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
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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...

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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..