If I had to sum up my 2010 in one word, it would be, "wow". I'm not exaggerating in the slightest here. If I made a list of all the significant things that have happened to me this year, I don't think I thought more than 5% were even possible, this time last year. In fact, it's come to the point where my best friend and I have begun constructing a list of "impossibilities" to tick off as they become realities as our lives progress. Right now, the list is about three A4 pages long.
Pretty much nothing went to plan this year except my A Level results. Instead, I've been blessed with opportunity upon opportunity, experience after experience, I feel like I've become more..."me". I couldn't be more grateful for the way things have turned out and the way this year has changed me. Though I'm nowhere near, I feel like this year has brought me a lot closer to what and who and how I aim to be in this life. If there's one lesson I've learnt this year, it is that truly, whatever God plans for us is for the best.
Sunday, 26 December 2010
Saturday, 18 December 2010
Dua
This has been playing on my mind a lot lately- I really underestimate the power of duas. I don't want to, but it's just one of those notions that is so deeply engraved in my mind without me realising. I don't want to go into why I feel this way, but today I heard something that I hope will change my mindset with regards to du3a.
The speaker said that every dua has an answer. Yes, every single one. When we ask for a dua, there are three possible outcomes-
1) Allah answers that dua and grants us what we asked for
2) Allah, in his infinite wisdom knows that what we have asked for is not in our best interest and gives us something better instead
3) We receive neither what we asked for, nor something better, but instead, Allah solves a problem from our lives, relieves a hardship, removes an obstacle.
He also talked about how we should ask with insistence and begging, the same way I so often beg my parents for something. The sad thing is, I hardly find myself asking for anything and trust me, it's not because I don't need to. Whatever it is that stops me from asking, I hope I can correct it soon.
Tuesday, 7 December 2010
I Do Not Know
How I must beg, I do not know,
Now I’ve learnt to let these tears flow,
For I’ve begged you and with you I’ve pleaded,
And maybe your nearness, some others have needed,
But you know who I am and you know what I need,
Is it the pain when I feel my heart bleed?
Tell me how to beg, for I do not know,
How do I see your golden dome glow?
My tears have been shed and my soul has felt sorrow,
And desperation has set for news of tomorrow,
And disappointments of which I have lost count,
Aren’t these reasons enough? Too small in amount?
But how I must beg, I do not know,
So now I beg you to teach me and show.
To your love, I’ve submitted, for how can one not?
And of my life’s story, I’ve made you the plot,
I’ve discarded of any beginning or end,
For I know that my heart, only you can mend,
But to beg you better, I just don’t know how,
A lifetime’s attempts and in shame, I still bow.
Regarding my worth, I will not speak,
For in you and your service, my own worth, I seek,
But tell me what in my pleading is wrong,
Is the pain in my love for you not strong?
I will not ask you, from me, what you want,
For what king can gain from his servant’s servant?
All I ask is, my emptiness you understand,
My craving to weep on Karbala’s sand,
The heavenly walk, baynol haramayn,
To shout with the millions, “Labbaika ya Hussain”,
To drown in your love and to die in that state,
Be worthy of smelling the scent of your gate,
To look up into your once-red, blue sky,
And have no sense but to helplessly cry,
In awe of your beauty and the fact that I’m here,
In the hope that I might return in a year,
And the realisation that this isn’t a dream,
Blinded by this love and your dome’s golden beam,
The heat of the sun striking all those in black,
To walk towards your shrine and never look back,
Relive your sorrow and make it my own,
Watch your black flag in the wind, being blown,
To feel a long-lost peace in my heart,
Forgetting that from here, we’ll all once depart,
Engrave these memories deep in my soul,
For my emptiness to fill, making me whole.
And for the rest of my life, to live on these tears,
If you’d just end the waiting I’ve done for these years.
Allahumma irzoqni ziyaratel Hussein (a.s.)
Now I’ve learnt to let these tears flow,
For I’ve begged you and with you I’ve pleaded,
And maybe your nearness, some others have needed,
But you know who I am and you know what I need,
Is it the pain when I feel my heart bleed?
Tell me how to beg, for I do not know,
How do I see your golden dome glow?
My tears have been shed and my soul has felt sorrow,
And desperation has set for news of tomorrow,
And disappointments of which I have lost count,
Aren’t these reasons enough? Too small in amount?
But how I must beg, I do not know,
So now I beg you to teach me and show.
To your love, I’ve submitted, for how can one not?
And of my life’s story, I’ve made you the plot,
I’ve discarded of any beginning or end,
For I know that my heart, only you can mend,
But to beg you better, I just don’t know how,
A lifetime’s attempts and in shame, I still bow.
Regarding my worth, I will not speak,
For in you and your service, my own worth, I seek,
But tell me what in my pleading is wrong,
Is the pain in my love for you not strong?
I will not ask you, from me, what you want,
For what king can gain from his servant’s servant?
All I ask is, my emptiness you understand,
My craving to weep on Karbala’s sand,
The heavenly walk, baynol haramayn,
To shout with the millions, “Labbaika ya Hussain”,
To drown in your love and to die in that state,
Be worthy of smelling the scent of your gate,
To look up into your once-red, blue sky,
And have no sense but to helplessly cry,
In awe of your beauty and the fact that I’m here,
In the hope that I might return in a year,
And the realisation that this isn’t a dream,
Blinded by this love and your dome’s golden beam,
The heat of the sun striking all those in black,
To walk towards your shrine and never look back,
Relive your sorrow and make it my own,
Watch your black flag in the wind, being blown,
To feel a long-lost peace in my heart,
Forgetting that from here, we’ll all once depart,
Engrave these memories deep in my soul,
For my emptiness to fill, making me whole.
