Al Qamar - القمر

It came, in paucity. A thin curve, the shape of a sickle. You'd think that God sharpened His silver pencil to get the sharpest-edged nib possible and then drew half a circle with it. You'd think that that pencil had a silver gleaming nib that drew that circle sleekly. You'd think that the curve was so flawless that one couldn't draw it without a compass. It was scarce in the beauty of a complete silver circle, but it contained the aura of bliss and blessings. And they watched it. They came out to find that beautiful thin curve. They found it and their hearts started to get filled with the blessings coming down from the sky which contained that curve. So they drank they view and got their hearts filled with the beautiful sight.

They wished each other the blessings that this crescent was about to bring and prayed to collect them all.
They told me they saw the moon of Ramadan.
I smiled.

Ramadan Mubarak!

P.S. القمر is the arabic word for 'The Moon'.

You Dived!

That day when your dream took a dive in the pool of risk. The day when your dream struggled to stay in that pool, to swim through it. The day when the water rippling around your dream looked more like a lasso being thrown at it to strangle it. Do you know what happened that day?

I'll tell you what happened that day.

The sky remained its usual blue colour. The birds continued their flight in search of food. The grass was the same green colour. That one squirrel leaped the same usual way whenever it felt the footsteps of danger. The water remained colourless, tasted the same taste. The sound of bells jingling at that little girl's window whenever a breeze would blow over them sounded the same subtle sound. A butterfly stripped off its cocoon and fluttered off in its vivid colours. A child dropped a stone in water farther than his friend did and laughed heartily at his accomplishment. The water rippled and overlapped, making the same sound, as it would always make. The fire burned in the same colour. The flames danced and died like they always did. The sand flew and rested in a suitable corner. Somewhere a baby cried and his mother's embrace comforted him. A thief looked greedily at a wad of bucks going into a person's pocket. A rose bloomed and flaunted off its beauty. A girl plucked it off and smelled its sweet smell. A sparrow couple continued collecting straws for their nest. A fruit ripened while hanging by its stalk. An ant succeeded in lifting and carrying a crumb of bread to its cave. A guy took a drag on his cigarette and puffed out the smoke cloud, savouring it. Outside his window he saw a cat chasing after its food. A boy cycled around his neighbourhood, singing wrong lyrics to a song, not letting anything get in the way of his happiness. A woman gossiped to feel lighter. A carpenter hurt his finger while hitting a nail in the wood. A snake shed its skin. A singer hit his best note. A writer transformed his thoughts into words by pushing the keys of his typewriter. The sound coming from those keys made him happy like it always would. A painter played with colours and patterns. A drop of ink stained a student's uniform without him knowing about it. A baker looked inside the oven and smiled at his perfectly baked cake. The smell of the baked cake wafted out and dispersed in the town. A minister lied to his people. His people trusted him, like they always did. A horse galloped around the stable. The moon above glowed the same silver glow. The stars sparkled in their usual way. A bride smiled at her groom. A groom smiled at his bride. A leaf fell off the tree and swayed its way to the ground. A child stepped on it while running after a butterfly. The pages of a book left open flipped with the blow of wind. A person died. A person was born. Life went on. Nothing stopped. Nothing stalled. Everything remained the same, that day. The universe remained the same. And you..

You made your dream dive into the pool of risk!

Baarish

So what does rain do to you?

Nothing. It just..
It's worth watching. Just the sight of dry earth getting wet by the drops of rain. The sound of little drops drumming on the doors and windows. The sky carrying smokey clouds opening themselves up and letting the rain water down. All of it is worth noticing, no? Worth having to feel something. Stepping outdoor and getting received by a rainy weather just makes me feel better. Rain is just water but the ambiance that it brings along with it, the feeling of cold breeze tickling your face is genuine and seeing everything getting washed by rain is something. It sometimes washes away my sorrows, my worries. And sometimes, it washes me with all the sorrows and worries of the world, drenching me in sadness. Sometimes it takes all the worries away from me while other times it gets the sadness pelt down upon me. This is what rain does to me. And I continue to like it. Rain is beautiful and beauty should always be appreciated. Rain rejuvenates life. Rain makes me think. Rain is happiness. Rain is sadness. It is a departed, lonesome entity that leaves its home and brings itself down to earth. This is what rain is. And it has an effect on me.

So is that what rain does to you? It makes you feel both happy and sad?

It just..
It just sheds the numbness of my feelings. It just..
It makes me feel. And that, dear human, is what matters.

