A Prayer for Faith - Rekindling the Divine Love

Strange are the ways of the world and the ways it teach and you learn are even more stranger. When we are unfocused, we lose it all. When we have it, we are never unfocused. But what is it exactly? Read more and you shall come to know!

Abdullah is a very ordinary man living his everyday life here in this country. His life starts with two slices of bread and a cup of tea, and then, he works all day long. He earns well, but he is not satisfied with his life. He thinks that he deserves something better for himself, for he believes that he has been specially made to do special things in his life. But the world, like always, does not understand him. They do not know his heart, they do not care about his victories, but they smile whenever he is failed.

Today is just one of those days. Abdullah is lonely, disappointed for not doing well in his life. He is a very social person, people do shake hands, but he has no friends at all. And because he has no friends at all, he shares his personal life only with God. Today, however, it sounds like God is angry with him for something. It does feel bad when your friends are not available when you need them, but sometimes, when you need someone to your death, and even your God is not available for you, you feel dead. God, however, is always there, but such are the times when your heart is sold out, and you have nothing left to feel God. 

Abdullah tries to talk to God in his room where he lives alone, but nothing happens. He feels that God might not listen to him for the way he has been. Therefore, thinking that there would be some noble people out there in the mosque, and the environment  might help him converse with God, he goes to a mosque nearby and starts praying for everything that is dear to his heart. But he is out of spirits and so weak, confused and frustrated for the way things seem to ruin his life. He can’t get shivers when he prays and thinks that he probably has done something wrong, or has not done something right, which has resulted in the breakage of his spiritual flow. We humans have a spiritual flow, which can get broken, get mended and enhanced with either virtues or sins. When we are unfocused, we lose it all. When we have it, we are never unfocused. So, it was complicated for Abdullah to understand it fully.

He prays but his heart does not cooperate with his brains and their joint enmity makes him feel worse while he joins his hands and begs before God . Even though he knows that Allah is more aware of the secrets buried in hearts, he wonders if he has gone way too sinful that God isn’t even allowing him to pray properly. Doing so, he is actually requesting Allah to take pity on him and shower His blessings onto him, even with his broken faith and weak love.

But nothing happens. He does not find his prayers worthy enough to be carried to his Lord, wrapped with purity, loyalty and faith. He thinks, “May be, I’m not following the proper manners for supplications. May be, there is something bad I have done, which is not helping me mean whatever I say. Am I having any doubts that my request won’t be answered? Perhaps, my soul is not pure or is it some devil hiding in my heart? I am not feeling like Allah’s Man. There must be some unfulfilled responsibilities or some promises that are broken.

“Yes, there must be something wrong within me. Otherwise, Allah listens to my prayers; He tells me and makes me cry when I’m ecstatic. And He makes me shiver when He enters my heart. All these things are just not happening now! I’m not feeling like a man with faith; and the devil is whispering to my subconscious that I should rather quit praying right now because my prayers do not have any Taseer (effect, strength).  I am somewhat believing this devil of mine, thinking that I should go and live one more day of my life to write some virtues in my black book and to whiten some sins. Then, may be then, I will have a Taseer that is desired by my prayers.” 

The devil is always wrong, but he sounds damn right . Abdullah, however, does not trust his devil and keeps praying. He prays for the acceptance of his prayers when an old man approaches him from behind and sits along with him on the floor. Abdullah watches him, with his malevolent eyes, waiting for a response that could explain the purpose of the guest’s arrival, but nothing happens. The old man keeps humming something in his mouth and his body seems to grab a rhythm with every word he hums. After sometime, the old man’s voice gradually disappears, but his body still vibrates. Both of them watch each other, but they do not say anything. Abdullah discreetly turns his gaze and begins to supplicate again. And right then, the old man comes closer to Abdullah, holds his hands for a minute and shapes them like a bowl. Abdullah looks at the old man, his eyes questioning, his heart distracted and fear filling his inside.

“This is your bowl. And it’s bigger than this world.” The old man stares into Abdullah’s eyes. His eyes are shiny green and his face is stern, with a long beard that has been beautifully trimmed and styled. But he still looks abnormal – He looks obsessively strange and Abdullah is just surprised at his sudden response. The old man continues, “Mohammad… Follow him; reach God.”