And for the rest of my life, to live on these tears,
If you’d just end the waiting I’ve done for these years.
Allahumma irzoqni ziyaratel Hussein (a.s.)
Friday, 3 December 2010
Muharram
I feel like Muharram is already here. I've been waiting for it so eagerly that I think the atmosphere is beginning to set. Why I want it to be Muharram so desperately, I don't know. There are too many possible reasons.
Over the last few days, I keep remembering moments from Muharram last year- it was winter, it had snowed, it was the first Muharram for Ahlulbayt TV, my best friend had gone to Karbala, and I had exams. Muharram last year was a struggle and I guess that made it much sweeter. I remember times when the worry about my upcoming exams just vanished when the live feed from Karbala was on TV, or when I would motivate myself to work with Sayed Modaressi's 10PM lecture in mind. Everything that wasn't related to Muharram just seemed like a distracting nuisance.
This year, there's a different struggle. Perhaps I can call it a struggle of patience? I've never wanted to visit Imam Hussein (as) so desperately. A few people who are very dear to me have been blessed enough to go, and surprisingly, that gives me a sense of relief. I feel like a very tiny part of me is going with them, like they strengthen my connection with Imam Hussein (as) when they go. I'm genuinely very grateful that they are going- firstly, because of this relief that I just explained, and secondly, because sometimes I look our situations and I feel that they need the relief of Imam Hussein (as) more than I do. They deserve the relief of Imam Hussein (as) more than I do.
This year, a lot of my birthday wishes were accompanied with du'as that my next birthday present will be to spend the first ten days of Muharram in Karbala. I cannot express how grateful I am for those du'as, they are better than any other present I could have possibly received.
Over the last few days, I keep remembering moments from Muharram last year- it was winter, it had snowed, it was the first Muharram for Ahlulbayt TV, my best friend had gone to Karbala, and I had exams. Muharram last year was a struggle and I guess that made it much sweeter. I remember times when the worry about my upcoming exams just vanished when the live feed from Karbala was on TV, or when I would motivate myself to work with Sayed Modaressi's 10PM lecture in mind. Everything that wasn't related to Muharram just seemed like a distracting nuisance.
This year, there's a different struggle. Perhaps I can call it a struggle of patience? I've never wanted to visit Imam Hussein (as) so desperately. A few people who are very dear to me have been blessed enough to go, and surprisingly, that gives me a sense of relief. I feel like a very tiny part of me is going with them, like they strengthen my connection with Imam Hussein (as) when they go. I'm genuinely very grateful that they are going- firstly, because of this relief that I just explained, and secondly, because sometimes I look our situations and I feel that they need the relief of Imam Hussein (as) more than I do. They deserve the relief of Imam Hussein (as) more than I do.
This year, a lot of my birthday wishes were accompanied with du'as that my next birthday present will be to spend the first ten days of Muharram in Karbala. I cannot express how grateful I am for those du'as, they are better than any other present I could have possibly received.
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
Humility
A friend and I were talking about how some people just have a quality that makes you want to give them the best of the best, everything they want. They just have a nature that draws everyone towards them. After a lot of thought, we released what it was. There are people in this world that don't realise their own worth because they are always so busy just trying to be better. Humility. I suppose it's a kind of innocence.
And the best thing is, the attraction I speak of is not one that boosts my ego or makes me feel higher than them. Not at all. Rather, it humbles me. They make me want to emulate them. Gosh, I wish we were all like that.
Anyway, there are only a handful of people about whom I feel this way, and while it would be brilliant for them to know how much of an example they are to me, I feel like it might ruin that innocence I mentioned.
And the best thing is, the attraction I speak of is not one that boosts my ego or makes me feel higher than them. Not at all. Rather, it humbles me. They make me want to emulate them. Gosh, I wish we were all like that.
Anyway, there are only a handful of people about whom I feel this way, and while it would be brilliant for them to know how much of an example they are to me, I feel like it might ruin that innocence I mentioned.
Thursday, 9 September 2010
The Circle
So...I was thinking this week about whether bad actions make bad people, and the conclusion was easy enough- no. We've all done bad things but we're not deemed bad people, nor do others deem us bad people. So what makes bad people? It was the intermediary stages between actions and character that confused me.
Et voila...I stumbled across a book today that explained the matter perfectly. Every virtue is like the centre of a circle, and every vice is a deviation from that centre. Essentially, for every virtue, there is an infinite number of vices- there is only one centre, but an infinite number of points other than the centre of the circle. The further you are from the centre, the worse.
And I suppose "bad people" lie at, or beyond, the circumferences of these circles.
Et voila...I stumbled across a book today that explained the matter perfectly. Every virtue is like the centre of a circle, and every vice is a deviation from that centre. Essentially, for every virtue, there is an infinite number of vices- there is only one centre, but an infinite number of points other than the centre of the circle. The further you are from the centre, the worse.
And I suppose "bad people" lie at, or beyond, the circumferences of these circles.
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
Call Upon Me; I Will Answer You
Alone, in the dark, a young girl is weeping,
Not knowing what her heart has always been seeking,
So, now, to her Lord, she is finally speaking,
Revealing the secrets she thought she'd been keeping.
Her Lord listens to her with indescribable love,
He watches her raise her weak hands, above.
"My Lord, I beg you to enter my heart,
To you, all my sorrows, I wish to impart,
This emptiness, I can bear it no more,
I feel I am drowning and you are my shore."
She buries her wet face in the palms of her hands,
For she knows that He, alone, understands,
But she wonders if she is worthy of His mercy, so great,
She wonders if forgiveness and love are her fate.
