Silence raging war with running thoughts.
Unread messages and missed calls.
Lost moments and endless pardons.
Rhetorical reasoning with imaginative assumptions.
Heedless to the attachment of warmth and care.
But the storm came with warning.
Filtered and dulled to a distant whisper.
Living for the fragments of showmanship,
Negligent to the glass casing,
Left unattended and in the mist of shatter.
Unspoken inner thinkings.
No one reads minds,
Cowardice behaviour to assume I would assume.
Unconditional adoration with the dismissal of wanting.
Clutching on to the flutters,
Loss of focus in bewildered smiles.
But this time cold air exuberates inner existence.
No longer warmed to overlook the faults.
The dazzling specs refined.
Revealing what was seen by all besides me.
At that precise moment; glances to the stars reveal hope.
The moon creates rainbows in darkness.
And remembrance of “the sun will rise again”
Sets free the one imprisoned in the woes of emotions.
Making a slow return, ready to let winter invigorate my inspiration.
Dreaded beating of the heart.
Basics of life; too difficult to function.
Facilitating death of the soul.
They attempt CPR.
Throw help in the form of divine light.
And her name hovers in the hostile air.
As the bitter taste approaches,
Familiarity edges forward.
Remembering the pain.
The inner ache.
And she asks,
“How did I get here again?”
Life mapped to avoid this detour.
Yet she returned to the spot.
The spot where it all happened.
Where traumas never die and life never prospers.
Maybe it isn’t a place.
But more like the weather.
And just like the weather it will pass.
Image courtesy of IslamicartDB.
Musky night sky,
With the lingering smell of yesterday,
And the perfumed scent of tomorrow.
The wrongs of the days passed,
Will be the rights of the days to come.
Lest we waste the time of the past on the condolences of the future.
Be today, to be alive.
Be the seconds, for they add up to the minutes.
If that is true then truely your hours will be your days.
With ownership – lead your life.
With remembrance – He never promised a tomorrow.
With steadfast – like the wind which never stops blowing in spite of its destination.
With Sabr – believe in His plan, and disappointment will steer clear.
With eemaan – illuminate your darkness.
With eyes – lower in humility and modesty.
With tongue – be wary of its evil and keep Dhikr alive.
With hands – give. Always give. Help. Always help.
With heart – Keep Him at home and remain determined to discourage any replacement.
With love – find your way back, call Him, read His words.
And may He unlock the chains around my heart. Ameen.
Writing when emotional is rather therapeutic. Share and comment below. I do love feedback. Enjoy the rain-shine Londoners.
Suspended glistening droplets,
I asked to climb through his branches,
Looked at his leaves.
Knowing the importance of each one.
Taking my time to read the inscription of his life.
Thinking this is my last chance.
Once, he was so smooth. So young.
But age has roughened him.
Each dip an experience.
Each edge a near miss.
Each bump a memory
At his base, a crack from the woman who tried to saw him down.
She too climbed through his branches,
And caused the shedding of leaves which will never grow back!
She burned his life to the ground.
He lives closed off and never exposes those leaves again.
They no longer grow.
Their secrets hidden in the trunk.
His reluctance to allow me up.
But my siren calls and soothing voice;
Moving to the beat of the wind.
As I reach higher and higher.
The branches become more fragile.
If I’m not careful I could be the result of his breakdown.
So I jump down into the pit of his fallen autumn leaves.
And decided to start there.
Learn all his falls, lost memories, all of his insignificant significant memories.
Revising his past endeavours so I could best support his new ones.
Now my dream is to strengthen him.
So one day we can both sit at the top;
Stargaze and be enriched by the sun.
So blessed to have supportive friends. Photo given by my beautiful friend. I don’t feel my recent pieces have been powerful. But I do believe they are building up to something immense. Have a blessed Sunday.
Enjoy! Everything is an inspiration if you let it invigorate your mind.
This is not love;
It is the can’t breath,
Flutter in the stomach,
Incapable of doing anything,
Mind invading kind of feeling.
Is that not lust?
Who am I fooling?
Spellbound by a few words.
Lost in the games.
Unable to face reality.
This is not lust;
Incapable of doing anything,
Flutter in the stomach,
It’s the can’t breath kind of feeling.
Is that not love?
Baby cupid’s dragons,
Late nights and insomnia. Thoughts better left untold, notice you are tired and lurk into the forefront. Expressed as spew of words, paper meets pen.
Life is not always full of good moments.
Bad things happen.
Casting a dark cloud over memories.
They cut you.
An open wound.
Yes, it does hurt.
And you cry – externally or internally.
Over time it heals.
The wound closes.
And a scar remains.
Residing in the past,
Is to pick at the scar,
Until it bleeds.
A fraction of the pain felt from when it first opened.
Unfortunately memories are more painful
But if you accept the scar,
Over time it fades.
Apart of you but not so apparent.