Abdullah is confused, and a bit afraid. There is something very odd about the old man’s behavior and his varying talks. Abdullah fails to connect two different things that the old man has said together: A bowl bigger than this world, and the last Prophet of God. Nevertheless, Abdullah keeps quiet, for something speaks in the old man’s eyes, which calms Abdullah, willingly. The old man, odd but graciously sober, has very concise choice of words, with obsessed depth.

“Raise your bowl, son. Pray! Take a look at your fate. Don’t stray!”The old man raises his hands, inviting Abdullah to mock him. And he smiles mysteriously.

Abdullah, now gets the feelings that this old man might be some angel sent by God. So, he feels his words, trusts him and is eager to follow. Abdullah now innocently stares at his fate, engraved in his tiny hand-made bowl. With all his sins, virtues and fate, he raises his hands, higher, his elbows reaching his lower ribs, just below his heart.

 “Say Bismillah! Say it to your body and tell your heart.” The old man says in a very mesmerizing voice, very effective; and Abdullah feels the strength of the old man’s presence around him and it took him closer to God.

“Say your prayers; see your prayers, close your eyes . Remember your fears; shed some tears, tell no lies. Believe what you say; feel what you see, and just be.” The old man is speaking aloud now. So loud that Abdullah hears his voice echoing in the entire mosque. Caught in the strong effect of the old man’s voice, Abdullah follows whatever he says, while the old man continues. “Say Bismillah; say Rahmaan; say Raheem. It is a magic, Kid; it is a power. Set some beliefs; and touch your heart. Say Bismillah, and change your life.” The old man comes to a sudden pause. And the silence helps Abdullah listen to his heartbeats – wild heartbeats. The old man puts his hand on Abdullah’s shoulder, and presses it very softly, saying, “If faith is there, in your heart, it will be easy, never hard. Have faith, in faith!

Abdullah has never sensed the actual feeling s of saying Allah’s name ever before. He begins his prayer with Allah’s name and reads it again and again, not knowing what more to say.

“Allah defines His love in Mohammad (PBUH). Love the love of God. Acknowledge Allah’s love, and do it thrice. Send Salaams to your Prophet (PBUH), and be sent Salaams by God. Thrice, I said; it then stays in your heart. Remember Allah’s mercies and realize who is your God. So to understand that your requests are nothing, when you make requests to God.

Abdullah cries, his body trembling with fear and excitement. He feels so close to Allah, more than ever before; and he keeps saying His name. All of his problems and wishes suddenly start to look so conquered, so invaluable to him that He does not feel like making any kind of materialistic requests anymore. He feels that his unsaid requests have already been answered - He feels that God is listening to him, watching his visions, coming closer to his heart. 

"This world is just a word away from me, for I know you are listening, for I know you care, and I know you do what’s the best. You know everything in my heart. What else should I say when you are my sight.”

The old man watches Abdullah and smiles mysteriously. He somewhat seems to know what is going through Abdullah’s mind. “Now, ask for His love; and yours faith. Forever, and everyday.”

And this brings the story to a beginning and not the end :)

Dear Readers: Just close your eyes and ask yourself for once, “If this is how close you are to me, my Allah, what else do I pray for? For this world of mine or this love of yours?" And you shall have your answers. 

P.S. I would like to thank one of my old blogger friends, Harun Jilani for giving this beautiful gift to me when it was needed the most. And I earnestly hope that it will serve in rekindling the Divine love in you! 

Guest Blog Post: The Sound of Silence by Sidra Jafri

Each individual has his/her own story waiting to be told. Having said this, let me share a wonderful piece of writing being written and shared by one of my good friends named Sidra Jafri. Read on.......

Stained glass windows 
an orange sunset,
rain-puddles,
brooding over faces,
unspent lives and knotted dreams.

I walk past-blue shawls,
ritual regrets, burnt-out stars
clouded love and an astronomical hope.
Drawing out the wavering circles
of memory around the edges,
but each loss is final and
every death vibrancy of many expectations.