"My Lord, I have neglected my soul,
I never gave heed to my purpose or goal,
And now, I need You to set my soul right,
I have no-one but You in the midst of this night."
Tears flow from her eyes like a thunderous river,
As she awaits the reply from this Generous Giver,
But He waits and He watches as she continues to cry,
So she calls desperately into the night sky,
"My Lord, You are everything I need,
Of any happiness, You are the seed,
I yearn for You to make my heart whole,
To take Your place, this world previously stole."
With nothing more to give, the girl gets to her feet,
As longing for her Lord fills her every heartbeat.
She raises her hands, one final time,
Her soul weighed down by her forgetful crime.
"My Lord, You are my only, last hope,
Without you, I know, I won't be able to cope,
To feel Your presence, my soul, I can sell,
All I want is that in my heart, You dwell.
My Lord, I want You to open my soul's eyes,
And to put an end to my grievous cries,
You said that Your friends feel no sorrow, nor pain,
So befriend me, God, let this night not pass in vain."
As she tires from this begging, her eyes slowly close,
And she feels that her yearning, now surely, He knows,
Her Lord looks lovingly at the slumbering youth,
And knows that her words carried nothing but truth.
So He grants her relief and whispers some words,
Sweeter than the chirping of awakening birds,
"...Call upon me; I will answer you," (40: 60)
And more than this, what else could be true?
Tuesday, 29 June 2010
Your Love
Your love is a strange love, a rare love,
A love where every time I love, I feel like I was blind,
In all those moments where another occupied my mind,
Your love is a realisation, a new beginning,
Like the smooth slate, the new book, I try to keep clean,
Erase the moments of my life in which, absent, you had been.
Your love is the substance, the thread,
Which I want woven into my life's young tapestry,
Until that very thread is the only kind that really, one can see,
Your love is the glass, the lens,
Through which, every time I look out at the world,
The perplexing mysteries of my tired soul are unfurled.
Your love is a standard, a measure,
Which makes all other kinds of love bow down with shame,
Your love- I don't know what it is, but "love", we chose its name.
Your love is something else, not love,
But about its name- its belittlement, I don't complain,
For, without the futile goal to reach, how would the others train?
You love is generous, a gift,
For it has a price that every lover, to this day, has paid,
But strangely, this very price becomes the lover's loyal aid.
Your love is humbling, revealing,
For it leaves the lover with no words, no speech, and just emotion,
And every dreamer that thought your words are his, forgets the notion.
Your love- I try to mould it,
For, despite my feeling it, it is too much to understand,
But what mercy! That, my ignorance is evidence of your love, so grand.
Your love is the soul, the spirit,
Which keeps my own conscience awake, kicking and alive,
Your love is the clear path which guides your lover to the house of five.
Your love is a plethora of plethoras of good,
And given a drop of your ocean of eloquence,
Describe it, for an eternity, I tirelessly would.
It is a testament of your mastery with words,
For I am left with none when it comes to you,
But I keep trying to fulfil it in Salman's thirds,
I feel, then, when my words exhaust, I just "do".
He gave me words simply to tell the difference between you and I,
And that is, hunting words to describe your Love, I know I will die.
A love where every time I love, I feel like I was blind,
In all those moments where another occupied my mind,
Your love is a realisation, a new beginning,
Like the smooth slate, the new book, I try to keep clean,
Erase the moments of my life in which, absent, you had been.
Your love is the substance, the thread,
Which I want woven into my life's young tapestry,
Until that very thread is the only kind that really, one can see,
Your love is the glass, the lens,
Through which, every time I look out at the world,
The perplexing mysteries of my tired soul are unfurled.
Your love is a standard, a measure,
Which makes all other kinds of love bow down with shame,
Your love- I don't know what it is, but "love", we chose its name.
Your love is something else, not love,
But about its name- its belittlement, I don't complain,
For, without the futile goal to reach, how would the others train?
You love is generous, a gift,
For it has a price that every lover, to this day, has paid,
But strangely, this very price becomes the lover's loyal aid.
Your love is humbling, revealing,
For it leaves the lover with no words, no speech, and just emotion,
And every dreamer that thought your words are his, forgets the notion.
Your love- I try to mould it,
For, despite my feeling it, it is too much to understand,
But what mercy! That, my ignorance is evidence of your love, so grand.
Your love is the soul, the spirit,
Which keeps my own conscience awake, kicking and alive,
Your love is the clear path which guides your lover to the house of five.
Your love is a plethora of plethoras of good,
And given a drop of your ocean of eloquence,
Describe it, for an eternity, I tirelessly would.
It is a testament of your mastery with words,
For I am left with none when it comes to you,
But I keep trying to fulfil it in Salman's thirds,
I feel, then, when my words exhaust, I just "do".
He gave me words simply to tell the difference between you and I,
And that is, hunting words to describe your Love, I know I will die.
Sunday, 20 June 2010
To My Master
In a river of grief, I shed tears of shame,
The mistakes I made, exactly the same,
Yet beside you, that day, I wish to stand,
Beside you- my master, loving and grand,
How many oaths shall I foolishly make?
And then how many will I guiltily break?
I cannot see you because I am blind,
The people that can- I'm not of their kind,
Yet for you, my heart bleeds day and night,
Waiting for life to be filled with your light,
So now, one last oath, to you I will pledge,
As on the cliff of sins, I stand on the edge,
Today, my life, I commit to your cause,
From now, I abide and obey your Lord's laws,
And if I come close to breaking this oath,
I ask for forgiveness and your guidance- both,
Accept me, for your love is truly so great,
And pray that your sight resides in my fate,
For you are the master, the guide that I need,
And of all my successes, the God-given seed.
