:: sandtimes flowing through my fingers ::

kautsar.co.uk

2009-04-27T06:19:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone!

I wont be writing here anymore because I have switched to wordpress, and have gotten my own domain! wheee~

visit the new blog at : kautsar.co.uk

:)

ps: malunye mempromo blog sendiri..

yusuf fawwaz - si kecil satu bulan.

2009-04-22T02:02:00.000-07:00

si baby yusuf at one month old. i cant help staring at his face everyday and miss his little delicate features when im not! He is too cute. i think he looks like my brother, a bit. he has the same long eyes, but he also got their HUGENESS from my sister-in-law, who has really beautiful eyes! I can tell girls would all be charmed by his gorgeous eyes. and his uplifted lips, always curving a smile!

my brother said yusuf already knows how to pose. just look at the way he gives the camera sharp-eyes, pouty lips look! Being born with my brother already ready with his big black SLR, its really no wonder he's come to term with the machine. babies are wise. he's probably amused by his father fiddling with the camera and decide to make his life easier! I think yusuf is smart like that.

Here, yusuf makes a really happy, satisfied, sated face! Like he's really enjoying his bath my sister-in-law is giving him. if i could put a bubble speech at him, it'll be : shalalalala~ i love myself, i love my umi, i love my ayah~ lalala~ mari mandi~ he will be a really happy child, insyaAllah blessed by Allah always, here and thereafter.

he sleeps like an angel. from the pictures anyway. my brother did say he likes waking up at odd hours. shucks, babies. like my housemate beda said : babies are all cute so everything turns to awwww factor and you'd give the world to them. (and not turn to zombie when they wake up minutes after you last fed them, crying as if they're really THAT hungry)

5 more months and ill be able to meet you!~ by that time yusuf, insyaAllah, would already be a really cute 6-monthers. yeay!

because only He is Infinite.

2009-04-19T14:38:00.000-07:00

how can they sleep at night,
knowing they had destroyed homes

how can they sleep at night,
knowing someone had died in their hands

how can they sleep at night,
knowing they would be cold and hungry

how can they sleep at night,
knowing they make children cry

how can they sleep at night,
knowing someone is praying them dead

how can they sleep at night,
knowing such hatred

they can sleep,
because they dont know what awaits

they can sleep,
because they think its all a game

they can sleep,
because they think there's no Judgment Day

they can sleep,
because they think it all ends in this world

they can sleep,
because they still don't know

i fear the things you do to them, the horror and terror.
but i fear more, the things He will do to you, with horror and terror.

jewel keeper

2009-04-18T15:53:00.000-07:00

i dreamt about my grandmother. she gave a box filled with pink jewels. all hair ornaments and maybe some brooches. she said : hold it for me, and bring it to the afterlife. i asked her if i could wear it for a wedding. she said no. its not for now, its for then.

i pinched myself once in the dream. it hurt. and i was convinced that everything was real.

the things today.

2009-04-18T12:00:00.000-07:00

i saw a bird caged between a moving bicycle. its wheel caught her wing. i saw a sloppy clown amidst garbage pile, outside waterloo. the clown looked sad.

i shouted 'chelsea' in arsenal. my friends took a step back for fear of hooligans.

anne frank had dark hair. she died alone in the camp, separated from family. we only know her smiling.

i like train tracks that run hidden into trees. its like alice in wonderland following the trail into the rabbit hole. you never know where you end up.

a patch of green invites swarm of people, hungry for the sun.

people talk to me because they think my pretty brown eyes are real.

song of my CBN memory

2009-04-12T16:56:00.000-07:00

There is a song etched at the back of my head, it is silently singing sweet harmony in my head, but i never got around to really listen.

i tried today. there is that song at the back of my head. it brings back a certain nostalgic memory that is so heavy for my heart to recall.

i remember only few words of the song. valley, mountain, birds.

washing our tears all away.

i searched and googled the lyric, went through pages and pages of weird music.

and then i found it. If we hold on together. Diana Ross. and memory came sweeping in flood of tears.

Hari Membina Azam CBN. when we sing songs including 'Fikirkan Boleh', 'Standing in the eyes of the world', 'Greatest Love of All', 'Hero' and 'Heal the world'.

i remembered clearly singing this song at the top of my lung with mel and alin. we were in 3B, our class line was always next to the doors, so we get fresh forest air through out long hall ceremony, with monkeys and banana trees and huge canopy of trees and of course, the top of KL Tower. but never any abang ranger hutan in sight. darn.

andi i remember my much cherished 2 years in 2B and 3B. i remember astrinee and ian, my deskmates during the two years. joni, aina, farah and harvinder because they were always together, corrupting each other's mind. and then ast, jazmine, azura, hazira, liyana salim always laughing, always have something to joke about everyone. even kai lin's shiny legs under her pinafore. aini, nora, liyana J, zulfa, syazana, the two Joannes, adeline ang yg kurus dan tinggi, and janet yg super pandai! and of course, nik sarah, ranking! with her ronaldo and cheer! and everyone else who had made 3B TOO AWESOME. and shura and haz when we go to saujana together. and gossip about boys across the street. thank God those days had passed :p

sigh. i love girls school. i love CBN. i love how Pn. George always tried to make us ladylike. dont push your sleeve up, dont sit by the sidewalk, clean and pretty hair, chin up. I miss CBN days. there are lots of things that i missed out. and its really too bad i never got the duty to wash the fish fountain by the canteen either.

sometimes i do wonder if i should have stayed on and graduate my high school there. Because everyone knows the form 4 and 5 of CBN have all the fun. with the drama (the competition and drama drama), choral speaking, minggu bahasa, cheerleading, running around, sports day, mcD, and walking up bukit nanas. and getting paranoid everytime i use the shortcut because there might just be a druggie to chase me or something. and ooh, merdeka day . and wear sexy sari , all bare back and (flat) tummy showing with VERY PROUD PATRIOTIC FEELING.

and i will always remember my dear Anna. I pray God will bless you with His rahmah and berkat.

I guess, I could never really say I was satisfied with my 2 years in CBN. Who could? 2 years is a short time, as sweet as it is. But I am real glad I followed my sister's footstepr and had 2 years worth of teenage life living as a CBNER :)

And there's always that saying : Once a CBNer, always a CBNer.

It's ultimately cliched, but i sought the words and meaning dearly with all my heart.

ka-ching bling!