Shadows of love come circling back
laughter that went up in flames
but silence is my alter ego. 

And the nights doesnot count my dead stars
and your matrix of joy. 
There is darkness in this night
which will not melt.
It is silent, it is stone.

Eid Mubarak - A Word to the Soul [An Audio Greeting]

And here goes my first audio greeting wishing all Muslims around the world a very blessed Eid-ul-Fitr..Eid Mubarak!

Much love.

Nearing Death

So vast and pure, and so obscure

Are the mazes of the divine

You think you know, and yet you don't

The boundless flow of life and its times

It's all in YOU, your heart and soul

Your mind and your percipience

Even then you stay a perfect stranger

To the reflection that is thine

You love, you live, you hold them dear

You see, you care, you think, you fear

You need them near, but it all disappears

And in the end you are only left with nothing

But an existence unclear

Just Another Page from a Diary

"Just like a sunbeam can't separate itself from the sun, and a wave can't separate itself from the ocean, we can't separate ourselves from one another. We are all part of a vast sea of love, one indivisible divine mind."

___Marianne Williamson

................And this one indivisible divine mind contains a plethora of parables and experiences for the individuals who seek enlightenment. I always used to wonder that I am on a voyage of self-discovery but I never had known that one tends to discover more when s/he starts deciphering the behavior and attitudes of people around him/her. You might be amazed at finding out a number of similarities that you share with the individuals around you. And this lets you realize that you are not the only one fighting in this whole wide world. It’s not only you who owns a firm faith in Nature’s plans. However, you are one of the many creations who has been picked and chosen for the Divine test and who has been blessed with inherent intelligence being destined for unearthing the celestial acquaintance and the ever-lasting relationship with the Immortal.

The Song of Eternity

In the temple of her mind, every thought of him

Is a sacred testament reflecting her Love’s divinity

In the heart of her soul that lies battered and disfigured

Lives a passion longing for Eternity

In the blissful extensions that cover her face

One can see the trails of tears so vividly

The tears that were neither wept nor cried

The tears that were hold in her Love’s sanctity

In the sullen and vexed gaze of her eyes

One can trace the unwritten history

Of the jumbled letters that were never worded or uttered

Of the vague and wispy mystery

In the song of her soul or her life’s choir

One can hear solemn notes of agony

The song that could now only be played by him

The song of Eternity…….

The above posted poem is dedicated to my eternal love, Sarfaraz Ali. Moreover, the music being played in the background is one of Yanni's masterpieces.

The Fairy and The Firefly.

Fireflies are mortals, they are destined to die
How come the fairy had expected it, to show the way to fly?

Trapped in the Cimmerian tunnel of despair and false hope
There resides a lost fairy who still yearns for the light
As the folklore depicts, a fire beetle in the tunnel
Had been once a source for her lambent delight

The fire beetle had its glow, its glimmer and its incandescence
That had radiated warmth and love for the lost
And the lost fairy had danced in its aura of radiance
With her soul entirely engrossed

Awestricken by its warm glimmer, the fairy had not realized
What the fate of a firefly could be
That a firefly may show a way to the wanderer
Or it could go dimmer or possibly flee

How naïve of her that she did not know
‘Tis a fatal attraction that won’t survive
The firefly would either die or flee away
Abandoning her in the middle of nowhere to strive

The fairy should have known better, what she not knew
Those fireflies are mortals, they are destined to die
She should have known that the fire beetles cannot
Show her the way to fly …….

Peeking Through Those Glass Jars..

Photo by Baronet4Tibet.com

During all these years of my virtual voyage spanning over more than two years of real time, I have come across many people who have influenced my life in one way or the other. A few of them came in my life for a season, a few came in for a reason while many made their way to the heart consequently becoming an inspiration behind my write-ups. One of such individuals is Raheel Ahmed, who I often address as the incredible hulk. Raheel has not only been a good friend but he is also a savior who comes to the rescue whenever he finds that I am having a writer's block. Having said that, let me share a small piece of writing today (I should have been sharing it on Sunday, though) that Raheel had shared with me sometime ago. Please have a read and let me know if the magic works..Here it goes..

