And then, I wasn’t there anymore. I don’t know. I might have been floating in the sky somewhere above Morocco, or I could be resting on the clouds above the Jamia Masid of New Delhi, I might have been sitting right beside this form of me, but I wasn’t here, this wasn’t me. So I began acting like someone who’s not really here, absently doing things, answering queries unconcernedly. I’m not even here so why bother. Except, to other people, I was here, this was me, and I should have acted like myself. How could I, when this wasn’t me, really? How do I act like myself? Act is what we do, in reality. “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players”, as the bard puts it so eloquently. So here I was, worrying about how I should act when instead, I should have been worrying about where I am, if not here…
Where am I? Morocco, New Delhi, Karachi saahil, my own home, or have I passed away entirely? Is that why I cannot function the way I am supposed to? This “supposed to” creates a myriad of problems for me. I have this stubborn, twisted muscle which makes me want to defy every “supposed to”. And when I do that, I end up defying all accepted forms of being. And then…. well, then I end up existing everywhere but here. What does it mean to not exist? Does it mean being dead in all senses of death? Does it mean being dead in the heart? Does it mean being wiped off the face of this Earth? Or does it mean doing things not apropos to world?
I’m wandering off-topic. But then, there is no topic. I’m not here. Only this world requires a topic and a label on everything. I’m not here. I need no topic. But I do wonder where I am, and who this “I” is that I keep on referring to. I do wonder.
In the sky of my mind
Echoed the winds of longing
I silenced the noise
And listened to sweet nostalgia
Nostalgia’s song tasted like
Honey, tartar and rose petals
Smoke rose from each petal
Forming clouds in the sky of my mind
The winds of longing blew harsh
Each petrous note of nostalgia piercing the clouds
And hence came the downpour
Of suns that set too soon
And suns that never rose
Of moons that never were full
And stars with frozen winks
Of galaxies with uncharted maps
And of rainbows with colours gone rogue
But when all was done, and the downpour abated
The barren ground sparkled
With the suns and moons and stars
And galaxies and rainbows
Which once saddened the sky
And now adorned the ground
The winds settled to a merry tune of serenity
And the sky of my mind smiled at the beauty below
Her: Try again.. try to sleep.
The other person: I cant.
Her: Try. At least your eyes won’t hurt.
The other person: What about the heart?
Her: It’s not broken.
The other person: Are my eyes broken?…
The other person: I feel like giving up on life.
Her: Why so?
The other person: Such depressing feelings..
Her: So you feel like giving up? Because you’re depressed? Because of that one incident?
The other person: No… It has nothing to do with that.
Her: It began there. Deny it all you want.
The other person: It began there, but it’s not because of that.
Her: Just like life began with birth, but that’s not why you want to give up on it.
She is a mask. She used to be a person. The person needed hiding. So she wore a mask; and added layers to it; layers over layers. The mask stayed on for so long, she became the mask and the mask became her. There is no person behind the mask anymore. Just a mask. Remove it, and you shall see a hollow face; a face-not a person, mind you. Remove it, and you shall see a shell of what used to be. Remove it, and you shall see withered roses, blunt thorns, lifeless daises, burnt grass. Remove it, and you shall see neglected needs, untold stories, a long-forgotten life.Remove it, and you shall see another mask. It used to be a person. The person was stifled and suffocated and gasped for air. I strangled her.
Originally posted on The Indian Reverted Muslimah...:
Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem.
As salamu alai kum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh.
Ramadhan is here! Yes, I too am excited like you. Ramadhan last year was a learning experience for me. It changed me a lot as a muslimah. Subhanallah. This month last year, healed me. For I know, I overcame depression with the help of Allah (subhana wa ta’aala) alone. It is hard to believe that a year has gone by and I still hold that month so close to my heart. Very often, I look back and feel thankful for having gained so much in this year. Indeed, closeness to Allah (subhana wa ta’aala) is what I am most thankful for. Isn’t it a mercy in itself that you are able to comprehend His (subhana wa ta’aala) blessings?
Say: O My servants who have transgressed against their own souls, despair not of the mercy of Allah. Indeed, Allah…
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A magical blanket which changes colours with the passage of time is our sky. It has sequins and a crescent embedded on it. The sequins are of all sizes, but there is one that is bigger than all others that are visible. They glint and they squint, they blink and they wink, down at the wearer of the magical blanket.
The crescent, and the big sequin, they glow fiercely, and continuously, no winks nor smiles, they seem angry and sorrowful. They hold secrets unkown to the world. The secrets could kill, the secrets could put the human race in permanent shock. The sun and the moon are the keepers of those secrets, helping each other stay alive even when the burden grows too great.
The secret: This blanket will one day be folded. And before that, it will throw out its stuffing, the stars and the moons will vanish. Then as it folds, it’ll leave the human underneath in whatever state they occupy, but vulnerable and unable to fend themselves.
The sky will deceive the very ones that it gave shade to, for as long as it existed.