2009-04-08T05:16:00.000-07:00

the mexican man with long black dreadlocks was smiling and smirking like a fat cat with cream when i saw him in the queue at natwest. he had on a crisp dark gray suit, with polished black patent shoes and bowler hat perched on top of the dreadlocks that reached his knee. his moustache was clipped and smart, and his eyes twinkled.

he looked like one of those character in the mafia movie who just got a jackpot deal.

when it was his turn at the counter, he walked most proudly, with a really huge grin, carrying his battered looking duffle bag. i was already so curious, and he was talking loudly, naturally i couldn't help but to listen.

' how can i help you today, sir?' asked the man behind the counter professionally.

the man opened up his bag, and started scooping and piling up money on the counter! with the notes still tied with rubber by the bundle and stashed in clear plastic bags! oodles and oodles of 20 pound-notes, coins and other papers and such!

'Oh my Lord! How'd you get this ,man? WOW!' said the man behind the counter obviously couldn't help to be professional anymore and chuckled at the amount of moolahs he would have to count for the smirking man.

The dreadlocked man chuckled along, swishing his hair, showing glint of the rings and chains on his fingers and wrists. all blings and gold and silver adorning him.

'Got lucky for a bit mate'

i continued to stare and gaped with jaw wide open, as im sure everyone else dis as well,, until the man left the bank and i could have sworn his dreadlocks, as if with a life of its own, were wagging happily behind him, mocking everyone else whose notes seem to have shrunk with low self esteem.

SPRING IS HEREEE!~

2009-04-04T18:47:00.000-07:00

i love those little darling delicious spring buds. when the sun stays a bit longer to shine on the tiny petals, and trees looking like cotton candy with soft pink blossoms growing straight from the trunk!

i must say it shocked me and still awe me until now. i have never ever seen a tree where its flowers grew straight from the barks without any green leaves in sight! just FLOWERS!

AWESOME. in malaysia, there are always flowers AND leaves together all year round.

Law enforcer Vader

2009-04-04T18:12:00.000-07:00

we all know when the sun is shining, people smile a lot more. amazing when you think about it. these are the same people that glumly walked the grey sky of winter few months back with black coats and mundane faces.

but who would have thought even the metro policemen take on summer with style?

just as my boyfriend and i crossed the road across Hyde Park, two policemen inside their patrol van put on their speaker.

and started imitating Darth Vader..

*khooohuuu, khoohuuu*

everyone stared for a second. then the patrol van merrily drove away, with trail of laughter echoing through their speaker.

happy, happy day :)

wrenched.

2009-03-16T17:25:00.000-07:00

i saw a man prostrate like i do in my prayer,
on the sidewalk, with his face fully covered,
his head on a cardboard.

it says :

I HAVE NO HOPE. I AM DEPRESSED. I AM HOMELESS AND HUNGRY. PLEASE HELP.

his only words are : GOD BLESS.

a sweet addition to our family :)

2009-03-12T15:30:00.000-07:00

its amazing how life blooms. from the memory of my brother's marriage to his beloved, Wa, suddenly to a new image of this little young one trying to open his beautiful eyes to a strange new world.

simply amazing. too beautiful.

this little newborn, with innocent shine in the eyes, and that wonderful baby smell, doesn't yet know his significance to his parents' life, love story and and a whole bundle of LOVE everyone have for him!

when he was in the womb, when he was born, did he hear the tremble of his father's azan, so nervous and excited? did he feel the pain and joy of his mother, who shed tears and fought for him all the while?

can he now see the love? the way he is adored? how his little smile melts everyone's heart and his every movements an achievement to his parents' eyes?

I am so happy for abang and wa! Syukur Alhamdulillah :)

YUSUF FAWWAZ!!!! YOU'RE BARELY 3 DAYS OLD BUT I LOVE YOU WITH MY WHOLE LIFE!

amazing eh? someone so small who you didnt even think of not more than a year ago suddenly comes in your heart and takes a huge chunk of it for himself :)

i hereby pledge to be the coolest che sha for fawwaz!~ yeah!

trapped.

2009-03-12T02:42:00.000-07:00

im at the height of panic//hanging from a pinacle like a manic//my heart pulpilating//exhilirating, feverish scared//no one to look out to// point a finger or two//eyes wide cringing with non-existence tears//only wrenched feeling of disgust//vomitting bile circulating hatred in the bloodstream//eyes looking in on itself, white to the world//judging//taunting//taking me piece by piece//till i could no longer breathe//and see daggers from all sides//crouching low//a desperate attempt to escape//a narrow alley//getting narrower and darker//primly walking to avoid crashing into them// when will i break my nails for them?

bende lama yang pernah ditulis.

2009-03-10T09:20:00.000-07:00

kadang-kadang diri terasa seperti bayangan di tanah.
macam asap yang lesap di langit, buih yang hilang dalam ombak.
namun, hati kan tetap rasa berat. badan pon lebih kurang jugak.
ada jugak masa dia ringan. maksud saya, hati tu la.
mungkin bila kan tulis, tercalit hidup ini di alam tak nyata.
macam aluran daun di pasir. atau batu di gunung.
memberi makna kah?

siapa tahu?

an old post from my other blog

2009-03-10T09:18:00.001-07:00

17 November 2008

tadi lepas kelas, masa tunggu bas,
ada orang lelaki asing meng-usha dengan tak covernya.

*perasan kejap*
segan btol i. adakah coat bulu-bulu i ni hot sangat?

"bludbluble" kata lelaki muka seperti burma atau tibet itu.

aaaaa..adakah..adakah kamu sedang berkomunikasi?

"where are you from?" kata dia masa i dah nak naik bas, dengan muka blank tak faham bahasa dia.

dengan senyuman hot, i jawab, "malaysia" , lepas tu terus naik bas. dengan harapan bas pergi cepat-cepat, and dia akan tertanya2 sapa perempuan jelita yang sudah terlepas di atas bas di kota raya london itu.
adakah terlalu drama?

tapi bas tu pulak tunggu lama dekat situ. alamak.
dia usha lama dari luar.

ahh, alamak. fikiranku mula berserabut. oh, adakah saya nampak eksotik seperti gadis ayu Tibet atau Burma?
bang, maaf bang. saya dari malaysia bang. tak tahu nak cakap bahasa tibet, ye bang~

lepas tu jadi paranoid pulak, adakah dia akan cuba ikut???APA I PATUT BUAT? kenapa dia kene tengok macam tu??!

DIA NAIK BAS PULAK!!!