Let's Walk

You like my shoes? Here, try them on. Walk in my shoes, my dear. Are they too tight or are they loose? Do they seem the perfect size for you? Alright then, walk on in them. Walk a mile in my shoes while I stand here and wait for you to return. Wear these shoes and tread on that green carpet of, what you believe is, grass. That is not grass, my dear. That is swamp. Go on, take a step. Before you label me with your judgement, just take a single step in my shoe. Step forward, go get to that hill, whose tip is hidden in the clouds. You want to climb up to that tip? Sure. Just a piece of advice, you'd never get to the tip because the tip is just not there. I have been searching for it, too. Do you want to search for it with me? No? That's okay. Why are you not moving? I really want you to see how much at ease do you think I am while I walk on in them. Please, my dear, take a single step only. Do you want to go over there? Over to that pathway bracketed by big shadowy trees? Do you see how this path is slithering its way into the dark? It does seem like a very inviting path, doesn't it? Want to see where is it leading to? Yeah, I did get curious over what lies beyond this path, too, when I first saw it. Then I let the curiosity get the better of me by following this path's lead. You say you want me to tell you what did I find there? Are you sure you don't want to see it for yourself? Well, wise decision, my dear, because when I ventured on this path, I found myself in the dark. This path leads you into the dark.. so dark, that you start doubting if your eyes ever saw the light. I'm used to living in the dark so I managed to get out. You may find it strange, but I did quite like it there. But I see you don't want to go there, too. No problem. So where do you want to go, then?

Oh but you're putting them off. You're putting off my shoes! But you didn't even take a single step in them. Where are you going? Why are you not listening? I just wanted us to walk down this path together. Turn around, my dear. Oh well, I must stop speaking now because you don't seem to be listening.

Bon voyage!

Fireworks

Did I ever tell you that I love fireworks? Well, I love fireworks, you see. I don’t know when or how I started loving them. It’s been long, as long as I can recall, watching the first ever firework show. When was that? It was when I wasn't old enough to tell the people around me about the happiness that filled me after watching the magnificent display of fireworks in the sky.

It’s beautiful watching fire cracking in the sky. An illuminated spot travelling all the way up to the sky, trailing its fluorescent tail behind it and as it reaches a certain height, it bursts open like a bud turning into a flower in a fraction of a second. A flower with its petals turning inside out and then ending up into nothingness. Fireworks are captivating. Once I start watching them, I can't get enough of bursting colours making patterns in the sky. I get happy when I see the opening of the firework bud into a firework flower and every time the firework flower disappears into nothingness, it leaves behind an entailing sadness for disappearing into the vastness of the black sky. Then I want to see more of it. It’s like you start getting addicted to the view and you search the sky for more of it. Your eyes crave for more, you get thirsty for more of this beautiful sight. I love fireworks because they are enchanting. They are magical. They take me away with them in a world where there are only colours and patterns and the muted sound of fire cracking in the sky. I like to see the fireworks displaying in the sky because they make me happy. They are like shooting stars, a whole lot of them. It seems like the stars are falling on you but they disappear in the middle of their way. Do you get sad whenever the fireworks transform into nothingness? I'm helpless. I can't stop loving them or getting sad every time the enthralling firework display ends. Am I making any sense to you? I doubt that. I'm sorry, I'm crazy. But I make perfect sense to myself.

Did I ever tell you about how I love those eyes viewing the firework show? Try watching the eyes of a person watching the fireworks. Try seeing the colours of firework display flaring up in their eyeballs. It's beautiful, I tell you. Fireworks are beautiful. The person watching the fireworks is beautiful. Thinking about how beautiful fireworks are, is beautiful. 

I Have a Lot of Pages

"You have a lot of pages."
"What?"
"I said you have a lot of pages. In you."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You like to read books, right?"
"That's right."
"Yeah. I've been noticing you. You, too, are like a book having so many pages."
"Okay. Is there something written on the pages? Or are they empty?"
"No, there is a lot written on these pages. And the new pages just keep on adding up."
I looked at my friend with a look that told her I needed a bit more of elaboration about it.
"Don't worry," she said. "It's a compliment. Believe me, it is."
"Is it? Okay." I smiled and she flashed her nonchalant smile back at me without knowing how this one sentence of hers made me look into a dark pit to search for my belonging that got lost in it.
I have got a task at my hand now. I have to read this book, too. But how can I read it when it's not completed yet? How can I read this book when she says that the pages keep getting added in it?
How could she read it that easily?
I want to know what does the cover page say. I, too, need to read this book with 'a lot' of pages and never ending chapters. I wonder what would it be like to read a book with words swimming in the ocean, even without knowing how to swim. My words don't know how to swim, still they dare to venture on this oceanic journey.

I strolled away from her, alone, wondering how deep would I have to go in this dark pit, to find that belonging that got lost in it.

