The Light Prevails

 Look at the stars

Look how they shine for you
And everything you do
Yeah, they were all yellow
I came along
I wrote a song for you
And all the things you do
And it was called, "Yellow"
So then I took my turn
Oh, what a thing to have done
And it was all yellow.....Enable GingerCannot connect to Ginger Check your internet connection
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All things I behold in front of me, around me and within me turn out to be of same color. The color of haze..so blur...obstructing the light so far...but the light like always peeps through, it prevails, overwhelming in front of all the obstructions it beholds. The light always prevails. It is in the nature of light to do so.

Walking incessantly from one room to another and weaving dreams so far, just like the nature of light it is in the nature of dreams to prevail, coming into the eyes, obstructing the light and causing all the haze. But I recognize the light, there is subtle difference between the light and the glitters. Glitters are like speck of star shining in the contrast of night....Ohh so beautiful!

But then light is so encompassing, just like the breaking of the dawn. Conquering the night

Whatever I have said so far is in allegories, but I want to talk about all the aspirations this life holds and the will of Somebody Who is holding all the strings and then there are "uncertainties".

 

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 Teacher....

Liberating yourself from mere bookish wisdom.

Seek the Truth beyond the bounds of you and me

Even when the world stays baseless treacherous, as it is.

Dont let your hue wear off.

The lessons of His love are beyond the epiphany of ocean and sea.

Seek the light of stars as it shines against the contrast of night.

There lies infinity in a line

If you wish to seek it, shun your heart's desire.

---- A tired traveller 

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 Writing isn't a therapy for me. I never understood the idea of writing being so therapeutic, that somehow trying to write down what you feel is gonna magically makes it easier to survive. The objective part of my brain knows that language is a complicated thing. It's sorta like an output of whatever it is that your brain process and you experience as feelings. And feelings are just chemical reactions, when you zoom enough, chemical reactions are nothing but physics, right?

Is it okay to see humans as much complex physical systems running on chemical processes that perceive the world as it is?

I always had this feeling that we are limited by our language. How much you can express yourself is limited by the strength of the language itself.

Sometimes you feel too much, it is as if all the words the world has to offer is not enough to pen it down on a white sheet of paper that looks as empty as the space between stars where light forgot to touch. You're not sure what to make of it, what it is that you're feeling, or the why, so you keep it for yourself and try to make sense of it.

It is a strange kind of loneliness, isn't it?

Is it the limitation of the language or the limitation of your knowledge about the language?

But at times you don't need the language at all. One look at your best friend and you immediately know that inside joke you both are thinking about. A touch, a hug makes it easier to lift that weight pulling you down. A silent night staring at the starry sky with that someone, and you know, you just know that this is the one, even if it only lasts for a day or week or month or a few years, you know this is the one.
Infinities and forevers are tiny little moments, aren't they?

I used to romanticize about reality and existence. I still do. But there is this internal battle that I'm forced to go through where my left and right side of the brain fight to figure out who can come up with the best explanation to this reality that I perceive as mine.

Do you really need to understand "the why" to feel a little less of the existential dread falls upon you every night? Or knowing that "why" takes anything away from the subjective experience that feels so personal?

I don't think I've ever loved anyone enough to write like Neruda, or was sad enough to write like Bukowski. Perhaps that's why the lines often end up being so mediocre that I end up deleting on a second read.
But there are some words, carefully structured by someone else in a way to make art. With the very first read, it connects with you. Every line, every word, and every space makes sense, telling you the story that you always wanted to shout out. "this is exactly what I feel".

Perhaps it is not the writing that makes you feel better, it's the carefully crafted words that you read and knowing the fact that there is someone out there who feel the same, finding that human connection to know that you aren't the only one. Someone has lived this life, lie down in the same space, and looked at the same sky wondering about the same damn questions. Some managed to find the right words to tell the story and some never did. Maybe all of this is how I feel, maybe you feel it too. Maybe this story is mine, maybe this story is about some random stranger with no name or a face, maybe this story is yours. Does it really matter?

I don't think it fixes you, but for a moment you are not alone, you smile. One day you learn how to make peace with it, but still wonder about things beyond all the words and all the languages that the world remembers, beyond the mundane chains beyond the bounds of gravity, something somewhere the world forgot to reach.

You wish you could understand, how you feel complete yet empty at the same time. I wish too.

.

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My annihilation.

Wonder what is this void residing in my heart..
As if error has become part of my being
I am the one away from Your Mercy
The moment I erred far from You
I got annihilated in my own desires

The blunders I am carrying on my shoulders
As if the riches of this world is the very divine I seek
I spent my time as in whims
Walking past the shadow of profanity
I had fulfilled my anguished desires every time.

In my dismay I wonder to my own self
Why do I get attach to the world thus
How much I try to gather as much as I can here
It slips out of my hands.

To dust is the return of every soul
For dust is what he has been molded from
That's the eternal truth I want myself to be aware of
Despite trying hard to make do with it..

Bestowing my temptations so far..
As if though this fickle nature of mine wont flicker
Even if my existence shall cease
I wont be able to fulfill this hearts desires

As if though I am fallen from grace
The moment I went away from You..
Despite it all
You remain the light of my path
Make me Yours
Behold my hand
For I think I am surrounded by shadows
Take my sins
And make my soul impeccable of scars
Make me un-guilty in my own eyes
Show me such a spectacle
Make me meet such a person
Make my story be heard to such a heart
Who has never been wounded thus.

The quaint little test called life...

How strange is it that the One who is all pervading , the all-knowing , the One who is ruling the order of life takes your test in this endurance that too through major turmoil and some good deal of  heart breaks but He never allows to fail you. It is with huge ponderance do I reflect on the past days,while oblivion is staring at me through the window of future, do I utter these words that no matter how hard the test are, how very uncertain the things might seem if you have faith upon your Creator, you will not be disappointed. For life is so subtle that you barely notice yourself walking through the doors you once prayed for. There is so much to reflect on the turns of life with each page unfolding , with each question the morning sun put across you I find only one answer surpassing all walls high and the answer is Allah, the one to whom I am to return... You might not agree with me, but in your despondence I do not find my cues, my resting place... In the hearts of hearts wherever I turn to the baseless,treacherous the abode of sorrow this world is ..where nothing comes with guarantee ... I seek an intention to get a sight of loyalty at the door of betrayal and that paradox I get in One existence in One entity  and that is Him is it my intoxication with the idealism or a love instilled in my soul from the beginning of time that I know in my hearts that it is Him only..the One whom I turn to at the time of my despondence which He with His unknown magic wand turn into resplendence and I know that even if the ship is safest when it is in the port but that's not the ships were built for, it was made to sail and like the ship I have to let go all the chaos . The moment my throat pains high to scream out loud, to cry out a river. I would chose to expose a smile,giving dare to my chaos to pull me down if it can. For I know I have someone backing me and I know it is the Majestic One, its Him.