Now Blue October

August 5, 2011

I love this poem.. especially the line I bolded…
***

Now blue October, smoky in the sun,
Must end the long, sweet summer of the heart.
The last brief visit of the birds is done,
They sing the autumn songs before they part.
Listen, how lovely—there’s the thrush we heard
When June was small with roses, and the bending
Blossom of branches covered nest and bird,
Singing the summer in, summer unending—
Give me your hand once more before the night;
See how the meadows darken with the frost,
How fades the green that was the summer’s light.
Beauty is only altered, never lost,
And love, before the cold November rain,
Will make its summer in the heart again.

~Robert nathan


16.67%

June 23, 2011

16.67%  is not a random number.

It means something, though I don’t know what yet.

But I have hope in the future.  Something special out there.

It wall all fall into place.


Disconnect

May 23, 2011

The papers had been waiting patiently in my bag since the morning.

Trapped in the post-examination time-out session, I pulled out the blue file and began to read.

Behind me, I could hear the chaos of question-reviewing.
“It was A!”
“No, B!”
“Neither!!”
And other bits and pieces regarding the perineal body, enteroccous species, and cervical intraepithelial neoplasia. But with a few words, I became disconnected from my surroundings.

I was far, far away. And I was much more than just a spectator: I was sitting cross-legged listening to the Friday sermon myself, admiring the exquisite design of the pillars of the mosque myself, and I too met the Sheikh who had a white beard borrowed from the clouds. He was just one of those people you feel comfortable with upon first encounter, and I took a piece of his silent wisdom with me forever.

They were in Amman… they were in a small, cramped-up, dull room.. some revising mistakes, some gloating over their clever answers, and some adamantly making a case for why they put “All of the above”.

Meanwhile, I was in Madinah, where some were reading Quran, some standing in prayer, and some engulfed in prostration whispering supplication after supplication. I too was in the Prophet’s city , being torn apart, fighting the lump in my throat trying to say goodbye. I entered Rawdet Al-Jannah to pray two rak’ahs myself (although my recall of the experience was more traumatic, as the space was extremely limited and packed). I too, left in unbearable tears.

They were still in Amman. Still arguing that the correct answer was “C” without doubt.

I continued on to reach Meccah; reliving my countless visits there. I could feel the cold, white tiles underneath my feet. There I was, circling around the Ka’ba, the only place where one walks in circles out of unity and not out of confusion or lack of direction or purpose.  Then my eyes fell upon the black stone, our blessed connection to heaven, and I wondered whether I would be able to approach it up close. Fortunately, everything was unfolding smoothly today, and I made my way through the crowds to greet the stone our Prophet   once marked with his own lips.

My eyes had welled up with tears, my lips had parted many smiles, and my feet almost felt tired from all the walking…

Soon enough, it was time to be released from their custody (back in Amman) and leave that small room. I looked around and realized how detached I’d been while we were all waiting for our freedom.

Just as he pulled out the Siwak from his pocket, I pulled out those papers from my bag.

For there are memoirs that can take you away… small, unexpected objects, that allow you to peacefully disconnect-to enter another time, another place, another state of mind.


It all started with a breakfast downtown…

April 28, 2011

My close friend wrote this in response to something I wrote for her…
I just had to keep it forever:

“وضعت عليها قطرات زيت”
بخط طفولي يترجم أرواحنا التي لا تكبر , وبقطرات زيت زادت الطفولة طفولة , بكلمات بسيطة مثلنا تماما , خطت أحلى
المشاعر .
قرأت لي الورقة , وما ان انتهت حتى بد المطر يتساقط علينا , وكأنه يروي وردة صداقتنا لتكبر أكثر ,
في كل يوم نضيف لقصتنا سطرا أحلى من السطور الأولى , فمرة نخط سطر تشابه بيننا غريب , تشابه ليس بكلمة عادية أو بتوقيت تخرج فيه الكلمات , وانما تشابه تفكير وتركيب ورؤية للحياة , ومرة أخرى نخط سطرا نتغنى فيه بأمر لفت نظرنا الاثنتنين , كاسوارة مثلا او بلاحرى هي فقط الاسوارة دون امثلة أخرى .
وما زلنا نخط في قصتنا السطور
فيارب أكمل لنا هذه القصة بسطر نخطه معا على ضفاف الكوثر وفي أنوارك تحت ظل عرشك .


Forgiveness

April 26, 2011

You see when we are mistaken,
It’s not that we are faking,
It’s just that we are mistaken,
So please don’t be taking,

Impression the first,
Because sometimes it hurts,
When you know what’s inside,
So much goodness to hide.

And you are not trying to cover,
Or pretend you’re another.
It’s just hard to uphold,
that picture-perfect mold.

Because at times we forget,
Or out of weakness neglect.
We want to be our best,
But we all have our stress.

And yet we all mean well,
even if you can’t tell.
So let forgiveness spread between us all.
And with our unity we stand tall.


The Fountain that Pours

April 24, 2011

They ask: “If these
walls could speak,
What secrets
would they leak?”

But I wonder
what the water-fountain would pour
If it were only questioned..
Of what it witnessed and endured..

The fountain in the basement,
of the library, the main
The library we study in for hours
(and hope it’s not in vain)

The first secret it would share
would describe the sound so sweet
Of the call to prayer daily,
It hears within two feet.

You see, he stands
whoever he may be.
And at the time of prayer
He calls Athan clearly.

Water it gives so sacred,
so that humanity can last.
Speaking of which- I wonder:
if it ever broke someone’s fast.

So, we have, the call to prayer..
The faster’s delight..
What else does this fountain
Whisper to us tonight?

It must have so much wisdom,
As it sees countless students passing by.
I bet it knows who’s stressed,
And why it is we sigh.

Water fountain history
has really come a long way.
King Jr. will tell you of
Discrimination’s sad day.

But this fountain relieves all,
whether the day is cold or hot.
Whether the drinker has come to pray,
or simply come to take a walk.

Islamic history will tell you,
This great mark, “Al-Sabeel”
for travelers, for the distressed,
Open without previous deal.

Andalus, stone lions.
When a fountain could tell time.
From Italy to America’s Parks,
They promise wishes for a dime.

The water fountain speaks,
so listen when you drink.
It bestows two essential gifts:
Water, and a reason to think.


Just Beneath

April 1, 2011

I saw a..
Tear.
Tears, tears, tears-
water.
Drops, drops, drops-
river.

Rivers.

Rivers running from beneath,
only in this world,
and we delight in them,
as they run from
beneath.

But in paradise,
they run beneath.
Just beneath.
Allah holds the source.
And the rivers flow.

May the Angels
welcome you with peace.
You and everyone you love:
the company you please.
To eternally reside,
where rivers run beneath.
.