Tally

“ [He is ] 
subtle in his movements, 
sweet to look at,
he seeks out the loftiest of matters, and has the most outstanding moral ethics. 
He is not prejudiced against he whom he does not like, 
nor biased in favour of one he loves,
he is hardly a burden; and instead is very helpful. 
He perfects his actions as if he is being watched, 
lowers his gaze, 
is liberal in his giving, and never turns away a beggar. 
He considers his words carefully and guards his tongue. 
He neither accepts falsehood from a friend, nor rejects the truth from an enemy. 
He only learns in order that he might know, 
and he only seeks to know in order that he may act. 
When he travels with worldly people, he is the smartest of them, 
and when he travels with the people of the Hereafter, he is the most pious from among them. ”

— Prophet Muhammad al-Mustafa [SAW], describing the believer. 

Blind

we are strangers in a strange world, sometimes we feel like we are the only one that is strange in a world full of people who think themselves not strange. Other times we meet strangers who are like us, and we are comforted by the meeting of other people who are just as strange as us. But, those are rare moments and they are far in between. Everybody is strange in their own way, its just a matter of time before we meet another who is strange in our way too. We differ in our thoughts, our opinions, our personalities, our way of life, our beliefs, our principles, our morals, and so many little things that make us who we are, and differences are highlighted in this world where anything that is not accepted or is not seen by many is regarded as more than strange, unacceptable even. people are strange and often see in others what they either want, or dont want, yet rarely do they see in themselves for who they truly are. sometimes, a mirror must be placed in front of their eyes before they see but even then, some people do not. blinded by judgements and stereotypes, we have become a people with narrow minds, despite our expansive vision. i am a weird person and i often wonder about others about myself about the world and about people i habe never seen. strange because i find my makings quite different from others, It is no fault of others that they find me strange, even i find myself strange at times. and sometimes i find myself behaving in a certain way that even i would frown upon, and thus the disappointment when we lose track of our selves and instead become something else,. what do we become? I dont know, but I know for sure it is not who i usually am. I have been warned before, about the dangers of losing my self, and how it can lead to other things which are frowned upon. But the strangest part is when I realize I have yet to know myself fully yet, how then can i even begin to lose myself? this, this is a revelation. is who we are something we already know innately? Sometimes i wonder too much. in the midst of our very busy lives, sometimes we dont even wonder about these things, our attention too caught up in whatever that we do in our lives, no space given for thought and reflection. Life.

Cake

The shadow we cast is only as high as the Sun is.
We are still the very same being we have always been.
The world revolves and changes, how can we not?
We are but one cog in the intricate system of cogs.
As we grind through the days, passive or active,
how can we not feel the wear and tear at our teeth?
The shadow is longest, darkest, at dawn and dusk.
The shadow is shortest, invisible, at scorching noon.
Do we face the inevitable heat, or the comforting dark?

______________________________

I walk along, on blinding white floor, surrounded by blinding white walls without a ceiling.
I am looking down, my eyes lowered but opened to see all that I can only bring myself to.
I look behind, and I see a trail of black footsteps, and I wonder, only to realize, it is mine.
I stop, my eyes hot with tears and something inside ached and grieved and cried out loud.

Cuba sampai jadi.

I am offered some delicious cake, and I knew I wanted more.
The lady looked at me, smiled, and put another slice on mine.
I asked, "But why?"
She said, "You have a good Heart, but its specked with some black dots. Keep at it."

Everyone needs a little push.

Menial Labour

Break it to pieces and wash away the dust that remains, watch and observe and the stains will grow and soon, too soon, it is dirty and it clumps as before. Carefully now, repeat, break and wash, and ever more it will seem to be forever. But the consequence of fatigue from the never-ending task is the likelihood of an end, an end that is far better than the consequence of letting the dirt amass into the mountain within, that it blocks out the light of light, and that we stand in the darkness, wishing for light when we know that we are the reason for our own faults and failures. Think and rethink, the sore heart and the crushed fantasies will give rise to the clean crystal place, 

fit for the King.

I will tell you, on another day.