..alamak. muka dah kaku. dahlah memang kaku sebab sejuk. sekarang kaku muke horror. mata besar gile jadi.
okay. relaks. relaks. jangan pandang dia...jangan pandang dia...KENAPA DIA MASIH USHA???

okay...buat-buat tak nampak. dia macam cuba nak tangkap mata dengan i. i buat-buat baca inbox yang dah puas baca.

tiba-tiba, dengar dia cakap dengan orang lain : How do you get to _________?
"oh, you have to stop at the next stop, and go that way" jawab lelaki random.

tanpa tolehan langsung, lelaki asing yang suka usha tu melangkah keluar bas.

i tgk dia masa dia keluar. adakah dia akan pandang lagi? *harapan besar*

..rupanya TAK LANGSUNG! -_____________-

conversation on the bus.

2009-03-06T07:17:00.000-08:00

two guys sat in front of me.

' so you're going to your girlfriend's place now?'

'she's not my girlfriend, man. she's a chic. yeah, thats how imma label her. she' just a chic, you know?'

' thought she's yours'

'no, who would wanna have a girl like that? she's fat! but i dont mind her, ya know? get the free lunch, free dinner, and even the games! like, the concert tickets the other day, she got an extra one, so that's why i gave you'

'yeah, that was awesome!'

' i know! but who would line up for 6 hours for it? she's stupid. and she buy these bags. the same thing, but one in white and another in black. like wth, man?'

i.was.horrified.

for a record, the guy was not even close to good looking.

a rejection.

2009-03-06T07:06:00.000-08:00

i applied for UNIPAL summer programme in Palestine last month. i didnt get shortlisted, the mail stated.

it maybe because i hold a malaysian passport. they go through jerusalem, of which i am not allowed.

it may also be because it is not yet time for me to take a big stride to Palestine. Maybe there is something i should look at first around me, before i go out of my way to Palestine,no matter how much my heart longs to go.

x unlike my mother, i could not yet understand arabic. i only know 'mauzun'. pisang. and 'jamilah'.

x i have not yet met Monica and help her like i should. and she was not there at her spot just now :(

x i have not yet properly understand Islam, i need to ground my roots first.

Ya Allah, I shall leave my destiny in your hand. Please open the doors for me to redeem myself. Amin.

a daughter's heart.

2009-03-03T17:24:00.000-08:00

sometimes, some people see beyond.
a pathway to heaven right in front of their eyes.
they take each steps closer to the bright light at the end.
a strenght, notches higher than the rest.
with full confidence, what she drops would be safely caught.

im walking on the earth.
heaven yet too far away.
taking long slow strides.
dragging legs, covered bloods.
misty heart, cold and bare.

one day, she decides to end her journey.
she looks back with a smile.
found inner peace, sword in hand.
for her children is safe in God's hand.
and her duty is done.

i try to breath,
grasping the wall,
suffocating in engulfing sins,
reaching a hand to my mother.
closing my fist on empty air.

a little word from you, mother.
a bit of care.
a show of love,
in this low level of my heart.
in this dry earth im scorching my feet on.
before you soar to the sky.
leaving me on the ground.
head straining upwards to the stars,
eyes upon your shiny wings.
blurred by tears i care not.

mother, you were an angel in my dream.
in blue dress,with beautiful eyes.
i dont doubt heaven is a place for you.
i give my heart to this path you take.

it had been two months,
before i heard your voice again.
i was shocked i couldnt guess it was you, mother.
i didnt know it was you at the end of the line.

just a bit of love before you go.
a bit normal like other mothers.
a text would be nice.
a warm 'how are you' would be lovely.
a word of courage to when you're gone
would keep me going.

not the silence after you broke the eggshells below me.

to leave me with heart astoned.
trusting i would climb up when i fall.
i do try, mother. yet i fall again.

dont you realize, mother.
i see Him when you do.
i do not see Him with my own eyes.

i see Him through yours.

and as you leave,
with full confidence it will make me stronger,
i am scared.
not of losing you, mother.
but of losing Him in my heart.

i need you not for the love of a mother,
the way other daughters do.
you are special, and so are your way of love.
i have put out that yearn in my heart
for you are closeer to Him than you are to me.
i am happy for you, mother.

but i do need you, mother,
to walk towards the light.

dont you see me, mother?
when you helped the orphans,
the poor, the needy,
i do the same.

dont you see me, mother?
i try to follow the path you etched.
stepping into the steps you've taken.

but the place you are going now,
is where i have to stop following.
it is not yet for me.
it may never be.
and i can only pray it would.

this is where it ends.
where do i go now?
where shall i take my steps?

i could only hope, mother.
that you will always see me when you turn around.

because i am always there,
looking out for you.

when i went to cardiff.

2009-03-01T08:57:00.000-08:00

a day in Cardiff.

walked around the city centre.

a guy was playing violin, bringing to life tunes of scotland folklore, while balancing one foot. on a tightrope.

a crowd watching a kenny roger look alike strumming his beat-up guitar.

a trio of fire charmers. a guy juggling three kerosin-burned batons. a man with glasses and dreadlock with a pole of two fire ends. twirling it in his hand, over his shoulder, behind his ncck, flame hissing frustratingly, missing the clutch of his hair. a young girl, long luscious locks on one side of her side and soft grizzle hair on almost bald head on the other, swinging two chains of fire, looping it over her head making fantastic gypsy dance.

she wore a plastic headband. knocked over it when she twirled her chains. it fell over her eyes. she dance a slow twirl with her chains, hoping to halt her rhytm.

she was blinded, the fire knew. it licked her hair, lighting up flame at the back of her eyes.

icing on the cake of horror day

2009-02-26T01:52:00.001-08:00

continuing from my unfortunate entry below.

i shall now fear 25th february.

about midnight, feeling mighty stressed over unfinished due essay,
i accidentally knocked a full mug of steaming coffee onto my laptop.

i made a swift glance at my screen, willing it to be strong.

it ended with a 'click'.

a moment outside Holloway.

2009-02-25T15:53:00.000-08:00

i saw a homeless man offered his half-butted cigarette to a homeless woman.

the homeless woman walked over to the man sitting by the wall with a shy face.

she hesistated. the man smiled kindly and put out his hand and gave her the cigarette.

a few puff left, to braze the cold.

i saw the lady's crutch by the sidewalk.

25th feb. the unfortunate day, 22 years after fehy was born..

