Death in the Clouds

I look at the sky and his words come back to me . My brother, 20, told my sister ,6, what he regarded as a very interesting fact. Clouds are made of water . Yes, floating precariously above is tonnes of water that, could crush us in an instant if need be .

I am amazed that we are alive. We are prone death in more ways that we know or could even fathom. The earth is splitting apart , the skies sending down rainfall till it reaches the throats of the people, the wind rupturing trees and sending them flying through your living room . Not ours you say because we have locked the front door, our naivety has reached new bounds...

Think for just a moment of all the animals you know of. elephants , giraffes, lions, tigers , zebras, buffaloes each and everyone has the capacity to kill us . But zoos you say , zoos have fences. Yes but what about insects,venomous spiders and parasites that think your body is the prime location to set up camp. Not to mention the enemy within , your own body whats the warranty on that, one unrepairable leak or blockage , one forceful collision and thats it your gone. Even your mind could be against you , start getting the wrong ideas festering and your cause of death could actually be you.

So here we are disinfecting worktops, washing hands, eating small powdery parcels of good health and happy lives, so franticly. We are panicked lambs searching for cures to every disease and yet so conveniently we ignore death. Brushing it discretely under the carpet because we know, we all know that one day we will die. If you looked at the world around you, truly looked you would see that even the floor you walk on is waiting. Nature, animals, insects, people are all on freeze frame, waiting for the signal. The signal that says  "end" and your gone.

Somehow this reflection was lost on my sister who decided the fact wasn't interesting in the least bit. 'Tis a shame we think about the inevitable after we have lived our lives, after everything has been said and done and we sit mumbling on our death beds not knowing the answers to questions we should have asked our souls so long ago.

Every soul will taste of death. And ye will be paid on the Day of Resurrection only that which ye have fairly earned. Whoso is removed from the Fire and is made to enter paradise, he indeed is triumphant. The life of this world is but comfort of illusion.
Al-I-Imran
Verse 185

Eid

I am faded henna looking
Back at the anti climax
Wondering how one day
Changed it all

They were veiled praying
With utmost humility
Crying with downcast eyes
Grabbing hold of an opportunity
Before they faded and hoping
With hearts swelling of forgiveness

They were striving
With thobes and tawpis
First row men at fajr time
Seeking for ten days like
the fibre of their being
Depended on it

Her eyes are painted ,black
Like a small testimony
To her former self
And she was shining nur, perhaps
she thought glitter would do
Constricted in her waist hugging
Dress that she'll wear once but
Never again.
Once is enough.

And the men they have eaten
Beyond their full and zuhr waits
and continues to wait deep
into the afternoon
They mark the end in a suit
With a silk tie

They say image is identity
We celebrate Eid like
Christmas minus the tree
Did we fall that quickly?
Or is the question
Who are we?

Fashion as a belief is manifested through clothing.
Yuniya Kawamura Fashion-ology

It was narrated that Ibn ‘Umar said: “The Messenger of Allaah (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) said: ‘Whoever imitates a people is one of them.’”
Abu Dawud

Narrated by Ali ibn Abu Talib:
The Prophet of Allah (peace be upon him) took silk and held it in his right hand, and took gold and held it in his left hand and said: "both of these are prohibited to the males of my community"
Abu Dawud

To my Fajr time Bird

Aah a golden oldie. I was reading over some of my older poetry and I just had to share this one. It's not amazingly written, the rhyme is iffy in places but it is honest and true and isn't that what poetry is all about. Subhannallah it seems this bird was pretty important to me hence the tribute poem . 

That inevitable moment when I roll over
In that dreamy, hazy sort of state
Neither asleep nor truly awake
And there’s a chilly morning breeze
And the darkness does not feel so dark
The brightest black you’ll ever see

Oh the fajr time bird whose company I won’t deny 
Oh dear fajr time bird if only you knew
How much inspiration I’ve gathered from you
Oh the sweetest chirping by which you recite
The beauty by which you glorify
The one who you have submitted to
And I wonder
 How long you’ve been tweeting
While laying here I have been sleeping
And I wonder why you have not tired 
Praising your lord is all you desire
While I won’t even run from fire
Oh my fajr time bird
My personal Mua’zzin
How you remind me of a majestic word
Your Lord gave you a voice with which you recite 
Oh fajr time bird what would you do
If you were me and I was you
And your Lord had given you
The ability to write and to make wudhu
And to pray in jammat
And you could publish things
And read books from years ago
Learn knowledge wherever you go
What would you do my fajr time bird 
If you had the means to pray as I do
And to be rewarded for all the things I could be too
My dearest fajr time bird
Tell me what would you do
If all that reward was waiting for you
And your Lord said
Do this I will be pleased with you
My fajr time bird you would try to do it all
And you would sleep little 
And you would weep so much
Do you want to know why?
You would want to praise your Lord
In all the ways he has ordained
For everything by which you are sustained
You would praise him for teaching you how to praise
In honour and rank you would be raised
From torment and pain you would be saved
Oh my fajr time bird, I am me and you are you
If a bird with all its merits can do that
Then surely I should be able to do it too

If people only knew what blessings are in the fajr and isha prayers, they would come to them, even if they had to crawl.
Bukhari and Muslim

Submission

I have run
to the edges of my soul
and burnt the tips of my fingers
Ironing shirts.
Yes, I have run
to destinations unknown
just to feel the wind blow
into the empty chambers
of this worn heart.
The layers of dust and memories.
Indiscernible prison.
I run from the futures I had envisioned
I loathe the reluctant steps
That refuse to run with me.
This heart rejects lies and force fed closure.
Truth overwhelming.
I run no longer.
I have fallen.

“Surely those who are with your Lord (angels) are never too proud to perform acts of worship to Him, but they glorify His Praise and prostrate before Him.”
[al-A’raaf 7:206]

 “And unto Allaah (Alone) falls in prostration whoever is in the heavens and the earth, willingly or unwillingly, and so do their shadows in the mornings and in the afternoons.”
[al-Ra’d 13:15]

Heedlessness

Empty moments leave a sharp and bitter taste
it suffocates.
So we strive to fill the expanse
trivial titbits gleam, arranged.
Yes there are meaningless words and pointless routines

We use to fill the empty hours
Encompassed by repetition, the familiarity

We are at peace with everything except
our own selves
the empty moments creep back slowly
Returning in the early hours
when restless hearts refuse to sleep