, but hoping that their time would come.

It did.

But there is so much I wish I could have changed.. So much I wish I had said before time finally sighed her last..

And why did I remember this today? I don't know. But at least now I can never forget.

Are whispered words into the night enough? Please tell me they are..

I pray that my voice may be carried by the winds to be heard by the one whom I still fear to see.. I hope it is you that will one day take me there and I know you will be my strength and hold me as I regain my soul, finally having spoken to the one I love, who can only but listen to me weep from behind closed doors.

That day shall be marked with tears of rebirth and I truly believe in you to be the one to take me away, hand in hand, finally joyous and free...

Words...

Words are spoken with deliberate force
And with a deliberate pause
As though relishing the taste of each lettered form
And each syllable and word that we impart
Goes out to dance and meet the world
And each dancer has one friend or more
To weave through time
In a particular line
And left for others to taste their sound

I wonder if the words we speak
Hang in time in each place we be
So that each time we open our mouth to talk
Or sing or debate and to recall
We leave an impression in the surrounding air
That like a cloud, enshrouds, ensnares
So when we seem to pluck a word
From the seemingly deceptive empty air
That word in fact was always there
Laying in wait
And waiting for use
Ageing with time
Yet spoken with care

And does us surround
All words ever said
As a testament of life
And of each prayer read
So that when you see shadows of the unspoken mind
It's the mist of the words that have fallen behind
Words with soul
And words of old
Such is the power
Of all that's been told

The power of words
And the power of time
The power we create
In each spoken line..

Further Ramblings...

I've never fully grasped society's concept of normality. We as humans are created to be individuals. Our differing gene structures and uniquely identifiable fingerprints are a testament to that, and whilst even identical twins may share exactly the same DNA, even they will vehemently argue that they are not 'the same'.

I wonder who it is that creates these ideals of what is to be considered the acceptable way of behaving, dressing, speaking, and living. Perhaps this is where culture shows its effect, as the code of living varies from region to region, and even between adjacent towns we see the 'conventional' rules starting to change. Perhaps we all are just afraid to stray from our fellow flock and have forgotten to be ourselves.

It is in children that we can regrasp the concept of what it is to truly be. Their minds young and untainted by societal restrictions, they speak the truth and act wholly from their free will. In them is an innocence no-one can deny and a freedom we all secretely yearn. Ofcourse, the importance of age cannot be forgotten for it gives us the wisdom of kind words and an even greater potential to give freely of ourselves in a manner far more useful to us all.

It is our experiences, emotions and our ideas that set us apart from one another, for no two people can live exactly the same life and therefore can never be the same. Even when we share corresponding ideals or hold similar views, whether it be on religion, theology or philosophy, we truly are unique. And we as humans should not perceive the norm to be one of those who is amongst the followers of the masses, but instead, we should learn to remain as individuals who listen to the truths of our souls to guide us to what makes our hearts truly sing, and in doing so, accept the new-found awareness of who we really are.

As my soul soothingy hums to me the tune of the life that I have learned to embrace, I stand content, unafraid of being me.

Today I Let it Go...

Everyone has their own fears and their own secret worries. Some of us choose to ignore it and manage to get by in life without anyone ever realising what it is that we hide, whilst the braver of us will try and face it head on and battle it out with their own selves. But mostly, we all need someone to guide us and hold our hands whilst we try to overcome that fear. We start that fight when we feel we must, but only because of that someone whom we hold close to our souls, even if they will never find out what you have fought so hard to achieve or why.

Is there always a logic behind the tremblings of our hearts? Is it something we can dissect and analyse and finally learn to accept? Perhaps. Perhaps not. A feeling of dread may be our only clue as to what it is that we subconsciously lean away from. However, after carefully immersing ourselves in the terrors that we manage to create and learning to find our peace, we may be finally be able to understand the intricate nature of our minds and the frightening associations that we hold. What we can be sure of knowing, is that if we look within ourselves, we can understand the reasons for why we need to triumph, and for who we want our victory.

For me, today happened to be the day I found my own way, with my thoughts of you keeping me content and smiling as each step took me closer to my goal.


I did it for you..

I wonder if you will ever know...

And I Pray..

A river clinging
To hardened banks
Of salted gems
And crusted ranks
And of earthen hairs
Swept with a broken glance
As in sweet succession
Of fallen grace
At risen lines
Of a fearful pace
I lay to cool
The river's mouth
Upon my floating fingertips

My Journey...

We have all felt pain. But how many of us have lived the life of death? But even in death, it is said that we feel...