From table to table

Herein lies the story of a lady we met by the name of Mary-Anne.

I have seen her before, many a times with her tired eyes, yet the glint of her smile always reaching to them, a distance never too far. She would smile, and with her merry voice, so identifiable with the Eurasian tilt, not begging but rather, simply greeting strangers, strangers she meet everyday, strangers that she meets once, twice and sometimes, every week. I am one of those strangers where strangeness is not part of my company.

Once again, the hour is late, the lights seemingly too bright and laughter is plenty. I am always with friends. Once again, I see Mary-Anne and yet, she seemed different this time. Ask me not what it is, for all I know is that something was. She passes by a table beside ours, and naturally, she leaves empty-handed, yet her exuberant smile and gratitude still lingered on her wrinkled brown face. Her hair was as I remembered, mostly white except for the edges of a few strands, and infinitely curly. She looks around, as she always does. This is what she does everyday, her eyes hovering across the multiple faces smiling and laughing, deep in conversation or simply gazing into space. I can only wonder what goes through her mind as she sees these young faces, juxtaposed to her aching knees, her shoulders sore from slinging her bag all day and night. 

She looked especially tired, her usual spark seemingly fizzled and I called out to her. Oh the look she has when someone acknowledges her. It is the simple joy of knowing familiarity in a crowd of many. I smiled as she did, and I tried my best to covertly hand her what my hand, heart and mind can offer without having any form of expectancy. A small portion of sincerity that only a beggar can offer. In the small gestures of passing from one hand to another, a subtle tenuous bond is formed between one and another, a softening of the heart. This is why there is a saying, "Charity is not an obligation, it is a privilege." I smiled at her, sincerity bleeding out like an open wound and quickly motioned for her to keep whatever she has. She quickly snapped, "I have my dignity to keep!" We laughed. My eyes glaze over and I feel a deep melancholy forming within. We smiled. We exchanged a few words, and I told her how I remembered a time when I saw her fighting with another over at Simpang and she laughed, but it was quickly extinguished as she tasted the sour and bitter memory of having been hit. 

Without letting any further thoughts cause any hesitation, I invited her to have a seat. No one tells a story while standing - except for preachers. No, she was no preacher, she simply wanted to share, and never intended any of her stories to have any didactic value, merely a nice story to tell. No one shares a table with me that they have no drink or no food, and I offered her a drink, and asked what would she like. "Hot teh-o with lemon please," accepting my offer graciously, oh would life have been simpler if more people in the world had such graciousness. Then again, she was no ordinary person. 

Herein lies the story of a lady we met by the name of Mary-Anne.

Salutations

In the shambles of twilight late upon the hour,

we travel in the darkness, in solitude,

to ascend up among the stars,

that lower themselves not for anyone,

and awaits patiently for those willing to climb.

Sometimes I don't understand what I am reading/seeing/listening, and yet it can evoke an emotional response that I have no control over. Then I wonder, which part of me, if not my conscious and functioning mind that understands what is happening, that I can have a response over something that I clearly do not comprehend logically. Some people live their lives fundamentally built upon the scaffolds that are facts, conjecture and logic. I admit, to a large extent, I am one of these people. Yet, as I go through life and learn from the snippets of conversations I listen to, the enlightening texts that I stumble upon and the humbling scenes that I witness, my understanding of the world is being challenged. No, not challenged, augmented. Now comes an added dimension that I have not seen before, a level of reality and understanding slightly beyond my complete grasp and yet it is evidently there. And the strangest part of them all is that the more I acknowledge it, consider it in my everyday thought, decision and action, my hold on logic seems to be loosening and there comes a... feeling of ease and letting go, relenting to the force that be, the force that determines the rising and setting of the sun, the orbit of the Earth, the duration and amount of rain that pours, the beating of my very own heart and every other thing in this whole universe that despite the lack of human intervention, control and understanding, goes by so perfectly without a flaw or incident. In this realization do I understand my place and my power (or lack thereof) and with it, comes a calmness that sets deep into my soul that in everything I do, there is something that controls the outcome, and that if it can control and manage the intricate dance of astronomical bodies in the Universe, then the being of one individual is of no burden and no hassle in managing. There is no need for worry, unnecessary and burdensome worry, I bid you goodbye.