2009-02-25T15:26:00.000-08:00

its fehy's birthday. she is 22 now and she shall now officially be off teenage tantrums. instead, it will be quarter-life crisis.

may she have a beyond boho-happiness for life to come. it will be hard for her to be so without her bff, moi.

today we shall learn, time management.

time is more precious than gold. and time wasted is like suicide.

i shall now proceed to this heart-wrenched feeling of the heart with remorse.

with 5 minutes, i have missed the opportunity to run for Vice President of the Kings' Photo Soc.

i shall continue my grieve.

today i have also mistakenly put in wrong home address in midst of excitement at purchasing my first shoes online. it was OFFICE, high heels, 25pounds from 60.

the woman in Flat 2 shall now receive my petal puff peach platform sole high heeled shoes, size 4 and the last remaining pair entirely. no more in the world.

i shall have to wait till to morrow to call customer service and correct the mistake.

i shall lie again in grieve for an unfortunate day.

tribute to life.

2009-02-24T17:37:00.000-08:00

a landmine of broken pieces,
i pick up the breeze and blow on the ashes.

a heart of swollen tears,
screaming whispers no one hears.

a little strayed, a morbid step,
a dancing twirl falling trap.

a car that rode to rainbowed hill,
sun that shone and almost real.

slip a bit of dew on my palm,
rosemary falling through the realm.

a light, and wind affluter hair,
heart a disease, as sore and rare.

a mottled clot of lumped dots,
thicken, blacken,and breaking bloods.

a gasp, a silence, a wedged sanity,
engulfing soul and entirety.

a limp broken puppet,
twitching fingers in its socket.

the last breath,
a heaving sigh,
prayer,
frozen tears,
unblinking eyes.

a florette for the dead.

mr.postman morning call.

2009-02-17T03:44:00.000-08:00

i was disgruntled.

for every bell that rings, with foreign view on our security camera and voice calling for mail. its never mine.

today, an old man rang our bell. i asked for whom the letter is for. he just said : its for you, i know its for you. both of us sighing. him for having to convince people the letters are theirs and not just someone next door for you to pick up for, and me for having to don my scarf and wear my jeans and braze the cold. albeit only barely 5 minutes.

went down. he was slotting mails into the post boxes. i waited by the door. the wind was cold today. weather very chilly. the old postman was sniffing.

he began searching for the package for my house. couldnt find it. i helped him search for it in our box, in case he had somehow put it in. it was not there. he heaved a heavy sigh. must have left it at the mail office, he said. he'll come back. i shrugged, and went back to my comfort warmth in my room.

few minutes later, a bell rang again. this time, i was huffing and screeching.

answered the call. the old man, of course. i said hello politely. he just said : miss, i got your mail here, and i have put it in the mailbox, and shall sign the special delivery form myself so you dont have to come down.

i said thanks.

ran to the window. i saw him walking, hair fluttering in the wind, hand rubbing at his nose. his shabby bag full with letters swung heavily by his hip. his coat looking worn out by years. and me standing by the window, above the heater puffing hot air into the room.

guilt and shame and bile covered my throat.

how could i have been so horrid? eventhough i did not treat him impolitely or with any remorse,and i certainly did not put on any face to him, i was perfectly civil and pleasant, i did feel troublesome for having to come down to pick the mail, wherelse this old man, doing what he can for his living have to face people like me everyday!

putting myself in his shoes, it would stink! imagine you're carrying important packages, where someone would look forward to receive it, but because you are pressing the dreadful bells to interupt their lives, they would sometimes come down looking a bit awful, or a bit disturbed or annoyed. of course, they are the pleasant ones.

i shall now vow to be a pleasant and happy resident.

reach out to the world?

2009-02-14T19:29:00.000-08:00

there are charity shops out there with vintage bags and excellent bargains. for some charity or other, you never really know anymore. so long as theres good buy and its for good cause, surely thats the best deal you can get. or so i thought.

went to bayswater. a warehouse of a charity shop along the busy road. shop was huge and spacey, not enough item to fill them in. a sort of bare granite feel to it. ROMANIA CHARITY FUND. and the people mending the shop are two ladies, which i personally find a tad horrible.

i wanted to ask, for whom is this charity for?

i got the answer right away.

a group of romanian ladies walked in. with babies. long drabby skirts, shabby scarves tied on their heads. one of them pushing a pram. hushed and excitement to wander through the shop. hushed whispers, squeling over bright pink skirt and a brown cord one.

busily roaming the aisle of clothes and coats, trying it out against their bodies, with eyes so lovely a hazel green hue and skin like porcelain lightly coloured with pink warmth.

the shop people were eyeing them with daggers. one of them even had hostility and somewhat fear in her eyes. a pathetic look as if scared of the poor people. shifting uneasily, staring rudely, obviously unwelcoming.

if there is one place young girls, who are beggars by the street could even find any decent clothes, it would be the charity shop. CHARITY shop. and here, they are unwelcomed as if they are in PRADA. it is ridiculous.

eventually the girls left, after long minutes of baby crying heavily which further invite cold stare from the salesperson.

i looked through belts. a woman, who looks like shes new and had that pathetic look in her eyes tried to talk to me. her senior called out to her : its okay, they are all gone now.

and suddenly it striked me. they didnt leave voluntarily. they were asked to leave! the woman at the counter thought the pathetic saleslady was trying to talk me into leaving too!

for one thing, i was wearing my scarf and had on my green contact lenses. though definitely not as lovely as the romanian girls, of course.

i asked her. what is the charity for.

we give the money to the poor people of romania. the women and children, especially.

which one? the one far away, or the one right in from of your own eyes?

she said, the one with no help in romania..these romanian people here, they take on the benefit. there is nothing we can do to help them. her eyes looking with most unsatisfying burden at the door.

i walked away. she called out, are you romanian?

coldly, no.

i clenched my teeth. upset and ashamed.

she never met any soul like Monica. May God one day show her.

snow wonder.

