- in the name of Allah -

At this early hour, a seemingly random verse comes to mind, quoted above. A rough translation:

"..and whomever is saved from the greed of his own soul, it is they who are successful."
(Hashr, ayah 9)

Two things strike me about this ayah. One, that one's own soul is something that would require saving from (usually, we might think of needing protection from the devil, from external temptation, etc). Two, it reads "..whomever is saved..", not "..whomever saves him/her self.." - this lends itself to the true and actual dependency we have upon Allah on attempting to claim salvation.

It isn't by our own efforts that we would be saved from the fires of Jahannam, or granted the gardens of Jannah. It's something that must be sought after by the very core of one's heart. There's a reason Allah remembers those who remember Him, there's a reason that there is no reward for good, except good. Perhaps the only thing that should really concern us, that should catch us in our most attentive moments is this: that our end, and our beginning, and everything in between, are all with Allah and nothing and nowhere else.


- in the name of Allah -

internal constructs

Reaching for the stars, barely landing in the heavens,
The path has finally opened, if only for a second.
I catch whiff of a scent that could blind the senses,
My fancy is intrigued, blood pounding in throbbing temples.

The rush is too much, I'm becoming light-headed,
The door still inviting, but it seems I'm not yet ready.
Why must I awake from this opaque dream?
The clock reads a minute past, I swear an eternity it seemed.

Let me gaze for just a few decades,
Into crystalline orbs, tiny suns that shine on without age.
Granted such rare glory, such precious splendor,
Who would deny the touch of satin, the smell of lavender?

Remembering just one of countless rewards in store,
For he who'd lend his Rabb a goodly loan, and little more.
A blink of an eye, or an epic tale of endless pages,
Only fools need argue, a spat amongst wandless mages.

A winding road ahead, paved in prick of thorns,
Right is obvious, but can a nomad weather its storm?



- in the name of Allah -

How will I ever find time for mirrors and walls, when sometimes all I can read is writing not worth the scribble of restroom stalls? Introspection loses out to extroversion, saying a lot more than I did back then but without half the meaning or one-fourth the purpose. Socially fit, but socially disinclined, my mismatches abound when I thought I'd find the perfectly suited in no time. It's surprising to see friends grow even as I watch from a distance, their gazes don't quite reach me as much as they used to, I usually just miss them. A little sad, sure, but it's comforting knowing that they're heading places, if not physically than becoming better people (or better imitators of progress). Slight doubt or wonder aside, my own questions beg their time in the spotlight, but wait..they don't have any batteries. So what good is a wrong with a plan to be righted if it can only stand out against the darkness while everything else is nighted? Who knows, I only hold few things for certain, among them, a belief I have to have, or else I'd rather choose to not live than be just another soul, frightfully wondering who its Lord is and why it exists. My paths are never easy, same with the choices I have to make, but I think the worthwhile always needs effort, for the worthy to find their place.