Post-War Proposition

There is a resounding desire and urgency to change.

Over and over again.

Over and over again.

Over and over again.

When, when will you learn that your actions can either detriment or enhance your well-being.

Death comes before Life, and as such, must I die before I can truly Live?

We pursue that fluttering pleasures of this world for naught.

You have seen, yet you do not see as you should.

ARE YOU BLIND TO THE TRUTH MY INTIMATE FRIEND?

No, truly, it is I who is blind.

I have no sight of the true Reality, this illusion so real, drawn before my eyes like a cinema, of lights and smoke. My eyes glaze over the glimmering lies and their ephemeral satisfaction, my mind seeking comfort in the way of the world and the way it perceives it and my body weakened and succumbed to its numbing senses.

Truly, I have lived a life full of deceit, and self-deceit.

Truly, I have not learnt my place when I still hold onto my place.

Truly, I am a being still drowning in mistakes and wrong-doing.

Verily, I seek the way to find Truth, the Truth and to abide by it.

Verily, I seek to lose myself in knowing my self.

Verily, I need aid to save me from myself.

Intention

It begins with a stirring in the Heart, and it escalates up, to be recognized by the Mind, and alas it is broadcast to the body, the limbs and the lips, to be affirmed and executed in action.

Like a river flowing downstream bringing water, it paves the way for Life and Living along her breadth, she paves the land and the land shows her permission, two coming as one to shape us.

From top to bottom, the connection is never cut and all is an ever-flowing series, one affecting the other, the previous and the next, would you rather a clear clean stream or a murky toxic flow?

All I'm saying is, it all begins with intention, all that we do, stems from there, all that we do, affects that,

The Heart

How then can we afford to go about, dripping toxic from our fingertips, poison from our lips, and dirt in our thoughts? Are they not indications of a diseased Heart? Crippled by the Nafs, her insatiable appetite, stealing away what we could have given to nourish the Heart. As diseases go, the ailing Heart needs remedy, and remedy often comes in bitter forms, painful forms and sometimes unwanted forms.

How else can we cure the sick?

Ya Tabib Al-Qalb, cure my ailing Heart and rid her of the diseases that pull at her flesh.

Poker

Open the book and read my story,
the words printed in black, spaces,
colouring the canvas of your mind.

Every fate woven in place, certain,
every thread, in length and colour,
the design created, yours and mine.

Actors and actresses in a play,
characters living life in a book,
each with a role, cruel or kind.

_____________________________________

I always think I know my cards, my options, possibilities and potential, 

but never the random turn of events, the random chance events and simply the rules of Life. 

______________________________________

Najm

In the cover of darkness, with the sound of waves lapping lazily on the sand, with the wind blowing softly a breeze, I sat and looked upon the stars for the glittering light that guided civilizations of people before me when the night was darkest and the moon was absent. 

Glittering stars that stayed true to their course and purpose , never straying away from a singular course, of which I take after in this ever-changing landscape of life, death and everything in between. 

I look longingly into them, their illumination brief but true, hoping that in the solace of night and solitude, that I may find inspiration for change and improvement, for I lay in a chasm of my own doing, too deep to call for help, too shallow to call for help, for only I can help myself in the undertaking of my self. 

I look upon the stars, their glittering light enveloped by infinite darkness, yet still brightly they shine. How I long to be clean and bright, like a shard of light in the sea of darkness.

Chicken Rice

I look for quiet places, they hold great value to me.
The bustle of a hawker centre can be a quiet place.
The tranquillity present in an empty park is one too.
The company of someone can also be a quiet place.

Quiet places are places where peace is present,
peace and harmony, amidst chaos and troubles.
Some people can speak endlessly, their words like honey.
Some people can speak endlessly, their words like noise.

I will smile, seemingly randomly,

looking at things, person, places,

even if no joke or story was told,

simple joy tugging at my cheeks.

_________________________________________

When I was younger, I battled anger and sadness and disappointment, putting up a wall against them, denying them entry into my heart. For a while, I felt victorious, thinking myself overcome such emotions. Presumptuous.