2009-02-03T06:09:00.000-08:00

nothing else is talked about these days except snow, palestine and the usual banters. i love the snow that fell in london : soft, powdery and pure white. it covers the streets, cars, houses, hill, playground and gardens. for once, london look extraordinary-ly beautiful and clean.

london, never gone anything beyond sneezes of snow and hiccups of sludges, turned into excitement galore. people were not expected to turn in for work and school. transportation got confused. people just want to roam in the cold. kids sprawled all over ground for snow angels.

we were lucky to have brazed the cold in midnight when snow was a virgin and we the plunderers. it was gorgeous. we slide here and there, made pillows and cotton candy. and made two snowmen. the second looked a bit like sam.

and i love rolling down the hill at the playground. the hill was snowy clean. and thing about snowy hill downdrop is you never stop, even after you reach the flat land! you just keep on rolling.

white soft sheet of snow covers all the mottled, blackened streets of london. turned it into crystalised winter wonderland.

the snow in turn will turn to sludge, grey and wet after the magic stop falling from the sky. the dreaded day when you drag that feet in dull grey slush and feel bitter cold snipes on your toes.

and on this day, heaviest snowfall in 18 years, where even facebook is 'snowing', is one of the best experience in my life :)

a stroll on London bus

2009-01-15T17:10:00.000-08:00

i saw a small african man, lost amidst storm of people,
eyes in daze, completely clueless,
clutching onto a huge orange cloak,
in pathetic attempt to warm his bones and soul,
huge orange cloak with ancient symbols,
peering into grey eyes, hoping sympathy,
shyly extended hands, hoping some money,
or food or warmth or a bit of care,
none given.

i saw a woman, with a childlike smile,
i saw her baby stroller, filled with child,
smiling proudly over the bundle of blanket,
and then i realize,
she is cooing and smiling,
into a stroller filled with five baby dolls.

i saw a woman selling Big Issue,
at the chair where Monica used to sit,
looking pregnant and tired herself,
i wondered where and how is Monica,
the woman took last attempt at a call to buy,
shook her head and sigh and stash the unsold magazine into her bag,
took her folding chair and walked away slowly,
clutching to her abdomen with her dear life,
face an agony, every stride painful,
is she pregnant? is she hungry?

i look at the world, from my safety metal of a London bus. hands only touching the cold panel of glass. heavy hearted at the sights. what more the people themselves?..

Thank you.

2009-01-14T16:47:00.001-08:00

for one second,
i was hugged.

like a little child,
i let my tears flow.

like a little child,
i let my stories out.

like a little child,
i whispered my wishes.

for one second there,
it felt safe.

for one second,
nothing could hurt.

i will pursue that one second.
with all my might.

Dear God,
thank you.

dear children of palestine.

2009-01-07T15:09:00.000-08:00

my dearest children of palestine,
who opens their eyes to destruction,
who lives their life fighting, struggling,
barely able to defend their body,
destroyed mercilessly.

i pray for a beautiful afterlife to await you.

may that pale, ashed face,
shine gloriously.

may that white cloth that bounds you,
be heaven's silk that wraps.

may that blood that wets your face,
will never dry.

may your cry,
be silent prayer for justice to prevail.

may you open your eyes,
to garden of eden,
where river flow with sweetest water,
and trees bear fruits so luscious,
and air smells no longer of gas,
the wind that carries Heaven's symphony,

the time for you to smile, insyaAllah.

salute you, man.

2009-01-02T03:31:00.001-08:00

MUTO a wall-painted animation by BLU from blu on Vimeo.

this is one awesome video of art and dedication. its too amazing. T______________T

HIGH - a balloon's tale.

2008-12-11T04:55:00.000-08:00

think its beautiful :)

the little ones of this world

2008-12-08T18:29:00.000-08:00

i saw a mother of three sons on the bus the other day,
one crying and wailing, at his brother who got a seat,
shouted at by his mother.

" shut up, you're embarassing me!"
"if you keep on this racket, ill lock you in your room!"

the little boy reduced to sobs and hiccups, after a long while.

"im sowwy..im sowwy"
"I SAID IM SOWWY MUMMY!"
"please..dont lock me"
"mummy, i said im sowwy"

"no, no, i dont want your sorry"
"it doesnt mean anything"
"you're embarassing me, shut it!"

"..mummy..i love you"

"i said quiet!"

all the while, a little baby girl, shoved to the window in her pram,
called out to her mother. a surprisingly mature voice.

"mummey? mummey?"

she called for a long while. everyone just stood and looked around.

where is the mother?

"MUMMEY?"

tucked away at the end corner of the bus, her mother came.

"what?!"

"mummey, i need to drink"

"we're in a bus! im busy! dont ask for drink now!"

the mother walked away. the little girl rocked herself to bed,
by slowly nudging the wall with her tiny foot.

viva la vida, the song.

2008-12-01T12:57:00.001-08:00

..amazing,amazing song.

viva la vida

2008-12-01T12:33:00.000-08:00

listening to viva lavida, listening to its heart-touching story of napoleon in his glorious days makes me very concious of our mortality and the time running out like the sand in the sand dial.

history of humankind and the world has been so rich, so really deep that this present life we have now seems bland in comparison. could the most amazing building in Dubai now compare to the pyramids, the gold castles of faraway king, always set in precious stones with the most meticulous artsmen in hand. could what we see in the deep forest of Germany or Asia compare to what the Mesopotamia had seen in their once lavish island? How clear is the water that reflects perfectly Narcissus beauty?

could our bustling lifestyle ever be as sated as the life of the maidens and lords of the Grecian days? carving out the image of heaven on earth. Odyseuss' journey, Cleopatra's reign, Napoleon, Alexander the Great, the japanese geishas, Parameswara and each and every other great figures in history, what had they felt? What had really happened? What had the prophets go through and felt and how can we relate to this in our time now?

makes you want to weep.

weep for all those forgotten peoples and sacrifices. all those who had lost it all. embedded in the river of immortality. dying in the wind's whispers. lost in memories of history. taken into slumber. taking with them the secrets of the worlds. taking with them treasures no eyes have seen. taking with them such presious lives. bloods that spilt have long dried. but ties severed stretched even more. tears of princesses and maidens. lovers who remain in each others' embrace. lovers who have promised 'forever'. heart aches that would make earth shatter. smiles from the children whom never knew any other colour. witches and wizards who were now myths.

reality-story-history-midwives' tale-legend-myth-fable.

us who would never know. them who smile at such ignorance.

little splurge :)

2008-11-23T14:52:00.000-08:00

money has been tight. as much as people mouthed the word 'HOPE' in america, people in london gritted through their teeth 'CREDIT CRUNCH'. and this affects me in little way possible. which is why i found my own way of going around it : charity shops and car-boot markets :))

a very neat bag i found at a car-boot sale. it has officially become bedah's and mine. Our friendship bag. Because there is only one bag, and two friends chasing each other to get the money for the bag!

a cute elvish, tap-dancer red shoe from cancer research UK charity shop!

tips : always know where you are going and your target market price. the more elite a neighbourhood, the more luxurious the brands they have in the shop! albeit a bit more pricier than the clothes in charity shops in normal neighbourhood :) but, Karen Millen shirt on the rack? worth a hunt :)

islam : the core, physical, jihad of nafs.