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
World
The world is like a high-interest bank- the bank tells you that if you borrow the money, you will be able to buy your new jacuzzi bathtub, holiday villa and car. However, once you borrow and buy, you realise that you aren't enjoying your purchases because you're too busy working around the clock to pay back the debt and interest.
The world pretty much does the same. The world tells us that we won't survive without giving in to the material hype or achieving a certain level of material assets- that degree, this job, such an income. The list goes on. We will only be able to quench our spiritual thirst if we sort out the so-called essential material aspects of life first. So we start, we succumb, we work and struggle to "survive". But for what? In the end, this survival is pointless because one is then in an endless cycle to merely "survive" and nothing else. Before you know it, the world has surrounded you with a never-ending list of must-do's that will, in themselves, take a lifetime.
Vicious cycle or what? But let us not be pessimists- if this is a test, then there must undoubtedly be an answer, a solution to this problem, somewhere. Perhaps I will post it in my next entry.
Saturday, 5 June 2010
Exam
It being exam time, I got thinking...
Isn't it an absolutely wonderful feeling when you know that you couldn't possibly revise any more than you already have? Knowing that you've covered all the material that you were required to learn. In the end, I suppose one looks forward to the exam, not just to get it out of the way, but also for "letting out" that hard work- experiencing its fruition. You just can't wait to put pen to that paper and generate the end result of success.
Well, life is quite similar, I guess. It's probably possible to have a very similar feeling about life. Life is revision. Death is the journey to the exam hall. The Promised Day is the exam. Wouldn't it be great to have that aforementioned feeling with regard to our lives? Great? "Great" is an understatement.
Yes, it would be indescribably great, for lack of a better word. So, I guess I better go and "revise". In every sense of the word.
Isn't it an absolutely wonderful feeling when you know that you couldn't possibly revise any more than you already have? Knowing that you've covered all the material that you were required to learn. In the end, I suppose one looks forward to the exam, not just to get it out of the way, but also for "letting out" that hard work- experiencing its fruition. You just can't wait to put pen to that paper and generate the end result of success.
Well, life is quite similar, I guess. It's probably possible to have a very similar feeling about life. Life is revision. Death is the journey to the exam hall. The Promised Day is the exam. Wouldn't it be great to have that aforementioned feeling with regard to our lives? Great? "Great" is an understatement.
Yes, it would be indescribably great, for lack of a better word. So, I guess I better go and "revise". In every sense of the word.
Wednesday, 12 May 2010
Unreturned Love
A friend and I watched a lecture a few days back about the Imam of our time, may God hasten his reappearance. There was a story in the lecture, which I hope I can narrate as accurately as possible.
Allama al Hilli was a great scholar, an expert in his field, but he had two dillemas; the first was that he didn't understand Imam al Baqir's (as) hadith, where he said that God would cure sins the size of the ocean for one who shed a tear the size of the wing of a mosquito for Imam Hussein (as). The second was that he wanted to know if one actually meets the Imam of our time if he or she goes to Kufa for forty Thursdays in a row.
It was the fortieth Thursday and Allama al Hilli was walking towards Kufa. As he was drawing closer, an Arab man approached him and asked him where he was headed. Allama al Hilli replied that he was going to Kufa. The Arab man asked him why, to which Allama al Hilli said that he wanted to meet the Imam of his time. Again, the Arab man asked the reason. Allama al Hilli replied that he had a question to ask the Imam (af). When the Arab man asked what his quesiton was, Allama al Hilli explained his first dillema and said that he was confident that he would meet the Imam, it being his fortieth Thursday visiting Kufa.
The Arab man asked Allama al Hilli if he would permit him to answer his question, to which the scholar was slightly hesitant. However, the Arab man insisted he be given a chance to ease Allama al Hilli's first dillema. He narrated the following story:
There was once a king who, with his army, proceeded towards a war. However, he lost his army and was left deserted in a forest, where he saw a small cabin. The king approached this cabin and knocked on the door. When an old woman answered, the king explained his situation and asked the old lady if she could let him stay with her for a few nights for safety. The woman explained that she lived alone with her son, and that the king was more than welcome to stay.
The woman and her son gave everything they had- they had only one animal, which they sacrificed for the hungry king. After he ate, he promised the woman and her son that when he returned to his kingdom, he would repay them for their favour, and he left.
Months passed, but the woman and her son heard nothing from the king, so her son decided to approach the palace to remind him of his promise. Her son approached the king in his palace, and asked the king if he remembered the time when he was deserted in the forest. The king immediately remembered, and wondred how he could have forgotten his promise. The king turned to one of his advisors and asked how he should repay the young man and his mother. The advisor suggested to give them some treasure. Another advisor suggested some land.
The king looked at the advisors and said, "How unjust both of you are. This young man and his mother gave away everything they had, for me. Therefore, if I am just, I want to give away everything I have, for them."
The Arab man explained that if a normal king could be as generous as to give away everything he had in return for a single sacrificed animal, then the King of kings could undoubtedly give away His repentance to the man who gave everything away for Him on the tenth of Muharram.
Allama al Hilli narrated that he began to cry when he heard this answer to his dillema. The Arab man then said to Allama al Hilli, "Tell our followers that when they visit us and they need our help, I will always be there to help them." As soon as Allama al Hilli realised that the Arab man was the Imam of our time, the Imam had gone.
After listening to this story, I feel ashamed. Here is a man, someone we claim to follow and be loyal to, who probably cares more about our actions than we do ourselves, who wants to offer us a route salvation and loves us, and yet we don't return this love- instead, we keep him waiting. We fail to be the soldiers that he so desperately wants.