There was a time when I felt nothing. Days would go by as though a dream, with the nights and days snaking into one long rope of unending moments, an eternity stretched out in each second that passed by, the brightening and fading of the stars my only sign that the days and months still raced ahead. I saw a lot of the stars in those days. With my face turned to the sky, each night I would watch one ball of light dissolve the others until they re-emerged again. A full circle. Such is the nature of life; birth, growth and death.. only to be followed by birth again..

A peaceful and refreshing sleep was a foreign concept, with any hours of rest I did manage to achieve, being punctuated with constant awakenings to the sound of my own racing heart and gasping tears, thankfully wrenched from yet another dark and hazy dream. They say we are at our most vulnerable when we sleep. In this I have learned to believe. It is the time when you no longer hide behind your impenetrable and strong facade and you can no longer block the truth of your heart from yourself anymore. Perhaps it was the only time I ever allowed myself the blessings of tears. Hidden from the world in my refound sanctuary, where the two opposing concepts of peace and reality combined, I learned to lose the very essence of what makes our souls.. our ability to feel.

Four years.. I remember very little of what happened in those years. Exams, interviews, mundane daily activities, and even friends.. they all came and went. But what I do remember is the change.

I could be happy but not feel happy; I could enjoy life without savouring it; I could laugh and not let it reach my soul.. In essence, I could live and yet really, not live at all. But most of all, I did not care. Time would let me heal, and trustingly placing my hand in hers, through her friendship, I grew. I laughed and sang and danced away my worries and fears and ignored people's wide-eyed curiosity as to how I had become me. A more talkative and confident me, no longer afraid of the world and unwaveringly placing faith in God to always be at my side.

However, with the darkness of each night, there always came the deepest heartbreak that shook my very soul.. a secret between God and I. A secret that gave me peace. A secret that refreshed my soul as I let it bathe in the blessings I had never forgot.

God, Thee I thank for all that You have given me and all that me, You have taught. Let me never stray from the true path that is Yours and let those who are good for my religion and my hereafter come into my life and guide me to all that is true. Let me prostrate humbly before You and let neither pride nor evil stain my heart and I pray that You keep me strong and steadfast in my journey to achieve my goal..


And finally, the fifth year... This year.

Everything seemed to fall into place. My mind clear and my heart content, I have found the peace within myself. I have survived birth, growth and even death, only to live again..

From crushed and demolished earth and rocks, there springs out diamonds; a rare event, uncontrolled, unplanned. Endured. And like diamonds, some people emerge from their darkest times as a heavenly find, radiating the light of sincerity in their hope of bringing joy to others. It truly is an astonishing feat of the human soul, to survive.. and then to thrive. I sincerely pray to be amongst those people..

But far more precious to me than any stone can ever be, is my heart, which I carefully guard. However, there are those to whom I cannot help but give my love, and unknowingly, they are the ones who hold the greatest power to break it all over again.. And knowing that they have that potential to destroy me, would I ever take back my love, even if I could? No, because the greatest gift of all that we humans can give one another, is our love. And if you have ever felt the pain that comes with loss, whether tangible or emotional, you will understand that to be able to feel, most of all, to feel love, it is always worth fighting for, whatever the outcome you fear..

And I? I still fear love..


God keeps all our secrets, but it was time for me to tell mine..



Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un
Verily we belong to God, and to God we return
[2:156]

An Understanding...

"Everything happens for a reason".

It's a well enough known saying, whether said in the context of religion or making yourself and others feel better about bad things that happen in life. But in reality, it is a doctrine by which if you abide, you will always be able to find peace, no matter what happens and whatever situation you find yourself thrown into. I try to live by this, surrendering myself to the will of God and believing that indeed there is a greater meaning to life, and that as a mere speck of unimportant existence within the vast expanse of the universe, I will never understand the answer to the always asked question that we never seem to tire of voicing, yet can never comprehend.. 'why?'

Sometimes it takes us a life time to let go of a grudge against the hands that fate has dealt us, and some people are unlucky enough to always hold that bitterness in their hearts. However, just once in a while, we may be blessed enough to let go of it all, and in that moment of freedom, finally comprehend all the wonderful things that have come about as a result of something that initially we could only see as being another event that broke our heart.

This past year, if anything, has made me realise more than ever that I truly am content to believe and continue to live by the phrase that 'everything happens for a reason'. And once you manage to do so, you will find a peace that you never thought you could feel again..

The Beginning...

Each crease formed over years
Hides a story of its own

Of life etched in skin
And skin burnt in flesh
Which pay homage to the sin
Of time wasted at best

And with no space left for tears
We turn to the unknown