2008-11-22T04:22:00.000-08:00

Last night the housemates had very interesting discussion on Islam. Particularly on the issue brought up by Moaz Masoud in his talk at LSE.

+ Islam has three stages of understanding :

+ The core. You understanding and tauhid of Islam.
+ The Physical. Your Ibadah, Solaah, Thithe, and Fast, Charity, deeds, etc.
+ The Nafs. Conquer it, make it under your power, get away from it.

+ But Islam has been reduced, on general and by the slightly shallows to the Physical. It has been such that what people see you do is more important than what you actually feel inside. Should it be? There are different arguments to this. Ideally, one should achieve BOTH. But which one should come first, is a chicken and egg question. Well,almost. It is very arguable. Everyone have different way of appreciating and going through it.

For example : If you dont feel Islam in your heart, should you thus abandon your prayer, evenwhen the prayers make you get closer to God, or if you pray but you dont seek the knowledge and understanding, is it enough ? Or, is it enough to feel Islam in your heart, believing in Allah, putting all trust and faith, but do not pray or having the intention to find Allah first before starting on the Physical even when you have acquired enough knowledge to do Ibadah? The chicken and egg part is this :
you need both to appreciate the other. with imaan, you appreciate praying. with praying, insyaAllah you get the imaan. So whichever route you take, persevere. Pray. And God never abandon those on His path.

Most importantly, dont let Physical attributes of Islam be Islam. People seem to think hijaab, jihad, solat IS islam. It is, AND more. and the whole perfect picture is Islam. Its us, who have to find this bits, strenghtening our soul to understand and feel sakinah from Islam, the perfect path for all of us.

the lyric/speech of YES WE CAN

2008-11-19T13:52:00.000-08:00

It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation.

Yes we can.

It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail toward freedom.

Yes we can.

It was sung by immigrants as they struck out from distant shores and pioneers who pushed westward against an unforgiving wilderness.

Yes we can.

It was the call of workers who organized; women who reached for the ballots; a President who chose the moon as our new frontier; and a King who took us to the mountaintop and pointed the way to the Promised Land.

Yes we can to justice and equality.
Yes we can to opportunity and prosperity.
Yes we can heal this nation.
Yes we can repair this world.
Yes we can.

We know the battle ahead will be long, but always remember that no matter what obstacles stand in our way, nothing can stand in the way of the power of millions of voices calling for change. (We want change.)

We have been told we cannot do this by a chorus of cynics…they will only grow louder and more dissonant ……….. We’ve been asked to pause for a reality check. We’ve been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope.

But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope.
Now the hopes of the little girl who goes to a crumbling school in Dillon are the same as the dreams of the boy who learns on the streets of LA; we will remember that there is something happening in America; that we are not as divided as our politics suggests; that we are one people; we are one nation; and together, we will begin the next great chapter in the American story with three words that will ring from coast to coast; from sea to shining sea:

Yes We Can

-beautiful speech by of Obama. Would it be as legendary as Martin Lurther King's Mountaintop Speech?

YES WE CAN

2008-11-19T11:30:00.000-08:00

..and the whole world smiles.

and i thought stars shine forever

2008-11-18T16:27:00.000-08:00

unhappiness is like a vacuum that sucks a huge deep blackhole in your soul,
filling it with cavity, making use of none,
and suddenly, there is no happy memories to keep that spirit alive,
no energy to rejuvenate, no heart to make shift your tears.

it stays muddled like the dead sea,
anguishing over in the swirl of condemnation,
haunted pale faces of the past try and reach,
and you stare hollowly back,
giving in to their deadly gaze.

wait for the sun to shine,
wait for rain to fall,
wait till the flood bring life to the pool,
and rainbow gleam.

and then you walk up and away,
looking back, dreading,
the next time you will visit its slumer eternity again.

puffed balls

2008-11-14T19:10:00.000-08:00

i saw puff balls at euston. pigeons, i mean. perching on the edge of their claws,
digging it deep into the ground, and their puffed up feathers
make them look as if they're wobbling on top of the grass.

*wobble wobble*

and then came rare white- brown pigeon, flying from the sky,
looking around at the most warmest, happiest bird,
poked him in the head, force him to go away,
and took up his sunny spot, before puffing his own feathers.

he had to start again. looking slightly sleepy and pissed,
he ruffled up his shiny grey coat,
closed his eyes, probably mumbled some curse and join the slumber of the puff balls.

i am still dreaming

2008-11-05T14:13:00.001-08:00

i always take the bus route that passes through a column of houses
with small square garden in front.
the small plot of land, most of them bare soil,
some with flowers, others with useful greens,
seem out of place.

there are little windows there,
interior almost always dark.
sometimes i see an indian woman,
true to her roots in bright sari,
in midst of autumn.

one day,
i saw an old lady,
an old engligh lady,
staring out of the lifeless window,

she looks like a young girl.

she sat by the window,
her elbow propped on the sill,
her hands cupping her cheeks,
eyes upward to the sky with hope.

like a child of six-years-old,
trying to make out shapes in the cloud.
or enjoying the falling of leaves from the tree,
a dreamy look,
starry eyes.

was she thinking of her youth?
of how when she was young and a child in her father's arm,
when her house is big, and garden
twenty times bigger than the plot in front of her,
and trees and forest abundent,
and she in her frock.

and now, she stares out of that window.
white puffy hair,
wrinkled skin.
but the same twinkling eyes.

a side story of the palestine conference

2008-11-03T05:11:00.000-08:00

a conversation between azzam tamimi and a malaysian student.

azzam : Are you from Malaysia? Which part of Malaysia are you from?

malaysian guy : Oh, I am from Kelantan.

azzam : Kelantan? Nik Aziz! I know him very well. I sent a student there to study with him. I've been there.

malaysian guy : Oh! really?

azzam : Nik Aziz reminds me of Saidina Umar Al-Khattab.