Like water ebbing at shore, as time went by, my wall got weaker and weaker, yet the emotions never stopped, as we live, we experience them over and over again. Yet we can only hold out for so long before the wall crumbles. 

They ate me from the inside out, no one made me angry, I was angry at myself. No one brought me sadness, yet I felt sad, and disappointed in others and myself. Oh the irony, of those ignorant of the condition of their own Hearts.

________________________________________

I was standing still, my mind free from any conscious thoughts.

I was awake, alive and aware, yet somehow, I felt light, floaty.

Sometimes, we do things that we have no good reason for. We do things that we are not sure if they are good or bad, foolish or wise. Then it dawned upon me, when we do such actions, we have given ourselves to the flow of the Universe. Of course there is an opposing force to the flow, and they seek to corrupt our desires and mislead us. Then I realized the importance of knowing myself, to know and distinguish between the two forces that governs our actions and Life. Often, this is the simple test that makes, or breaks us.

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.

Sighs

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.

-Fragments from Auguries of Innocence.

2:216

Fighting has been enjoined upon you while it is hateful to you. But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. And Allah Knows, while you know not.

Height

This world, Dunya, 

is but a temporary abode.

This world, Dunya, 

is but a lowly existence.

Take not that which is temporary, which is lowly, and elevate it to the status of 

the ever-lasting, the high.

For verily, if you do, you are lowly than that which is already very low.

Of which, we are not.

Porcelain

I am constantly failing, over and over again,
committing mistakes, the same ones,

                                                            different ones, 

it doesn't matter.

Tumbling around in the dark, as if I do know where to go.

Is it ignorance or a truly thick-headed skull, that stops me from walking?

The simplest, slowest, minutest step forward is better than this.

Instead, I am walking backwards, sideways, losing my way.

Failing in every aspect, every test that I meet along my way.

___________________________________

Having the chance to fail, that in itself is an opportunity to learn, is it not?

Failure shows mistakes and mistakes show areas for improvement. Yes.

What can I do but still tumble on, in hopes that I will find my way again.

Knowing I have failed doesn't change the fact, changing it changes it.

___________________________________

The value is being lost is that once you've found your way, you won't be lost any more.

Never ever give up.

Water

No words can express,
the toiling Heart and the clockwork Mind,
and their attempts at unravelling the world when it stills.

Sighs and quiet times,
Smiles of relief and joy amidst tears,
The hour is nigh for reflections, perfect for all them feels.
____________________________________________

When you look at yourself, your deeds, your values, your morals, late at night with no other voice telling you otherwise, then you see for yourself for who you truly are, every good and every bad. Every flaw, from the microscopic to the gigantic, put on exhibition for your observation and realization.

There is dirt, everywhere.

Walking alone in the darkness, I am lost and seeking my way, searching for Light.
The surrounding darkness imposes no presence, it is merely a background, a natural condition of the world and of the Heart. The inclination we all have toward the bad that makes it so accessible and easy to fall for. In the pool of water that follow, the streaming tears that trickle down, wash and cleanse yourself, be at ease.

Heartbeat

The Key to open all and one door.

There is a growing apathy that ferments in the heart,

born not out of hatred, anger or sadness, but instead

born out of a dilution of meaning and significance of the present.

_______________________________

Sound of Silence
Simon & Garfunkel

Hello darkness, my old friend

I've come to talk with you again

Because a vision softly creeping

Left its seeds while I was sleeping

And the vision that was planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams I walked alone

Narrow streets of cobblestone

'Neath the halo of a street lamp

I turned my collar to the cold and damp

When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light

That split the night

And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people, maybe more

People talking without speaking

People hearing without listening

People writing songs that voices never share

And no one dared

Disturb the sound of silence

"Fools", said I, "You do not know

Silence like a cancer grows

Hear my words that I might teach you

Take my arms that I might reach you"

But my words, like silent raindrops fell

And echoed

In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed

To the neon god they made

And the sign flashed out its warning

In the words that it was forming

And the sign said, "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls

And tenement halls"

And whispered in the sounds of silence