Allama al Hilli was a great scholar, an expert in his field, but he had two dillemas; the first was that he didn't understand Imam al Baqir's (as) hadith, where he said that God would cure sins the size of the ocean for one who shed a tear the size of the wing of a mosquito for Imam Hussein (as). The second was that he wanted to know if one actually meets the Imam of our time if he or she goes to Kufa for forty Thursdays in a row.
It was the fortieth Thursday and Allama al Hilli was walking towards Kufa. As he was drawing closer, an Arab man approached him and asked him where he was headed. Allama al Hilli replied that he was going to Kufa. The Arab man asked him why, to which Allama al Hilli said that he wanted to meet the Imam of his time. Again, the Arab man asked the reason. Allama al Hilli replied that he had a question to ask the Imam (af). When the Arab man asked what his quesiton was, Allama al Hilli explained his first dillema and said that he was confident that he would meet the Imam, it being his fortieth Thursday visiting Kufa.
The Arab man asked Allama al Hilli if he would permit him to answer his question, to which the scholar was slightly hesitant. However, the Arab man insisted he be given a chance to ease Allama al Hilli's first dillema. He narrated the following story:
There was once a king who, with his army, proceeded towards a war. However, he lost his army and was left deserted in a forest, where he saw a small cabin. The king approached this cabin and knocked on the door. When an old woman answered, the king explained his situation and asked the old lady if she could let him stay with her for a few nights for safety. The woman explained that she lived alone with her son, and that the king was more than welcome to stay.
The woman and her son gave everything they had- they had only one animal, which they sacrificed for the hungry king. After he ate, he promised the woman and her son that when he returned to his kingdom, he would repay them for their favour, and he left.
Months passed, but the woman and her son heard nothing from the king, so her son decided to approach the palace to remind him of his promise. Her son approached the king in his palace, and asked the king if he remembered the time when he was deserted in the forest. The king immediately remembered, and wondred how he could have forgotten his promise. The king turned to one of his advisors and asked how he should repay the young man and his mother. The advisor suggested to give them some treasure. Another advisor suggested some land.
The king looked at the advisors and said, "How unjust both of you are. This young man and his mother gave away everything they had, for me. Therefore, if I am just, I want to give away everything I have, for them."
The Arab man explained that if a normal king could be as generous as to give away everything he had in return for a single sacrificed animal, then the King of kings could undoubtedly give away His repentance to the man who gave everything away for Him on the tenth of Muharram.
Allama al Hilli narrated that he began to cry when he heard this answer to his dillema. The Arab man then said to Allama al Hilli, "Tell our followers that when they visit us and they need our help, I will always be there to help them." As soon as Allama al Hilli realised that the Arab man was the Imam of our time, the Imam had gone.
After listening to this story, I feel ashamed. Here is a man, someone we claim to follow and be loyal to, who probably cares more about our actions than we do ourselves, who wants to offer us a route salvation and loves us, and yet we don't return this love- instead, we keep him waiting. We fail to be the soldiers that he so desperately wants.
Wednesday, 14 April 2010
Falling In Love
My second entry on this blog was not, as many of my other entries are, old thoughts that had taken time to articulate into words. Rather, that entry was exactly what and how I felt at the time. It was a new view- a new, unpresedented feeling. I felt like my eyes had finally opened. When I look back, I wonder how on Earth I could have been so blind to the message of Imam Hussein (as) for so long. At the same time, I feel blessed for God to have allowed me to find it.
As time has passed over the recent months, this feeling has grown into something much more beautiful- something more from the soul as opposed to mere intellect. I feel unexplainably fortunate when I look back at the seemingly insignificant things that have caused me to feel the way I do. Small things- seeing someone dedicate their services to Imam Hussein (as), things people have said in passing about him, and my own pondering and admiration for his stand for justice.
My feelings are difficult to put into words. To say the least, this feeling can no longer be contained within myself- I need to do something and show him how I feel. I want the world to know how great he was despite its inability to do him any justice. I want to stand for whatever he stood for and be one to defend what he defended and fight what he fought. I want to be loyal to him.
If this is not falling in love, I really don't know what is.
As time has passed over the recent months, this feeling has grown into something much more beautiful- something more from the soul as opposed to mere intellect. I feel unexplainably fortunate when I look back at the seemingly insignificant things that have caused me to feel the way I do. Small things- seeing someone dedicate their services to Imam Hussein (as), things people have said in passing about him, and my own pondering and admiration for his stand for justice.
My feelings are difficult to put into words. To say the least, this feeling can no longer be contained within myself- I need to do something and show him how I feel. I want the world to know how great he was despite its inability to do him any justice. I want to stand for whatever he stood for and be one to defend what he defended and fight what he fought. I want to be loyal to him.
If this is not falling in love, I really don't know what is.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
The Tears In The Darkness
In the hour of darkness, you woke me,
You inspired me to sit there, awake,
We struggled, we talked and I cried,
Trying, my shell of ego, to break.
At first, I remained persistent,
I clung to the old, fading mask,
But with time and tears, you won over,
By the many questions you'd ask.
With each answer I sobbed, it dawned,
That you were easing my soul into peace,
You rescued it from the sea of confusion,
And from longing, you gave it release.
Through all the tears in the darkness,
I admitted what you already knew,
I wept, that behind all this courage,
I was desperately craving for you.
Those that usurped your place in my heart,
Began to flow out with my tears,
And my heart began to fill with your love,
Like never, in these solitary years.
In the darkness, my tears were a blessing,
For, after crying, I could finally see,
And in my soul full of thanks, a fire had ignited,
A light- a reason to be.
You inspired me to sit there, awake,
We struggled, we talked and I cried,
Trying, my shell of ego, to break.
