بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

there's no trade there for me to make, for everything that's in place, He already owns, from the surface of the skin, down to the marrow of my bones. no offers I could pose, no ransom there with which to plead, His already is everything that's shown, along with all what's hidden out of sight and underneath. I'm learning that acceptance of His decree, is so much more than what I thought before, for it's the sum of all possibilities, and making one's self be alright with all of them in store. there's no conditions I can extract, no leverage of making mine, that I might bargain towards the future, for it's all of His design. these eyes, these fickle, feeble eyes, this mind, this silly, shallow mind, can scarce tell what's left from right, much less what's behind any of my affairs, while I think I've understood them just fine. the lessons always learned, reminders always present, to pull back from what is not mine to know, and to do with just what I'm given. some might buck at this notion, and care to challenge fate, to forge their "own decrees", with what limited resources they thought they've made. but I am not they, it isn't anywhere here that I seek, no vessel here to hold my kind, what they want is just temporal and fades to dust, while for me there's just Eternity I'm trying to find. and for me that end to reap, for me that end to be gifted, I must give all this world away, and find myself with Him contented.

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

Time isn't quite changing, need to take a few steps back, forward not going to plan, life just keeps on sine-waving. One of these days I can imagine a situation unafraid to be accepted, ready to be taken under the wing and freed from artificial conventions. Until then, my existence is unending, perpetual in its grip, ceaseless in its opaque complexions. Like everything else rooted from this earth, every vision I conjure becomes like vapor without assertion, never condensing but simply burnt away by the the fires of reality trying to impose its own shape. 

--- 

It only hurts if you give a fuck, only if you care, apathy's the crudest tool in the shed, sometimes the last defense, there to stem the bleeding from what's done already bled. Ironic that the path to Jannah needs a heart willing and open, yet the world crushes only that which isn't closed, how to survive and approach, those Gates so well-guarded by that which kills only in motion-slowly. How many times have I lived and breathed and caught fire to my being, how long will I last as simply me, until my want and need overtake the sense of my mind and seeing, leading me to pay any price or pence to fill these gaping holes inside my chest? My Rabb, in the midst of this storm without wind, take my soul before to this life I've given in, it has no appeal yet I'm deluded into thinking its want is my own, that there's so much here of meaning, but it's all a mirage right alongside the devil and his scheming. There's an exit somewhere here, just can't see the signs, maybe going too fast, crossing the lines, when the future's already in hand, hah, the dreamer's joke is such that there's no end to the chain of his yoke, it extends past the moment he thinks he's won, to the very moment of his death, fooled over and over again, into thinking the sun will always rise, after his moon has already set.

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

Something that has been with me for awhile now, a few ayaat from Surah Al-Kahf where Khidr (as) is speaking to Prophet Musa (as) :

To me, this statement by Khidr is one of the most profound in the entire Quran. It describes the human nature and limitation so perfectly, that we find patience extremely difficult, if not impossible, in situations where our knowledge and understanding don't reach. When people complain of the problem of evil and "how could God allow such a thing", this is precisely the kind of result from their being unable to be patient with not grasping something that is beyond them. When I personally face situations where I cannot tell the best of options ahead of me, when the only choice is to go forward while not knowing whether short-term hopes will find fruition...that is the most unpalatable pill imaginable. One cannot determine if the next step taken is to be something lost or something gained, something to exist simply as trial, or something that will continue past the torment of an unknowable future. So predictable is this, so innate to the human being, it is found even in the anbiyaa'. It is one of the most essential struggles we face, to look at what we can't grasp in knowledge and retain patience. I haven't solved this dilemma, it dogs me still, has dogged me for a very long time. 

Ultimately, the road of wondering ends at a very easy stop sign: I am owned by my Rabb. As is every constituent part of me. Whether He chooses to try the body, or the heart, or the soul, or varying parts thereof, it is all His to do with He wills. I lament the unknown, the parts of me that look towards hope and also foresee the loss, partly through recollection of past experiences, but also because I know it would just be what would try me most. I have often asked myself what can dust be reduced to, when one falls to pieces so minute it is as if the mere blowing of wind could scatter them. Yet there have been a few cases where even down to my very atoms I have felt this disintegration, wondering in amazement at what Allah decrees when it surpasses so unimaginably what I can fathom. 

Onwards this test goes, no say in the matter have I, just to keep walking the bridge though oft have I longed to simply jump it, that option was not allowed to me. What will one become at the end of it? Only Allah knows.

 

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

Once upon an Eid gone by...

In every sunrise, there's always little streaks of Red that hide

behind the glare of light, or above the clouds formerly of night,

Now, just the day shines, no darkness there to drown or drive,

just the pull of Tomorrow's flight, finding nested alongside dreams 

one's Beacons bright.

The uncertainties of where today leads, of what I may or may not find

pale in comparison, 

to what makes Tomorrow beam, so full of that which words could never describe.

To be worthy enough and know again those souls that reached mine,

echoing resonance as hearts one and same, from our beginning and

beyond the end of time.

 

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

This journey, it isn't the span of a second, a minute, a day, not even a month, or year, or decade. The end I'm trying to reach, the proof in me I'm trying to make, to become what I say myself to be. Sometimes patience I can't stand, for all that's unknown, but then there's moments like this, where patience is all I have in hand, biding time like seeds need to grow. Somehow, I have to gaze outside the situation, take perspective on what it is and what it holds, where should the future take root, and what choices for that to be I have to show. There's no glory in these kinds of battles, no stage for spectators, no audience but my Rabb, taking stock of all I am, recording all for when I'm judged. By Your might, oh Allah, ever towards the sky I reach, for even though I'm made of earth, inside me is Your spark, that longs Your light to meet.

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

hollowed like an oyster, don't know where's the pearl,

hallowed like a grave, don't know if I'm yet in there,

patience like a poison, from the fangs of time,

a charmer's not what I am, so every inch of me it bites,

waiting is this game, and there's no moves to make,

just for the die of fate to roll, see if Tomorrow becomes today.

~

oh Allah, surround my Gardens with every thing I love,

let it help be what pushes, let it help be what pulls,

me towards seeking ever upward, that which calls above.

oh Allah, let me not drown, in the midst of this absence,
while an answer is what I think I need,
keep me with You always, at least then I'm surely found. 

ameen

  

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

Life is this puzzle I can't seem to open, needs so much waiting, so much patience, days drift by, even with all efforts I can fathom, steered forth like rivers dammed for fields of rice in paddies. still I can never stop trying, never stop pushing, opening doors of Tomorrow, no matter the bruises or blisters on fingers. the heart wants to ache like it's made of earth in the middle of a quake, but it's not, and so my Rabb has it held in place, waiting to be unleashed to find its own pace, pouring forth what it's holding like an ocean's wave, ready and willing to carry that one surfette willing and brave, up past all sight of horizons, above even the clouds, to swim the skies amidst the stars, we two comets born of Gardens, imagined from afar.