:)

azzam tamimi is an active palestinian activist who speaks with such passion, he raise goosebumps everytime he speaks of his country. He wants to RETURN.

along rich kensington

2008-11-03T04:17:00.000-08:00

i saw a man in tuxedo in the cadillac showroom.
he was looking out suspiciously
a group of arab youth outside his crystal-glass door,
and quickly pulled out an expensive looking slr and took a few shots of them.

i saw a group of elegant men and women in cocktail dresses and tuxes,
laughing, wine in hand, talking and easily exudes a luxurious aura,
outside ms.hilton's treasure trove,
the hilton hotel of london.

a posh secretary,
long legs, shiny hair, immaculate suit,
talking on the phone, perching on her leather seat,
sitting amongst aston martins.

i walked by two 'big issue' sellers by their stand at euston.
shaggy, haggard, sheepish twinkle in their eyes when looking at each others
unsold magazines.

"i got robbed last night"
"goodness, really? whereabout?"
"camden town"

and merrily they laughed.

african lullaby

2008-10-25T16:55:00.000-07:00

an african woman sell her colourful goods on the floor of the market.
traditional, african clothing.
so out of place in this cold, grey british sky.
sitting restlessly. tired eyes proud.
softly chanting to herself.

she saw her kinswomen.
tried to speak to them in her hearty voice.
none looked back friendly.
to each his or her own.

in this foreign land,
foreigners need to move on,
the colourful garment only serve
to bring back the smell of the African soil,
whether its colourful like the exotic leaves that flutter,
or bleak like the dunes of black sands,
it is path left behind.
a heavy ache in the heart.

by noon, the african woman stood
looking down on her bundle of unsold goods,
a sad smile adorn her leathery face,
eyes a longing distance,
singing a song from land far away.

singing an african lullaby.

a humble slave

2008-10-25T16:27:00.000-07:00

i met a man so polite, his voice was like an angel. soft, kind and pleasing.
he is not a beggar, but a man worthy of your money, and empathy.
i was greatly humbled in front of my Lord at the sight of him.

an albino skin. pinkish white.
a big, prominent nose, it almost seem unnatural.
upturned eyelids, bloodshot red amidst his skin white.
with lips quivering with each sound of great gratitude.
the most kindest of eyes.

dear Lord, whatever happened to this man?
it looked like radioactive burn had melted his rubber mask and scraped the skin off his face.
was he born that way, was he tortured so?
to be the money for some sick animalled men,
who chided with human's sympathy by torturing potential beggars.
the more horrible the feature, the more money they can bring in.

he was holding an old knapsack.
opening the pocket with stumped hands.
looking at you with wet eyes,
a shaterred smile.

'thank you;
'have a nice day'
'have a nice journey'
'take care'

Dear Lord, this man is a jewel.
how could his mouth only utter good wishes for people who would look at him,
with fear and sympathy, pity and and sadness.
such strong heart.

Dear Lord, i am most humble.
most naive, most not knowing.
You are the Only Mighty One who knows Everything ever.
Only You know his life, his deeds, his heart,
his future, his death, his after life,
his heaven, his hell, his Judgement Day.
What he had done, what he is to do,
what is best for him, what is not,
for everything is under Your gaze.
and Your Knowing.

I could only so much pray for this man.
With my humble knowledge of him,
i pray He lives under Your protection,
Your blessing and Your Rahmat.
i pray, InsyaAllah,
this man is worthy of Your Heaven.

Dear Lord,
Most Gracious,
never have i been so humbled,
forgive me from my sin, dear Lord.
forgive me for my arrogance.
I am forever grateful to You.
for every single breath You bestowed on me.
for every single cell and atom You give me.
may it make me a stronger muslimah,
and not lead me astray.

I am grateful for having to meet this man.
For bringing to me a feeling so deep.
to remind us human of who we really are.
Your servant, my Lord.

May this man receive Your most blessing reward for that, InsyaAllah.

With all my Love.

2008-10-19T13:50:00.000-07:00

love is that feeling that just burst in your heart.

my heart astoned.

2008-10-19T12:56:00.000-07:00

Do you question God or God question you?

If we take morality out of this world, and everything is allowed, are we really going to be happy? (questioning brother kamarazov quote)

i met monika again. five-months pregnant now. selling big issue on a folding chair. looking tired as hell. i didnt want to meet her again. i had broken a promise. a promise to save her. to get a life for her. i could not do it. i didnt even try.

why would she want to see me?

i had left her four months ago with nothing but a hope.

and yet, when she sets her eyes on me, pleasant shock was all over her. i smiled nervously.

she stood up immediately. abandoning potential donor to open her arms and hug me.

i closed my eyes. i didnt even think of the insignificant others in the whole of london around me. i cherish her warmness.

asked her how its all going. said she is registered with a hospital. need clothes if possible. i nod. hardly daring to promise again.

gave few bleak words of encouragement. soothing my soul as much. feeling absolutely useless.

farewell.

unearthed.

2008-08-21T22:45:00.001-07:00

i open the door of possibilities.
took a careful cautious step within.
everything so familiar yet so deranged.

one wrong step, you bleed.
another turn, another mystery.
hold mystery in your hand.
trust your curiosity.

open.

and wonders appear.
the years you spent on earth
caught up with you.
merged. meshed. separated by age.
bits of pieces of you.

open.

and you find treasures.
a year long yearn.
old, forgotten antiques.
craving touch, wanting light.

open.

and be aware.
harsh, metallic, coiled.
staring at you coldly.
close it.

open.

and the world spins.
you are everywhere yet nowhere.
you see everyone with no one.
you cry with no pain.
laugh but nothing tickles.
a heart. a soul. bounded.

close it and save for another day.

till every littlest things lay uncovered,
open.

australian invasion

2008-08-21T22:32:00.000-07:00

A very weird observation report from Level 5 Office, SC.

Walk along the corridors of office, and try to peer into your office mates desks.

You could expect pictures of family members, babies, little notes, inspirational quotes, jokes, some art, and little tit bits of stuff that hangs around, looking pretty. Or cuddly. Or nostalgic.

Look closer.

And traaah!~

I've so far uncovered australian paraphelia, momentos, stuff, memorables and symbols at each every glance I take!

Little cuddly koala bears with colourful tiny shirt saying 'I heart Australia'. Those classic 'i've been australia and heres a gift for you' thing.

Sydney Opera House miniature in crystal glass.

Wooden keychain with AUSTRALIA on it.

more koala bears. a little bit of kangaroos.

i went to my boss' desk. files, books, papers. Smart toys. Star wars. Looked harder. AND THERE~ clipped between a book, a telltale sign of a koala's butt.

I can so recognize the gray fur and rubber claws.

sunset at maroubra, full moon at bondi.