At first, I remained persistent,
I clung to the old, fading mask,
But with time and tears, you won over,
By the many questions you'd ask.
With each answer I sobbed, it dawned,
That you were easing my soul into peace,
You rescued it from the sea of confusion,
And from longing, you gave it release.
Through all the tears in the darkness,
I admitted what you already knew,
I wept, that behind all this courage,
I was desperately craving for you.
Those that usurped your place in my heart,
Began to flow out with my tears,
And my heart began to fill with your love,
Like never, in these solitary years.
In the darkness, my tears were a blessing,
For, after crying, I could finally see,
And in my soul full of thanks, a fire had ignited,
A light- a reason to be.
Wednesday, 31 March 2010
I Dream While I Wait
A servant, a lover, but so far away,
With only the thought of your dome,
I beg and pray to rest at the place,
That my soul believes to be home.
How many times I have called on you,
Now only God can have counted,
To all the tears that have left longing eyes,
My calls to you have amounted.
Feeling incomplete, life stretches on,
But it is only one thing I await;
To set eyes on your shrine and set foot on your dust,
That place they call heaven's gate.
I write and I pray with nothing but hope,
For what else, in my soul, can there be?
So with strength, I sit, and I dream while I wait,
To discover His honoured decree.
With no words left to write, I wonder,
If my pain can be understood,
If my soul was my ink and your soul my paper,
Then write forever, I would.
I stare at these words with frustration,
For my longing cannot be described,
But in my half broken heart live these verses,
My longing, forever inscribed.
With only the thought of your dome,
I beg and pray to rest at the place,
That my soul believes to be home.
How many times I have called on you,
Now only God can have counted,
To all the tears that have left longing eyes,
My calls to you have amounted.
Feeling incomplete, life stretches on,
But it is only one thing I await;
To set eyes on your shrine and set foot on your dust,
That place they call heaven's gate.
I write and I pray with nothing but hope,
For what else, in my soul, can there be?
So with strength, I sit, and I dream while I wait,
To discover His honoured decree.
With no words left to write, I wonder,
If my pain can be understood,
If my soul was my ink and your soul my paper,
Then write forever, I would.
I stare at these words with frustration,
For my longing cannot be described,
But in my half broken heart live these verses,
My longing, forever inscribed.
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
I Return
Weeping and forgetful, here I stand,
Through aged fingers slips the aged sand,
In this cruel desert, I can no longer burn,
So off my high horse, to you I return,
With my head bowed full of guilt and shame,
I dare to utter your beautiful name,
Show me your mercy, just this last time,
I promise you now, no more of that crime,
Help me remember, and enter my heart,
For remembering is the one hardest part,
When I am empty, you are my fill,
And when I stand helpless, you are my will,
Alone, I am but a bundle of needs,
An accumulation of embarrassing deeds,
So guide me, stay with me, let my love grow,
And maybe, of all this, I will simply let go.
Through aged fingers slips the aged sand,
In this cruel desert, I can no longer burn,
So off my high horse, to you I return,
With my head bowed full of guilt and shame,
I dare to utter your beautiful name,
Show me your mercy, just this last time,
I promise you now, no more of that crime,
Help me remember, and enter my heart,
For remembering is the one hardest part,
When I am empty, you are my fill,
And when I stand helpless, you are my will,
Alone, I am but a bundle of needs,
An accumulation of embarrassing deeds,
So guide me, stay with me, let my love grow,
And maybe, of all this, I will simply let go.
Wednesday, 17 March 2010
A Poem
Day and night, you fill my mind,
Making peace so rare to find,
I wonder how and where you are,
In the darkness, my shining star,
The same questions, I always ask,
Yet to find an answer seems a task,
But I search with hope of seeing you,
When there is no more I can do,
And though I have not seen you yet,
In my heart, there’s no regret,
This searching puts my soul at rest,
For there is blessing in every test,
Perhaps it is the gift of time,
A chance to erase a life of crime,
Or better still, to yearn for you,
When there’s no deed I’d rather do,
Save to fight right by your side,
My master, my friend, my only guide.
Making peace so rare to find,
I wonder how and where you are,
In the darkness, my shining star,
The same questions, I always ask,
Yet to find an answer seems a task,
But I search with hope of seeing you,
When there is no more I can do,
And though I have not seen you yet,
In my heart, there’s no regret,
This searching puts my soul at rest,
For there is blessing in every test,
Perhaps it is the gift of time,
A chance to erase a life of crime,
Or better still, to yearn for you,
When there’s no deed I’d rather do,
Save to fight right by your side,
My master, my friend, my only guide.
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Just A Thought
This has been playing on my mind for quite a while now, but I think it makes sense, so here goes...
If I was part of an army, or navy, or any organisation that serves to represent a nation with an ideology, then I would base my whole life around this. I would marry a patriot, make sure my children were patriotic, didn't break the laws of my country, I would dissociate myself from any opponents of my nation, possibly even from people associated with opponents. My whole life- all my decisions, friendships and enemities, plans- would revolve around serving that nation, and helping it towards success.
In the same way, for people who consider themselves the servants of the Imam (a.f.), shouldn't our lives also be built around the cause of the Imam (a.f.)? I feel like the fact that we can't see him has made us forget our duty towards him, when in fact, it is very much the same case as the aforementioned one, possibly even greater a responsibility, as it will impact our hereafter too.
If I was part of an army, or navy, or any organisation that serves to represent a nation with an ideology, then I would base my whole life around this. I would marry a patriot, make sure my children were patriotic, didn't break the laws of my country, I would dissociate myself from any opponents of my nation, possibly even from people associated with opponents. My whole life- all my decisions, friendships and enemities, plans- would revolve around serving that nation, and helping it towards success.