It’s just another Sunday and the market is crowded once again with buyers who roam around from stall to stall, each carrying his wishes scribbled on a scrap of paper. Life moves on as an unstoppable train with stations unmarked. Those who board seem to have no choices of their own, their corpses then fall and the rail track appears crimson red. The sheen blinds the eye, but yet the hunger seems eternal.

He walks, his back hunched with age and his gait unsteady carrying his misgivings about the day. He settles on a mound to be prominent to all those who gaze at him with mock. He settles under a straw roof held in place by four withering poles of wood bearing cuts.

He finds a vacant spot and adds another one, “another day another death…” his thoughts wander… “how many more sons would irrigate mother earth with their blood – aimlessly - this is the last pole to bear my marks, I hope I wont have to return next week, for its about time I contributed to quench this thirst….”

Sitting cross legged, an uneasy weary smile adding to the wrinkles on his face, he sizes the crowd through his heavy set spectacles hoping to lessen his burdens he has carried for an immeasurable time. Untying the clumsy knot, he neatly spreads his precious possessions - his earnings from the times he has seen. Wiping each glass jar, attempting to lure people, he sets it all out carefully hiding the stains on the sheet.

He chants out loud “People, I don’t take money, I don’t need your wealth, I don’t want your kind considerations, I just don’t want anything from you but your attention… just for a few moments.” Necks turn around in the direction of the feeble voice that seems to ride on pain; ensuing are hidden laughter, starkly open laughter and surely a couple of concerned looks.

“He is the same old man, why doesn’t God relieve him from his misery?” a shout is heard from somewhere. “Look at him, there isn’t an ounce of flesh on his body, its bones yelling out ha ha ha!” another voice from a young man pierces through his ear drums. But he is steadfast..such chants are very familiar.

And so a young lad driven by curiosity walks up to him and asks “Old man, what have you laid here?”

Hope that had been driving him rekindles his senses and like a proud salesman he adjusts, looks up into the eyes, and finds the purity of innocence. “Such clear eyes, such a clean heart, I wonder how he still survives? Who is the lucky father that bore you son,” he asks in utter amazement. “I live downhill by the lake. I haven’t seen my father for many years and we roam the forest in the day. Night we spend by the fire eating whatever we could find during the day. I haven’t seen more than a few paisas together and my dress has no pockets. Please would you let me look at these jars?”

With moisture in his eyes, his heart swells with empathy as he gets a closer look of the boy’s heart. “Son, this shiny one is called vanity. I chased it in my youth and the rest of my life I spent repenting my choice. The golden one is called greed, and may be it still lives in me, I could never satiate myself. I ran, till my physical existence could no longer carry me. Its like a shadow from the sun shining from behind, you will never be able to catch it, albeit it may give the illusion of originating from you, but remember it would cling to your feet and pull at your heart”. An alien to these possessions, the young lad begins to appear enticed.

He yells at his companions and they all sit in a circle facing the old man. Memories of his time begin to flood his mind - Evenings when they would sit, enchanted by the words of the story teller thinking of realms where the fairy tale characters existed as realities. Only age told him how the tale monger had preyed on their minds leaving them bewildered and derailed in the lands of fantasy.

“What is this murky jar holding, old man?” Another innocent voice sends shivers down his spine. “Memories are my demons, how can I escape? Maybe redemption would salvage some peace for me; I should have left this world with this baggage, why do I have to die a death each time I look at it?” He musters up courage to reply.

Yes the jar contains truth, something they advised him to use carefully and so he did. Each time he exercised discretion his heart had felt heavier and conscious reminded him of sacrilege. “Son, this jar measures your brevity. It reflects upon the very fiber you are made of and it makes you distinguishable in a crowd. It liberates you from the shackles of slavery that this world has in abundance. They wont let you live without being restrained in their brand of freedom. It unites you with the sincerest friend that resides in you – your conscience.”

Amused, the young boy asks, “Then why is it in such a meager quantity?” “Less is more son! less is more. It’s entwined with your soul and you were sent to earth with it. Only that most of us forget to remember that they are born with it. Truth, son, is unlike its nemesis that resembles the beads on a rosary, one leading to the other and all in an unending circle.”

