why try to push those Daisys

Words tapping away
days drawn in a sweep
markings made and
digits dismembered

agreements pushed
remember, hawks kneeyow and
sing as claws hold, hold.
Hold.
The release of age

promises but one checked out
some none and some so many.
A clear sky to the stain of sod
markings forgotten
illness overcome

caught in a new world, a world ignored
tested in depth
measurements and toil given and gotten.
Clutched so hard
forced to move upsidedown

trapped doors and archives for
murkier dissent, gems rare and
we but dwellers of dungeons
deep.
Praying for higher and fragrance and space

alone to answer and alone to see
blue eyes wait watching
cry, cry now
Waiting.
Hating.
Praying.
Waiting.
dead
Waiting. pain
Free.

may we never need the waiting room

-bH

The Eve of New Happenings

I spent December 31st with two things on my mind:
1) The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies
2) Death

The movie was showing. And my instagram account is piled high with the promise of books, fantasy and fiction. But as I sat there in the dark, alone, I kept thinking “I could die right now”. Yes, morbid but the raw thoughts of mankind is rarely tied with a bow! So I wondered what my family was doing; I had left the house in need of a breather from the storm of nieces and nephews that huddle in during the Christmas break.

I watched multiple deaths on that screen. I watched Arrogance and Strength war with each other. And still my fingers began to tingle in the not-so-nice-or-jazz way. The picks like icicles on all fronts of my hands. I sat stunned. I wanted it to end. I had only eaten breakfast that morning I must be hungry.

I don’t know when it ended. I do know that as I sat on the bus watching the remnants of the setting sun from the wrong side of the bus (the right), I thought about needing to finish Golden Son by Pierce Brown (at the time the huge hardback had been strategically squashed into an old camera side bag). But hauling the tomb out in public is easier said than done. So I took some photos of the book and the 75th Anniversary edition of The Hobbit I had just purchased on a whim. The debris of thought and air swirling in my pits. I looked at my books.

Three hours later my mother got a phone call. I was oblivious in bed and the kids running around screeching in mirth and mayhem while clad in glittering masquerade masks. My father’s little sister and the closest my mum had to a best friend has passed away.

I was named after her.
She had never shown any symptoms.
She had left behind six kids.

And so midnight closed in. 2015 in all its glory and promise was prime to glide over the world. But around me was silence and the curious and confused stares of little faces. The masks dropped forgotten as new minds tried to sleep comprehending existence turned to nothing. If even that.

I wonder if they realised that even the ‘big people’ wrestled with nothingness too.

I believe in an afterlife. I believe in the unseen. I believe in fate.

I wonder what difference my belief makes if I don’t listen to it.

Here’s to 2015 because our past is a lesson and the remainder of our breath a challenge we must continue to solve.

Waiting is the Watchword

Waiting. 

That’s the keyword for today.

Wait for the hot water. Wait for the sun to rise. Wait for the tea to cool. Wait for a bus. Wait out fellow commuters slugging along Longford. Wait for the end of assembly. Wait for the next colleague. Wait for the test to end for surely these seconds could pass for minutes.  Wait for another bus. Wait for my door to open. Wait for my ride. Wait for that receptionist. Wait for a dozen incorrect logins to verify. Wait for salaah to begin. Wait for this lab door to open. Wait for it all to begin.
…and yes my list may have ended there, as my teacher came along and finally unlocked the lab, but sadly it was not the end of my wait.
However, the real cherry on the Waiting Pie? You never asked, but I will nonetheless reply: The third bus of my day.

That 20A national express that sped away from campus as I stepped out its “convenient” automatic doors. Leaving me to wonder around aimlessly for 32 minutes.
Why, thank you Coventry for the regular prompt rotation of buses.

And here I am unable to a acknowledge that these choices I’ve made are for the best.

Because here on this bus where I sit (the fifth bus of the day) my empty stomach and medicated mind wonder: Why does my head feel sucked up of all air? Barren. And yet heavy too, in all its stillness. Like the wide expanse of a parched desert-scape, airless and stifling, only accepting the stark, unforgiving rays of the scalp. Tightening.  This is how I found my coherency (much later); tangled and strained. As for the goals I had? Well those I’m sure will come back to me once I breathe again.

In hindsight, as I read over this entry I realise much of it may seem incoherent and exaggerated. But reader understand that the human being is complex and every one of our minds holds the capacity for infinite combinations and variations.

It just so happens that on this day my mind, body and soul felt used up. I do not apologise (except to my health). I do believe however, that every tear, strength of will and challenge that we shed, show and solve can only make us all the more stronger.

Here’s to us all on the days where Brain and Body rage war on Ambition. Kisses and Hugs on the house.

And through all difficulty and every ease we should turn to the Most High. I pray that I always do. That the Angels above become so attuned to my voice that even my whisper of help (or happiness) brings forth the rushing response from Above. Ameen Ya Rabul’Alameen.

and unto you Peace.

The Opening

The first Quran I even came to own and to this day still do.

Al Fatiha – The Opening.

It seems fitting to dedicate the entry after Bismillah to Al Fatiha.
This entry is by no means an in depth study of the wondrous surah but rather a snapshot into the Islamic month of Ramadhan – of which today is the thirteenth night. I am currently observing the obligatory fast meaning to partake in sehri (to eat in the final portion of the night before dawn) and break the fast at magrib (sunset).

I love this month.

I love how it makes me feel.

I love how it makes me want to be.

See, there is a stark purity to the month and a blinding need within one to return to the path.
And it all began in the Month of the Quraan.

I had hoped to read as much of the Quraan as possible this year. After all it is standard practice to complete (a minimum of) one full recitation of the Book within this blessed month. So I must try. Try to read more. For every time I open the pages of my Quraan and begin to recite my conscious becomes clear, my heart at ease and my mind finally at rest from the ins and outs of everyday.

It is a barrier of my own creation that stops me from reading with regularity and I sincerely pray that recitation of the Quraan become a daily routine, which I practise with ease, until I pass (Ameen).

I’m placing a translation of Al Fatiha below foremost as a reminder and aid to me. Keeping in mind that the translations are always to the nearest possible meaning.

In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful.

Praise be to Allah, Lord of the Worlds.
The Beneficent, the Merciful.
Master of the Day of Judgement.
You alone we worship and You alone we ask for help.
Guide us on the straight path.
The path of those whom You hast favoured;
Not the path of those who earn Your anger nor of those who go astray.

(Ameen)

And unto you be Peace.