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. 

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.

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.

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.