Suddenly loud shouts begin to supersede the aimless banter in the market and grown ups rush towards him. “Look at this old man; he is misleading our generation with his concocted tales. Let him not be spared. Who gave him a right to pollute these innocent minds?”

And there are many more disheartening voices, but the old man remains unflinching. He is peaceful today for when he walks back, he would have to carry lesser burden.

The boys eagerly accept their jars and flee. The old man gets up, beaming with a smile of satisfaction. “O God, thanks be to You, for I have discharged some of my responsibility today. My burden weighs less on me now. Please grant me one more such day and then call me back to You. I exercised my choices and I learnt my lessons. I was misled and I attempted to correct myself. Was I successful or not, remains Your judgment. When I would lie forgotten under a ton of soil, my soul would be with You, begging for mercy.”
The earth continues its revolutions; stars die, newer stars are born in an expanse indefinable by the term infinity. Our individual existence is synonymous to a grain of sand amongst billions by the beach. Yet the human soul, a supreme creation with grandeur surpassing all, roams freely with the power to choose. The discretion of making choices and the ability to redeem make us masters of our destinies.

Fate, we think has been written, and so it has, but the power to navigate and set our sails is still in our hands; and so it has to be passed on before the novices board the train of consequences.

Maybe its time to feel pity for all around who go on marching to the end as if they should, never realizing to think of the paths they chose and the decisions they took. Some stood on egos, some boasted pride, whilst others cherished vanity, whilst a few chose righteousness, and even fewer battled to maintain it…….

What about you? Have you 'chosen' and 'defined' the path ? Or are you just marching along? Pause and ponder..

Eid-ul-Fitr Greetings: A Word to the Soul.

Let the divinity of Lord’s love penetrate your soul
As you observe Eid-ul-Fitr this year
Let yourself take a pause, and think and reflect
Beyond the ephemeral worldly possessions and fears

Let yourself comprehend the truth of Life
The cycles of pleasure and pain
Let your soul be aware of the virtues being gifted
Let God’s efforts bring you peace and eternal gain

Let your head be bowed before Him
In gratitude, recognition and His praise
Let the day shine through the test of time
Let your faith emerge stronger on the spiritual plane

Here's wishing all Muslims around the world a very blessed Eid-ul-Fitr..Eid Mubarak!

An Ode to Pakistan; An Ode to my Identity.

Following is an acrostic dedicated to my beloved "Land of Pure" on her 63rd birthday.

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Painted in purity, a state was carved

Adding glory to the global canvas

Kingdom was created after a struggle so hard,

Indefatigable and relentless

Soldiers and sailors, people and souls

Talented and blessed and fearless

All fought and toiled for a homeland and formed

Nation that is matchless

May Allah Almighty bless Pakistan! May He protect our identity!

Aamen!

I Love You, My Father.

Photo by Vintage Holiday Crafts

My dear father, on this Father’s Day
Let me share an epistle that I hope conveys
The perpetual love that I have for you
The wishes that I always pray

There’s an abode in my heart where you always stay
No matter if you are here or a little far away
No matter how much we fight, disagree or affray
I believe you would be there as a best friend all the way

I know I have grown up into a woman with time
However, deep within my heart we still share those old ties
And I still need you, my dad to clutch my arms so tight
And tell me that everything’s going to be alright

There might be things, which you never say
There might be things that I hold within
There might be things I never understand
But all I know is that a dad’s a daughter’s best friend

My dear father, on this Father’s Day
Let me tell you something, let my heart say
I Love You, even though I may not be expressing it everyday
And my prayers are never complete unless I send wishes your way

My dear father, have a wondrous Father’s Day!

Recollection: 1ST Annual Pakistan Blog Awards 2010

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“To me, photography is the simultaneous recognition, in a fraction of a second, of the significance of an event.”

___Henri Cartier-Bresson

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Following is a video containing photographs of the blog awards event being held at Regent Plaza in Karachi. The one-of-its-kind blog awards event being organized for the very first time in Pakistan certainly holds significance for the Pakistani blogosphere and the bloggers alike.

Have a look!