In the same way, for people who consider themselves the servants of the Imam (a.f.), shouldn't our lives also be built around the cause of the Imam (a.f.)? I feel like the fact that we can't see him has made us forget our duty towards him, when in fact, it is very much the same case as the aforementioned one, possibly even greater a responsibility, as it will impact our hereafter too.
Saturday, 13 March 2010
Waiting For You
Waiting for you, I remain in this world,
Hoping to see your mystery unfurled,
With a glimmer of hope, I am still here,
Yet not knowing if you are far or near,
But that glimmer of hope, it keeps me alive,
The dream to serve you just helps me survive,
I will not tell you to hurry to me,
Perhaps I am not what I really should be,
But for you, I will wait right till end,
So my then shattered heart, you are able to mend,
I will stay strong for your day of return,
And maybe by then, I’ll have a bit less to learn.
Hoping to see your mystery unfurled,
With a glimmer of hope, I am still here,
Yet not knowing if you are far or near,
But that glimmer of hope, it keeps me alive,
The dream to serve you just helps me survive,
I will not tell you to hurry to me,
Perhaps I am not what I really should be,
But for you, I will wait right till end,
So my then shattered heart, you are able to mend,
I will stay strong for your day of return,
And maybe by then, I’ll have a bit less to learn.
Saturday, 6 March 2010
The Source And Resources
There was once a queen who, one day, decided that she would grant her subjects whatever wish they put forward. People asked for money, houses, maybe in today's world, a Mercedes, holiday villa, private jet, what have you. One man, however, asked for something very different. He asked her to marry him. The queen was very taken aback, but nonetheless, she remained undismissive. She told him that she would marry him on the condition that he could provide a substantial justification for his wish. And he did. He said that while others were ignorantly asking for their petty desires, he was asking for the source of these things. If he married her, he would have acquired all the things that her other subjects were asking for.
Why do we make the mistakes that the queen's other subjects made? We know who the source of all our sustainance, happiness, satisfaction, content, and every other desirable entity is, and yet we run desperately after His resources. We forget. We are trying to use God.
I hope you understand my point, and if you do, then inshAllah the following line from Du3a Abu Hamza Thumali will be of benefit to you:
اللّهُمَّ إنِّي أَسْأَلُكَ أَنْ تَمْلأ قَلْبِي حُبّاً لَكَ وَخَشْيَةً مِنْكَ
O' my Lord! I ask You to saturate my heart with Your love, fearing and observing You...
If God answers this prayer for you, then what need is there to run after anything?
Why do we make the mistakes that the queen's other subjects made? We know who the source of all our sustainance, happiness, satisfaction, content, and every other desirable entity is, and yet we run desperately after His resources. We forget. We are trying to use God.
I hope you understand my point, and if you do, then inshAllah the following line from Du3a Abu Hamza Thumali will be of benefit to you:
اللّهُمَّ إنِّي أَسْأَلُكَ أَنْ تَمْلأ قَلْبِي حُبّاً لَكَ وَخَشْيَةً مِنْكَ
O' my Lord! I ask You to saturate my heart with Your love, fearing and observing You...
If God answers this prayer for you, then what need is there to run after anything?
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Goal
Often, we dellude ourselves into setting something as a goal, an end, whereas in fact, this goal might be better utilised as a route, a means. We set goals with a finite consequence when we have been blessed with the capability to achieve something with an eternal effect. I think it pays to set a goal as a goal, not a means. Why? Because when you set a goal as a goal, there are various routes that will take you there. When you set a means as a goal, you are limiting where you will end up. One destination can have several routes, but one route will only take you to one place.
What am I getting at? I don't want to bore you. Figure it out.
What am I getting at? I don't want to bore you. Figure it out.
Tuesday, 2 February 2010
The Last One Hoping
I drown in defeating injustices,
In a dark alley of despair, I am groping,
To give up now, I do not have the heart,
Though it pains me to be the last one hoping.
The world has not yet rejected me,
Not yet deemed my hope as betrayal,
But I reproach myself for feeling so safe,
For I no longer see my people as loyal.
I am alone, except for the one I await,
Guilt is bound to each complaint of my heart,
The anguish to relieve his solitude dawns,
As every pain and sorrow, to him, I impart.
My world has become my enemy now,
And I wonder if I induced my own war,
But it is too late to drown in these thoughts,
So I keep grip on an ark that will guide me ashore.
The ark is luminous, worn, and silent,
And I see we are together in denying despair,
So unlike the world, though we are in it,
With me, their cures for evil they share.
My awaited one, he is on this ark,
Though not in person, but his heart is here,
So I hold on while I wait for their son,
My saviour, he, who is far but near.
On this ark, I see many others,
Who, like me, were in their world, coping,
And now, on this ark, I am given glad tidings,
That I wasn't, in fact, the last one hoping.
In a dark alley of despair, I am groping,
To give up now, I do not have the heart,
Though it pains me to be the last one hoping.
The world has not yet rejected me,
Not yet deemed my hope as betrayal,
But I reproach myself for feeling so safe,
For I no longer see my people as loyal.
I am alone, except for the one I await,
Guilt is bound to each complaint of my heart,
The anguish to relieve his solitude dawns,
As every pain and sorrow, to him, I impart.
My world has become my enemy now,
And I wonder if I induced my own war,
But it is too late to drown in these thoughts,
So I keep grip on an ark that will guide me ashore.
The ark is luminous, worn, and silent,
And I see we are together in denying despair,
So unlike the world, though we are in it,
With me, their cures for evil they share.
