Home away from home

In the name of God, Most Merciful, Most Kind,

* * *

There was a time when home was more like a hotel. I'd drop in for some food, sleep, and to change outfits. On the rare weekends I would resign myself to self-imposed exile, it was to synthesize an essay or two from stacks of books.

I was typical of most young students who had yet to move out of the cocoon - for economic, social, or cultural reasons. And that was fine. I had my freedom. Sort of.

"You need to learn to stay at home," my father would mutter, yell or growl, depending on the time of day the comment had risen up. I'd shake a well-coiffed head and head out the door, with a "what for?" trailing behind me.

Ironic twist of fate that a budding career would be voluntarily cut short by marriage and babies. Voluntarily because I wanted to emulate a mother who was always home, always there. After all, it meant that someone valued me and my brothers enough to have a warm plate of food waiting for us when we came home; and valued us enough to be sure that it was a mother's smile that would pick us up after a long day at school.

I taught myself to stay home for several years and it wasn't easy (the Internet kept me busy enough, with work on the side to keep things interesting). And though I'm once again working, my mother's smile must remain on my face when work is done, supper is required, and homework beckons. It's my turn to be the responsible one, the calm one, the one that can do it all.

So it isn't surprising that the home I used to get away from eagerly, is now the one I return to with as much enthusiasm. It is in my childhood home where I truly find solace. While I didn't appreciate it so much back when I was young and free and careless, I am blessed to still have a place where I am coddled and cared for, and can explore being me. Even now, at 31, my dad does all he can to make sure I'm happy - and my whole li'l family, too (thank Goodness I have cute children, albeit messy and noisy ones!)

Anyway, I have to say that you were right, Dad. Staying home isn't so bad. Especially when you are there.

Sickness purifies

In the name of God, the most Merciful, the most Kind,

* * *

When the Prophet Muhammad, may peace be upon him, would see someone ill, he would often greet him with the following words;

“Do not worry. It is a cleansing and purification, if God so wills.” (Saheeh Al-Bukhari)

As I shrink within chilled skin, my body seemingly unattached from a head that pulses when in prostration to the Creator, I know that all I can think of is existence. No desires, no pride, no hope - nothing but existence and ultimately that I exist only because I was Willed to exist.

"Blessed is He in Whose hand is the Sovereignty, and, He is Able to do all things. Who hath created life and death that He may try you, which of you is best in conduct; and He is the Mighty, the Forgiving. [Qur'an 67:1,2 ]

It is in these moments, where energy is collected from recesses unimaginable and I am able to tend to a request from a child that has little thought to what her mother is going through, that one is amazed at the resilience that can exist, despite the battle being waged by invisible collections of microbes and viruses inside.

The determination to fulfill one's duty, when all that beckons is a blanket and mattress and silence, can spur mountains of cold and flu, and yet, when one submits, and lets it go, and sleeps . . .

"In Your name O God, I lay my side and in Your name I raise it. If you keep my soul, give it (Your Loving) Mercy, and if You release it, care for it as You care for Your righteous servants.”

Tell me

In the name of God, Most Merciful, Most Kind,

* * *

Tell me you have something to do,

Tell me you'll be back later

Tell me you've got a job somewhere

Tell me I've got to get supper

Call me after it's all done

Call me when there's nothing more

Call me when the clutter's gone

Call me when I've controlled the roar

Wait until I'm ready

Wait until I'm calm

Wait for the moment my anger and rage

Have been soothed by Faith's balm.

Wish I was there

"Labaykal lahuma labayka. Labayka la shareeka laka labbayka. Innal hamdawan ni’imata, laka wal mulk, la sharikalah."

“Here I am at Your service, O God! You have no partner; Here I am at Your service, O God. Verily, all the praise, the grace belongs to You. And the Kingdom, You have no partner.”

Body of a bird

In the name of God, Most Merciful, Most Kind,

* * *

Surrounded by mist,

That is clearing,

and

The softness of a

rain,

I am here

while my soul longs

to merge with the simplicity of

God's creatures

Flying

in the body of a bird

But not

in that of a crow's.

Missing mom

In the name of God, Most Merciful, Most Kind,

* * *

It was nice to be with you tonight,

To see my reflection in the black

surrounded by flecks of green that turn blue

Bright

And I tried to share a life so remote

from your existence.

I held up broken mirrors to a past

that still pokes through

the disconnected thoughts

that jumble

Making it hard for you to say

words that

stop somewhere

before they can be heard.

I liked being with you

Just me and you,

Like before marriage

and children

and work

and all of this chaotic business

separated us.

Though we've been separated before

And by God's mercy

You are never alone.

But you and me

we have

butter and honey sandwiches,

french fries,

sizing up dresses that would make Dad's bills overflow,

and running for the bookstore.

We have that and so much more

and mom

I love you.

I love you.

And I pray that we really will go shopping in Heaven,

both of us,

33.

_____

"In Paradise there is a market to which the people will come every Friday. The northern wind will blow and shower fragrance on their faces and clothes and, consequently, it will enhance their beauty and loveliness. . ." Narrated by Prophet Muhammad, may peace be upon him, in the Book of Muslim.

From the summer: On the water's edge

Yesterday, I would have come

here with you,

And you would have been here, next to me

as I stepped from

rock to jagged

rock.

Searching for flat surfaces, but longing

to reach the

edge,

Where I could turn my back

and hear only God's creation,

Splashing against the shore.

But

buckets of emptiness

create similar sounds

and I wonder

if it is my fault?

Is it because I choose not to conform to another

standard that

I fail to make this 'us'

work?

Does letting my mind drift to where

bubble wands and rainbows unite

mean

I am not ready to embrace a stronger,

better

reality?

Am I holding foam?

Does this mean my surrender has too many conditions,

and so isn't really surrender?

So maybe all the gates I've gone through have only allowed me

to circle a wide

expanse that I still have not entered and in this march towards

my Creator,

my innermost desires, and my deepest, hidden faults are manifest;

acting as a barrier

to the wide, clear expanse,

I long to reach.