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And for reading a detailed coverage report of the entire event, you may visit the following links:

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CIO Pakistan

The Express Tribune

Converge Weekly

Happy Blogging!

My Mother, Above All Others.

It is said that the Heaven lies beneath your mother’s feet, which is undoubtedly true as there is no other place than a mother’s lap where you lie down your head in happiness and in times of blue. Her love is incomparable, invaluable and unforgettable. Over the years, a number of poets and writers have expressed love for their mothers in various forms; however, there is always more left to be written and left to be pondered about the God’s greatest creation. My mother, like every other mom, is a perfect woman when you look at her through my eyes because she knows me like no other. She isn’t only a woman who gave birth to me and reared me up but she’s a sculptor who has carved out my personality. Being my closest ally who has always been there during my tough times, she’s the one who always puts me to sleep hushing the demons in my head and she sings the perfect lullaby. She is a tour guide showing me what ways to follow and what to avoid during the course of life. She’s a mind reader who knows what’s bubbling in my mind and before I may express, she comes to know of the whole story. She loves me for who I am even though I may not be a perfect daughter. I seem to have summed up my love for her in a passage of a few words that is too less but my mother’s love for me is unfathomable and limitless.

Happy Mother’s Day!

The Damsel’s Morning Delight.

Photo by Kerrie B. Wrye

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As the sun triumphs over the duskiness of the ebony night

Blushing the sky with colors vanquishing the deepest dyes

The damsel lying under the covers slowly opens her sleepy eyes

To the beauty unseen before; the purity of the morning delight

She reaches out to the window and pulls the curtains aside

Listening to the melody of the chirruping birds outside

And somewhere back in the memory, there’s an echo of a distant guy

Whose abode is the neverland and who travels to the wonderland each day to cry

To cry out to the birds in the wild blue skies

To play the divine symphony for the damsel and to fly

What a day it is! She thinks and she shyly smiles

Is this a new dawn, a reality or a fable that would soon die

The dewy tears run down her cheeks, she wipes them off and sighs

Leaving the riddle unsolved and open

The riddle behind the damsel’s morning delight!

This poem is dedicated to a wonderful friend (also known as the incredible hulk by his loved ones) who inspired me to write after a long hiatus. And let me thank Kerrie for allowing me to use one of the beautiful images from her creative collection.

Happy Reading!

A Melody, The Memory

All the notes in time make the melody
Hold me and sway into the moment we share
Where we can stay so attached to the memory

A Melody, The Memory
------- Performed by Mae

As I traveled down the memory aisle today, I tried gazing at the everlasting and ageless masterpieces of time through the gifted mind’s eye. Painted with laughter, tears, and agony, each of it was an emblem representing reality that exists no more. I felt being an artist for a while putting up and playing with coats and colors that camouflaged my present time. And I also felt being a ballerina dancing to the tunes of time.

Following are the lyrics of one of the melodies by Shayan Italia, which stirs my soul and takes me back into the Utopian times.

Lyrics of the Reflection by Shayan Italia

Believe, that is what you are,
Rushing through the soul, steeling my faith by far.
Creation, words are for you only I write.
Flowing through these hands, sun by day, and moon by night.

And I've tried, to survive.
let it go, lead a normal life,
but from you, I can't escape.
Whats feeling me inside, feelings I can't deny.

I'm trapped within the rhythm of love,
something I just can't get out of,
I'm scorn to be, a passion never to be.
And I'm holding on to something not real,
A mere existence of my world, fighting to face,
one day you'll be gone.
and I've tried in every possible way, to keep you beside me not fade away, into the pieces of a broken glass, into the pieces of a broken glass.

Worship, things are only for you I pray, running through this heart,
steeling my strength every step of the way.

And I've tried, not to cry.
let it go, lead a happy life,
but from you, I can't escape.
Whats killing me inside, emotions I can't deny.

I'm trapped within the rhythm of love,
something i just can't get out of,
I'm scorn to be, a passion never to be.
And I'm holding on to something not real,
A mere existence of my world, fighting to face,
one day you'll be gone.
and I've tried in every possible way, to keep you beside me not fade away, into the pieces of a broken glass, into the pieces of a broken glass.

..More melodies/lyrics to follow.