-in the name of Allah-


It's folly to think that what has gone will lie calmly down in the grave I've dug, every shovel of earth carries with it a scream of agony in hopes to reach the skies above. Alas, the fate of the dearly departed mound of dirt is simply to bury, nothing else though ghosts might entice the digger not to hurry. I need fuel to absorb and process, understand and internalize, or else the mind will erode my inner being from the deepest core wherein the soul lies. But where is the care one's supposed to feel while approaching friends and acquaintances? There's nothing but an absence, slowly creating and widening another lovely, black-hole of an abcess. Sure, I can keep my conscience above this fray that occurs on the lowest levels of being, but how long can it go on without erasing knowledge of meaning? I began to read some of yesterday and the consequences came in a vision I expected but couldn't quite imagine. Abruptly, the pages close and another effort is made to keep the book of history under cloaked threat of coals. Can tomorrow mean something without a past complement? Can ideals survive the battering of thought and fate? Can a lone prayer wipe clean a darkened slate? Questions and answers posed by a restless mind caught in a senseless world, a little bit of clarity perhaps before it becomes a lazy swirl of death's memory.