Her Budding Thoughts

Evening is setting in and it's getting darker with each passing moment. Her room, brightened by the light coming from the window, is slowly wearing a shroud of dark. The sound of life is swinging to her room from the outside world. Inside, it's just her, the sound of keyboard, the lingering smell of her perfume, and her thoughts.

Her thoughts..

Lord knows whether her thoughts are the problem or the solution. Her thoughts that fly her over the years and decades. Most of the times, while on her thoughts-driven-journey, she just cannot come back. She stays there where her thoughts take her to and so she looks like a statue to the people of where her physical existence is situated. Who decides where does one choose to stay?

Years have passed, and she is still in the search of her inquisitions that revolve around one ultimate question. Why is she made a human being? She says she could have been anything. She couldn't even have existed, for that matter. But why is she here? A constant pain, a perpetual disturbance, an ultimate disappointment.. that's what she has always been.

It's got dark outside. From the common room, a beam of light peaks in through the door left ajar, making an illuminated triangle stretching along the carpeted floor. She looks at the light and suddenly starts thinking about the chemistry of light and the physics of its existence. Why is she thinking that, anyway? She writes, erases, rewrites, erases, writes once again and then backspaces it one more time. What is it that she's trying to write anyway? 

When the heart gets filled with a plethora of things that need to get out, that's when it starts to sink. Because, the heart then shows that it lacks the strength to hold it all. To keep the heart afloat, a few things need to be let out. But then again, not everyone can hold and preserve the words you let out. Not everyone understands the expression you wear. This is the reason she keeps it in. She'll depart one day, with oceans of words stacked safely in her.

There's one thing she's quite sure she won't understand. Not because she cannot understand. No, she certainly can! But her fellow human beings won't let her go with her theory of life. The truth of life is that it's filled with lies and distrust. Not everyone thinks alike. She used to like the versatility of humans. Ironically, she has confronted the versatility of humans in the context of everything against her. It's her, it has always been her, it will always be her!

The sound of life coming from the outside world has stopped abruptly. Someone has turned off the T.V. Her phone starts ringing that very instant. She looks at the screen. It's her friend, a very old and very sweet friend who never gets enough of talking. She picks it up for the sake of her friend and compels herself to talk. "Why do you sound so low, tell me!", screams her friend. But not everyone understands, so she decides to dump the blame on her routine and assignments. The sound of doorbell is heard. She shifts in her duvet. A sea of chirping voices and giggles reaches her again from the outside world. There are visitors outside. Everyone is laughing on the outside, everyone is hiding their real stories. They all are living it wrong. Oddly, her friend decides to make the conversation short, today. She's grateful for that.

Let's continue watching her, while she continues the mentally tedious task; thinking.

Of Silence and the Moon

I like the time after dawn. When the sun dips in the earth and the moon appears distinctly on the vast, extravagant sky.  When the birds are gone to their hide-outs and there is no interruption of their flapping wings that could disturb the stillness of the view. I like to see the moon afloat in the sky like a big glowing sphere with the occasional appearance of the gray clouds, like the smoke, wafting over the moon, making it appear murky. I like that time because everything gets so silent, so serene at that time that it gives me time to reflect, think, comprehend about everything. I like the time of night when everyone goes off to the valley of dreams and I choose to stay awake. I like the time of night when everyone slips away from reality by shutting their eyes and I choose to go to all the places far from reality by keeping my eyes wide open. I like to stare at the blackness of the sky. I like to listen to the stillness of the silence. I like the silence complemented by the sound of a far off cricket creaking at night. I like the silence complemented by an occasional sound of a stray animal wandering alone, trying to find a place to hide itself. I like the sound of silence complemented by the sound of my own breathing. I like the sound of silence complemented by stillness, the darkness, the calmness. I can never give that much time to myself during the time when everyone is up. I like the time after dawn, when everyone dozes off, because that is the time when they let me be with my own self. That is the time when I can smile, cry, and laugh without anyone getting curious or judgemental about my demeanour. I like the time of night because night brings along the moon with it. I like the time of night because I believe that the moon and I could become very good friends. Both of us like the time of night. Both of us like to keep ourselves away from the rest of the world. Both of us speak a lot without saying anything. Both of us are wrapped in silence. I like the time after dawn because things that necessitates life are not the same for me as they are for most of the people in the world. At daytime, people speak and I listen. At night, I speak and things that are metaphysical to you, come down and listen to what I have to say. Because my talk is too boring and dry for the citizens of planet Earth, I speak not to humans but to the extraterrestrial souls. I like to speak to them because it’s not hard to make them believe about my words, because they understand me and my incoherent talks. I like the time after dawn because of all those things. Because of my silent talk to the non-existent creatures under the vast black sky pronounced by the big silver moon.