The Second Jammat

We are self absorbed, so fixated on
Actions losing meaning slowly not
Comprehending messages yet trying
To strive for lives beyond our stride

I am a spectator ion watching  bonds
Forming between the unseen and man.
It is not silence but ease upon the hearts
Weighing heavily on feet that stand in line

This silent congregation is bizarre and
To witness 60 people-not one dares to speak
Well except the khateeb who instructs militarily with
Precision shooting hearts down into ruku
Concisely comes the truth

There are times in life when answers
Do not do justice to questions and it is
When heads reach the ground and the
Sound 'thudum' resonates perhaps
A delay between brothers and the sisters
Perhaps this Mexican wave of heads eludes me
But beyond the glass walls I heard 'thudum' indeed
So I believe that was the final heart beat before
A silence so complete
For verses broke the mountains and now
We fall in imitation for a promised elevation
My second jammat observation has taught me

Names

Stories spin rapidly into one another
We are distraught at the description but
The teller is laughing indifferently
She talks of dreams of black and
Screams at night time and fears that
Boil over and scald her as she recites
Verses to quench the pain
A bystander worries
'I will pray for you'
But quickly adds
'What is your name?'

I laugh a joyful laugh
It reminds me just the same
The time of pre-ramadan dates
Just before iftaar and I asked
Naming one by one
The sisters that I love
'Saliah' I say and pause
I don't know a Saliah but
Here she is in the middle of my prayers
If God is not stingy with what he grants
Then why should I be as I pray for all the Saliahs
of today the future and buried in history

Our prayers are nameless sometimes
They come from the pits of our being
Where the kind hearted masked hero
Is all we know but it is enough
So pray for the faceless souls
Who have painted broad strokes onto
The canvas of our life
So pray and wash the brushes
Complete the masterpiece
Before we die

Allah's Messenger (peace be upon him) said, "When a man makes another his brother he should ask him his name, his father's name and the stock from which he comes, for it binds friendship more closely."
Tirmidhi

It is Near

The Story of My Life Part III

It stopped raining once I was outside. So the umbrella sat idly in my oversized abaya pockets .I wasn't really planning on using it anyhow, unless, the non existent downpour was threating me with pneumonia.

The path to the gate was long and overcrowded and our conversation seemed to fill the space. It's strange how fulfilling a moment can be yet how quickly it can fade. I can't really recall what we were saying just that it felt comforting, easy to say, as if wind was blowing through our throats not making a sound as such but its presence still known.

It has been 4 months and counting since I've spoken to her, bar a salaam carried by a mutual friend, but then I guess that doesn't count. In my naivety I found ease in not hearing about her, like a child believing the world physically disappears if it closes its eyes. Though , these eyes were open to see progress, no touching ,as if it deserved a Nobel Prize , as if this achievement was unparalleled and perhaps it could have been but it was short lived in its nature.

This heart though it strives is not that of a martyr , nor someone particularly truthful or righteous for that matter . This heart types. I let it type, I give it time because it is reassuring to know that it is alive. At that moment that immense love , that 'I will always forgive you no matter what' attitude faded . I couldn't feel saddened that she is tumbling down dead ended paths. No, not even anger at what she had done. Just nothing. The kind of nothing that seeps and covers everything . It's like a blanket on the heart saying sleep and though it is easier that way and though the whole world says give up and walk away , I can't or rather I don't want to.

There is blessing in the lack of rain on this head.God has shown me how much I can love by restricting that gift . It's like donating blood, they pull back the syringe slowly and you wonder how much longer it will be prolonged.Then you realize how quickly the blood flows , how easily and readily our souls pour forth. So I wonder if this numbing is the removal of the syringe and the soreness of the skin beneath . I wonder how much benefit that outburst of my blood will bring . I do not think that I would let my heart type if I didn't witness the blood spill all that time ago.

O my Lord! Expand me my breast; Ease my task for me; And remove the impediment from my speech, so they may understand what I say
 Surah Ta-Ha; 20:25-28

Part I, Part II, To be forgiven

Blogs that Die

I guess, in my naivety that
I have found death within the screen
It is reading entries from 2008
And watching your comments waste away
I am connected to your writing and I see it all
From your point of view so
Breathtaking , revitalizing and  new
Yet cracked old advice though wise disappears
Because it is a shame that us human beings love
What we cannot have and our longing spreads
Thinly across the ground like ice and
My elephant steps crack the glass
Even I in my simplicity know that it is gone
But I wait in cold waters that perhaps the snow
Will fall on this head and numb it all with
One more stanza just because I seek it

"And Remind for verily a reminder benefits the believer"
51:55

Betterment

You were not on a pedestal but
A whole 'nother level and our words
Have fallen short it seems
I have verbalized dreams wrongly. I am sorry.
You have the right to speak but please
I want to hear the heart because
No matter what the simplicity of that beat
Will always rise above the music we
have made for ears who listen unwillingly
So I hate the pompous shell but wait
That perhaps the tide shall reveal
The hidden pearl beneath

 Malik related to me from al-Walid ibn Abdullah ibn Sayyad that al-Muttalib ibn Abdullah ibn Hantab al-Makhzumi informed him that a man asked the Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, "What is backbiting?" The Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, said, "It is to mention about a man what he does not want to hear." He said, "Messenger of Allah! Even if it is true?" The Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, said, "If you utter something false, then it is slander."  
Sahih Muslim

Centre of Attention

It surprises me the dishonesty of those who speak
About things they should have knowledge of but
Have none except the way to package the box

And us , I ask incredulous at how
We are all ears for words that multiply
The interest is running high to empty.
Her words are in abundance though ,few know,
They lack the very substance that
Could alter the listeners lives because I
Won't listen, My hands have tired of
Ripping the paper and pealing cello-tape
Like hidden meanings only to find
Hollow cardboard staring back at me
As if to say, At least this entertained you for a time

Loose Camels

We are waiting indefinitely for
Grandiose dreams to materialize
And for the plot line of our life to fall
Into places that burst beyond the frame
For the protagonist of this story is stuck
In the same chapter , line, sentence so
Afraid to dot the end of eras and begin anew
And though the voices loved call out again
They are drafts edited beyond recognition
Ambition fused the light bulbs above our heads
As minds deteriorate with the dust of this familiar place
Travelers beneath the tree beyond the need for shade

Yes, we wait indefinitely for change
To the banknotes, that these lazy hands never gave