My awaited one, he is on this ark,
Though not in person, but his heart is here,
So I hold on while I wait for their son,
My saviour, he, who is far but near.
On this ark, I see many others,
Who, like me, were in their world, coping,
And now, on this ark, I am given glad tidings,
That I wasn't, in fact, the last one hoping.
Sunday, 31 January 2010
The Unique, Inviting Nature of Ashura
I know- how can Ashura be inviting? The most atrocious killings and sufferings took place on that day, and yet this very day is something that invites people to the path of Ahlulbayt (a.s). When I was younger, and even until recently, I thought I understood what it meant to understand the message of Imam Hussain (a.s), and yet at the same time, I felt frustratingly distant from him. I felt like I didn't really know him.
And this is exactly what I am talking about- the day of Ashura is not something that can be understood without pondering over it, really immersing oneself into a bottomless pit of thoughts about the events that took place in Karbala. The day of Ashura is a chest in which there is a plethora of lessons, morals, inspirational personalities, but all this has to be discovered. They are not something simple that can be understood and learnt from at the instant of comprehension. And that is the beauty of it.
It's almost like there is a catch (for lack of a better word)- one must ponder, think, make an effort to understand, in order to acquire the treasures of this event. "Catch" is not the best word to use, I know. This scenario doesn't form a congruence with the nature of a catch, because the only person who gains is the one that ponders, the one that understands and in the end acquires the deep meanings and teachings from this day. There is no "other side" that would gain anything in return. What a mercy.
All this leads me to think that the true understanding, and the self-appointed pseudo-understanding, is the difference between the true lovers of Imam Hussein (a.s) and others who claim to be so. Why? Because the true lover has to undergo an intellectual struggle to grasp the true essence of his message, to even begin to understand him.
And this is exactly what I am talking about- the day of Ashura is not something that can be understood without pondering over it, really immersing oneself into a bottomless pit of thoughts about the events that took place in Karbala. The day of Ashura is a chest in which there is a plethora of lessons, morals, inspirational personalities, but all this has to be discovered. They are not something simple that can be understood and learnt from at the instant of comprehension. And that is the beauty of it.
It's almost like there is a catch (for lack of a better word)- one must ponder, think, make an effort to understand, in order to acquire the treasures of this event. "Catch" is not the best word to use, I know. This scenario doesn't form a congruence with the nature of a catch, because the only person who gains is the one that ponders, the one that understands and in the end acquires the deep meanings and teachings from this day. There is no "other side" that would gain anything in return. What a mercy.
All this leads me to think that the true understanding, and the self-appointed pseudo-understanding, is the difference between the true lovers of Imam Hussein (a.s) and others who claim to be so. Why? Because the true lover has to undergo an intellectual struggle to grasp the true essence of his message, to even begin to understand him.
Sunday, 17 January 2010
Success
I have come to believe that success is universally attainable for those who understand it, because success is seemingly subjective in every way- the achiever, the place, the era, the circumstance. The aspects of one's life can be moulded to fit the wide description of success very easily, if one adopts the correct attitude of it being impossible to be unsuccessful, for failure to be inexistent for them, for them to be destined to be successful. Unsurprisingly then, success only comes to those who want it, and want it enough to work for it.
Success comes via two routes, as far as my short experience goes: Either, one complies to a tight strategy whereby the focus of all life decisions, all or most actions of this person's life are all contriburing towards that final goal, and of course, it pays off- success comes. This route is usually the starting point of most people. The other route is a diversion from the aforementioned one- perhaps destiny has a different plan, and I believe that this is the real test- this is where one can really mould success. This is the likely route of all those that consider themselves "unsuccessful", except that they didn't spot the test, they didn't take the chance, they didn't leave flexibility, they didn't see it as an alternative route, but a dead end.
Failure is not the absence, or inability to achieve, success. Rather, it is the inability to recognise and mould apportunities that were not initially part of the plan. The great thing about success is that one can never delude themselves into believing that they have achieved it, because success is gauged by the feeling of content, and as humans with a ceaseless desire to satisfy ourselves, the kinaesthesia pertaining to the feeling of content is probably the most efficient one.
The successes in my life are not ends, but means towards another, deeper, more satisfying end, and this what causes me to convert any obstacle, any diversion, any setback into a helper, a catalyst for another success. I strongly feel that this inexistence of failure in my life is a result of my belief in God and the residing of my ultimate goal in a world beyond this one. Whether this is true in all cases, I do not know.
Success comes via two routes, as far as my short experience goes: Either, one complies to a tight strategy whereby the focus of all life decisions, all or most actions of this person's life are all contriburing towards that final goal, and of course, it pays off- success comes. This route is usually the starting point of most people. The other route is a diversion from the aforementioned one- perhaps destiny has a different plan, and I believe that this is the real test- this is where one can really mould success. This is the likely route of all those that consider themselves "unsuccessful", except that they didn't spot the test, they didn't take the chance, they didn't leave flexibility, they didn't see it as an alternative route, but a dead end.
Failure is not the absence, or inability to achieve, success. Rather, it is the inability to recognise and mould apportunities that were not initially part of the plan. The great thing about success is that one can never delude themselves into believing that they have achieved it, because success is gauged by the feeling of content, and as humans with a ceaseless desire to satisfy ourselves, the kinaesthesia pertaining to the feeling of content is probably the most efficient one.
The successes in my life are not ends, but means towards another, deeper, more satisfying end, and this what causes me to convert any obstacle, any diversion, any setback into a helper, a catalyst for another success. I strongly feel that this inexistence of failure in my life is a result of my belief in God and the residing of my ultimate goal in a world beyond this one. Whether this is true in all cases, I do not know.
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