Lub Dub

I stand upon carpeted ground, upright, still, solid and soft.

Yet when I look down, it is not upon them do my eyes lay on.

They look down to mimic the heart who can only gaze down.

____________________________

There is a piece of flesh in the body, if it becomes good, the whole body becomes good, but if it becomes spoilt, the whole body gets spoilt, and that is the Qalb (Heart).

Oh elusive Heart, you are like a ruler that rules from behind the shadows, I see not your countenance nor know not your nature. You pull at my limbs like string to a puppet and your desires resonate with command.

I seek You, and yet You remain elusive. Like the first rays of dawn, I can only wait for You and any pursuit will be to no avail yet surely I know You will make known yourself to me, in time when I am ready to do so.

____________________________

Care

You never truly love a person, until you know them.

Strange how this concept is actually meant for the self, and not for others. Before you can even love another person, question yourself, where is this love from, who is this person giving this love of theirs, and why to this person, and not to another? Until we do so, we are but a shadow of our selves, incomplete and not understood. What a painful reality we relent ourselves to. Until we do so, our actions, our deeds, they have no constancy in them, no guiding principle that can be connected to our self. I guess in our youthful years, with so much on our plates, each demanding a portion of our limited attention, how can we even muster enough to find our selves. 

Priorities.

A friend asked, "Are we like a leaf, eventually turning brown and crumbling?"

"All that live must die," my friend.

Ambrosia

A man is walking through a vast desert, his throat parched, thirst driving him to the limits of his consciousness and the horizon as expansive as the night that never seems to come.

He meets a man who is holding with him a white amphora, its contents promising a relief from the thirst riddling his body and mind.

Give the thirsty man the amphora and he will drink to his death, uncontrollable thirst compelling his actions that will ultimately lead to his own demise - one that even the desert for its scorching heat was unable to.

Give the thirsty man the ambrosia drop by drop, first to wet his tongue, to let it soak and bring him back from the edges of sanity, slowly so as to ensure that he is able to down the amphora properly, slowly.

_________________________________________________

In a wide white desert, I walk, not knowing left from right, front from back, the endless horizon and the midnight sun hanging above. And I continued walking, not tired or thirsty, simply walking with no direction, I find a small blue pool of water. Curious. A pool in a desert. I wash my face, then my arms, and yet the water never seemed any less. Curious. I stepped into the small blue pool of water and find myself plunged into a ocean of calming blue,

 reinvigorated and alive.

What I thought was a small pool, only to discover in it an endless ocean.

_________________________________________________

There resides a certain silence within my self, a silence where no echo reverberates from, it is vast and cold and yet I see no source nor place for it to reside, yet it does so, firmly entrenched in my being, numbing me.

This is most puzzling.

Leafy conversations

Sometimes, I look at nature and I envy Her.

They live their lives with the knowledge of their purpose, dutifully doing what they have been set out to do in this world. They do what they must, no qualms or objections, they simply do. Then I look at myself and wonder, have I found what my purpose is, and if so, have I done it? Many a time I have come to the conclusion that I have not, and I question myself, searching for a reason for my unavailing efforts or lack thereof.

Purpose gives an existence meaning.

My thoughts are addled with a sleepiness and fatigue and yet there is still much to be done, so much.

Everyday is a crusade against my self.

In each passing moment, a trial for my body, mind and soul, and verily the results have been varied.

We are swept away by the incessant pounding waves,

drifting us further and further, losing sight of the shore.

Invisible forces tug at our legs and tie them down,

inescapable without forced, unfelt and unseen.

We think ourselves motionless, and yet we drift further away,

question your knowledge! What do you really know?

Wake up from this sleepless dream and cast away the veil,

break free of the ties that bind, ties that keep you, break free!

Take hold of your self, no more shall you be swept away, far away.

Swim against the tides and swim away from those keeping you.

Swim alone, struggle and only then will you find shore.