87: BittersweeTea

sweet
is my iced wintermelon tea
as i nibble at the gummy bubbles
and the flavored rainbow jellies
-munch
-munch
look outside
-munch
an old woman walks past
-munch
-mun--
her blanket over her arm
---ch
her hair unkempt
-pause
her expression confused
-stare
her clothes disarray
-focus
Homeless?
-assess
Disowned!
-conclude
Disability.
-pause

-munch.

-look down
chatime in my palm
-look out
blanket on her arm
-stop

Gulp.

sweet
is my iced wintermelon tea,
but did it always have
such a bitter aftertaste?

Aug 11 2013

67: the sole battle

at the end of the day
these rows of lustrous lots
these groups of vague vendors
these lines of scripted sentences
are operating
like an oasis
in the middle of nowhere;
offering
promises
to care less;
promises
that are careless.

because
as you get closer,
you would soon realise
your eyes wildly looking around to soak in the vision of what you are able to (par)take,
your mouth salivates with the thought of how that sparkling pond water would taste,
your fingers would carelessly reach out to touch, feel, things you have longed for.

all to satisfy
your natural instincts
your worldly desires
your own foolishness.

and yet, you make a run for it.
you run like your life depended on it.
does it?
does our life depend on whether we reach this oasis,
despite knowing that
we are still
lost
and
alone
in a desert?

perhaps we have lost sight of
or lost track of
or have completely removed ourselves of the thought that
there is
an untouched-as-yet lake
up in the virgin mountains
just waiting
for us
to have a swim.

may we all win the battle
against ourselves
when we face a mirage
in the comforting disguise
of an oasis.

may we all reach that lake.

ameen.


why are we killing each other
and ourselves
in a race
to reach an oasis
that is only a mirage?

66: Mallicious.

i hate walking around aimlessly
i hate wanting without understanding why
i hate trying to find out why i feel so out of place
i hate seeing rows of shops like deja vu on every floor
i hate salespeople with fake smiles and sugarcoated words
i hate being manipulated by people who only care about making profit
i hate hating myself for spending on myself in order to make others feel happy
i hate the sights sounds tastes smells of plastic dreams i'm supposed to be drowning in
i hate seeing people pride themselves with things by the oppressed's blood, sweat and tears;

malls are malicious,
and these are just a few reasons why.

63: Where the heart is

a few of our paintings in this corner
a flower in a mug right over there
a bunch of pebbles on the kitchen table
sand and shells in a bottle somewhere

a black and white sculpture on the table
a lot of sunshine, with light in tight spots
a psychadellic rug to brighten up the area
some fans around in case it gets too hot

a disco ball in the middle of the fun room
a few places for books i love but barely read
a mismatched set of rainbowy kitchen things
mini garden at the back (no clue yet on what seeds)

a bed as if i'm sleeping on chocolate clouds
a colorful bunch of essentials for the bathroom
a few stained glass bowls with candles inside
space to geek out - where minds go boom.

a wall of pictures for the people in our life
a fridge of stuff homegrown or homemade
items in each room that remind us of Him
if all this came true, i know i'd have it made.

a few choice paintings in this corner
a flower in a mug right over there
a bunch of pebbles on the kitchen table
sand and shells in a bottle somewhere

a black and white sculpture on the table
a diy standing lamp in a tight spot
a psychadellic rug to brighten up the area
some fans around in case it gets too hot

a disco ball in the middle of the fun room
a few shelves for books i love but barely read
a whole set of rainbowy kitchen things
mini garden at the back (no clue yet on what seeds)

a bed with sheets as if i'm sleeping on clouds
a colorful set of essentials for the bathroom
a few stained glass bowls for candles inside
space to geek out - where minds go boom.

a wall of pictures for the people in my life
a fridge of stuff homegrown or homemade
items in each room that remind me of Him
if all this came true, i know i'd have it made.

53: Disabled

Sure, she can't see, but

she can read, hear and feel words
from the Beloved.

We can't understand
God's words with our fingertips,
so who's handicapped?

inspired by a blind girl at a tafseer class i sometimes attend. she was sitting in front of me, and was intently listening to the ustaz explaining about the surah we were learning during the session while running her fingers around a seemingly blank page of a thick book. upon closer look, i realised it was a braille quran. 
i have been blessed with the gift of sight, and i can read quranic words anywhere if i wanted to; what's my excuse not to? :(