- in the name of Allah -

what story can I tell,
what truth can I reflect,
with but a hardened heart of stone, 
that I cannot risk to melt? 

all around, all about, in every breath,
waiting inside of every sound,
with each a pound of salt, or seed of doubt
that what awaits is laced not by regret. 

to be human means to be in pain, 
in endless cycles of agony and bliss,
falling off each other, like spokes on a wheel,
of a bike lead off its cliff.

tendrils of yesterday sought me again today,
old familiars, that wanted in my present to stay.
but in my hotel of sanity, only bed for one exists, 
a bed I made, to sleep in it I in perpetuity persist. 

people give me no solace, not even an inkling of release, 
their shades all colored by travails, and my cash register
being one that simply cannot give a single peace.

every soul in whom I see, every pair of eyes that peek in mine,
only delve further questions, from a well of tears long since dried.

their comforts and commiseries are alien to my comprehension,
their perspectives the same as unintelligible signing, 
shown behind frosted glass as ships in space at warp-speed flying,
while I stand frozen still, the world abuzz passing me by.


- in the name of Allah -

There are moments in life where something so contrary to expectation happens that the end result shatters the visage of self that was previously understood. After much retrospect, I can confirm this was the case with me. For many years, I could not and would not create any concrete goals, desires, ambitions. Part of the reason for this I used to think was due to my philosophically-leaning nature, that deepening one's ties to society and this world was never something appealing. This is true, but only in part. The other half to the coin was that, in my present state, I exist as only remnants of who I used to be. There are various, potentially innumerable shards of my past self scattered throughout my history. 

The brightness that I used to know, the certain brand of unfailing idealism I once held, are pieces to a puzzle of myself that is no longer mine. However, as of late I have been slowly trying to recover those pieces, to find of myself what I'd lost, as in many respects, that person was a far better fit in this world than me presently. It is true that the past remains done with, over, immutable, and that people should (generally) look forward. But to me, I feel I have to understand my cataclysm, to see the origin point of whence that universe began to decay, and see how it all unfolded from a 3rd-person point of view, as dispassionately and analytically as possible. To be sure, not all of that person is recoverable, much of that (perceived) idiocy I have no wish to re-inculcate within my being. But, there were certain aspects to living and happiness that self had access to, that may prove useful for me to re-engage going forward. Part of this includes a relationship with the divine, that I had allowed to dissipate into mere necessities for the better part of a decade. There is more to life than simply ritual, there is more meaning in prayer to be had than the rote asking of a thing. There is a deeper zest for truth and consolation within that confine that was once embraced. Whereas these days I have felt that truth offers only pain and bitter pills to swallow, back then I could see life from a broader perspective, one that did not shun all its connections to people and the outside. I need some aspect of that again, to reconstitute myself into something worth becoming, part of the acceptance I have recently gained that change must always be allowed to happen. Some principles, yes, will not alter by the grace of Allah. But, viewing myself, I cannot limit myself to a static prism always showing light from the outside universe in only one iteration. Maybe the next phase, part of something I once had, is to be a multi-faceted mirror, reflecting light from many different angles, to offer both myself and those I know different angles.

 A friend of mine once asked another friend of mine some years back, what is my true motivation, what drives me? He could not understand my action because he did not recognize any aims there. Once I lived to find the wholeness of the heart, something I later found but could not hold on to it. After this, no reasoning was sufficient for me, no motivation strong enough to carry out from within the layers of ennui. Some few efforts were made since then to peer outside the looking glass, but they were ineffectual. Where is my present, what forms the essence of my current evolution? The answer there is much harder to define precisely. I exist because I must, not whether I choose it. I have found that the idealisms I once sought in this world cannot be had here, so for the most part I have ceased bothering with its specifics. Some people can see underneath the fabric of this reality and swallow its meaning without consequence, going about their routine and their lives as if it means nothing different. It is not so for me. There isn't anything here truly for me to have, nothing here truly in the most earnest sense worth having. This physical plane is bound by various laws and a certain chaotic disposition that leaves even the most reasonable desire utterly unpredictable as to whether it could find fulfillment. People will struggle, I will struggle as I too am a person. Until life ends it must continue, with some small hope that I can from within each day find something better and brighter.