2008-07-21T17:27:00.000-07:00

i was never much of a beach person. love them as much as any other person would. but the beaches in sydney are almost poetical. its like living a post-card dream.

i love maroubra best for its cliffs and rocks that jutted out at the shore of the beach. the cliffs have the most amazing textures. sometimes taking in the shape of bubbles, like the leftovers by waves. sometimes long swirly lines with all shades of brown. and rocks formed cliffs from as tall as buildings to little ones and form caves and coves that would be an awesome party place at night.

most amazing is the fact that the cliffs are built from the combination of big rocks from nowhere and pounded sands. work that must have taken millenniums for the sands are so compact, it is as hard as cement and make the foundation of the jagged cliffs that ran along the beach.

you can stand at the base of any cliff that ran into the sea and see the waves crash against the cliff and give you a momentary sight of aqua blue wall before it drenches you with its cool spray of water. and you feel like you just escaped death.

i found the most beautiful natural pool by the seaside here. the rocks formed along the beach created a pool so deep with little entree for seawater and the rocks are not tall, thus big waves bring more life into that secluded pool.

the pool is in the shape of a bowl. with deep center. the water is like glass. literally. very clear with a tinge of green. and you can see the life and wonders inside this pool with naked eye. pink corals as soft as velvet cushioned the wall of the pool. with big aqua plants here and there. and little barnacles everywhere. and tiny fishes hiding behind seaweeds. and the deeper it goes, the bigger the aqua flowers and sponges. deep pink with green moss and such.

i took a picture of it. looks as if im taking a picture of a floor full of those aqua living things. thats how clear the water is. and you could take off your clothes and shoes and have a dip. ripples of wave is the only break to its ethereal stillness.

near sunset, fehy and me took a swim near the shrubs. with huge stones and rocks that jutted out from the sands all the way into the sea. we seek refuge behind the stones and swam with the fishes as we watch the sky turns pastel pink. sun set opposite the sea horizon.

the sea is deep deep ocean blue. contrasted most beautifully with the deep deep brown of the rocks. like the picture from steve mccurry's album of the sri lankan sea.

the sky above the horizon turns pastel. with very faint white moon. deep blue of the ocean, light pastel blue sky, and topped by a pastel pink, and pastel purple and very pale blue.

opposite it, where the sun sets, the sky is a raging fire behind the deep black shadow of the town and tall trees. a brilliant orange of a fire, fusing with deep fuchsia and bright sky.

as the fire grows amber, the cool blue horizon of the sea turns darker. taking turns and exchanging the intensity of colours. until the sun is merely a wink of shy orange and the moon is a silver orb.

and the seawater warm.

in bondi, it was full moon. the sand is cold and the waves are crashing violent. and the most beautiful reflection of the moon is rippled by the waves. black ocean with gleaming white light shine its surface. and you can perfectly see the sea ripples.

and it is the most beautiful feeling.

arent we almost there?

2008-07-12T06:52:00.000-07:00

a man with a wise smile and the bluest blue eyes. said he doesnt want to be in the place he is to be now.

a girl bowing her head low, hair draping her face, writing numbers on paper. she needs food and bed. would be happy for a bit of cash.

and the world goes round. it could easily have been you.

heart-felt sydney. this day today

2008-07-12T06:32:00.000-07:00

there is a pilgrimage this morning. nuns with long veils and cross necklaces everywhere. funny no one gave them funny looks. youth from all over earth gathered in the name of Christianity.

there is a heart-wrenching demonstration this afternoon. calling for sympathy and action from all Falun Gong practitioners. there were no utters, only silence. pictures of truth scream loudest.

there is a protest to unveil the truth right before sunset. the 'ugly truth' of scientology, exposed by men wearing vendetta masks. so 'they' cannot recognize 'them'.

there is a one-man preach this night. voice reaching no ears. people passing by deaf. the man used his microphone. preaching to abandon self and serve Jesus Christ.

there is a girl amidst sydney today. amazed by the diversity of spirituality. different callings, different actions. all touched her heart, in the name of Humanity. Praying to Allah to light our way.

a diamond amidst cold

2008-07-11T14:06:00.000-07:00

i met robert on a cold sunset at melbourne. i met him twice in fact. he sat by the shop lots, looking lost as if he does not belong in this world we call ours. his red-rimmed eyes looked anywhere but you. slurring more than talking. a piece of brown cardboard box lay beside him. with arts from his whithered hands to be criticized by the critical eyes.

he was drawing when i talked to him. a castle. two minarets, a reflection of each other except they were pointing in opposite directions. chalk on street. an elegant opposite reflection of a castle. where is this castle? 'this castle does not exist' a smile tinged his red eyes. and an emblem of a blue bird was drawn next to the castle.

yesterday, in country victoria,
a man was found drowned in a septic tank.
the officer said it was 'sewer-cide'.

peter jackson's cigarrete is for those above 16 and older.
for those under 16 years old,
theres michael jackson.

by robert.

2008-07-06T00:53:00.000-07:00

LADY BY THE WATER

a black mirror stares back at you. jagged brim, poised threat.
enticing you to stare deep into its opaque darkness,
a little bit of finger, just to keep that heart stop aflutter,
and its gone.

a lady stares into the sky.
lying on her side, frozen for infernity,
hands draped over the liquid black,
barely touching the surface, yet just there.
curled like a fetus, her long legs curved along the stone,
forever baring to the sun and to the moon,
eyes a lonely emptiness,
mouth a silent prayer,
hair grazing gracefully over her full naked nipples,
a proud agony.
daring anyone to free her from the solid black.

2008-07-05T02:28:00.000-07:00

ODE TO APHRODISIAC

how do thy describe thee?
thee comes from the exotic blue jewel mystery,
riding the water through waves of winds,
or nestles deep in ocean's heart,
forming treasure in thy belly,
becoming an aphrodisiac by nature and glory,
soft pearl grey flesh, enticing in its entirety,
luring with promises from within,
shy pink sheen, hidden under coarse lips,
to be licked and to shudder,
to taste thy freshness, those sweet ocean smell,
to slurp thy softness, and sigh with pleasure,
like a lady after her first ever blood,
thy proves the sweetest.

2008-06-15T17:45:00.000-07:00

ode to darkness.

in a metal cocoon above the clouds
pitch black darkness, startling twinkles
i could have been inside singularity
i could have been in the euclidean world
a moving expansion of linear,
yet not a distance
time passes by,
but the clouds remain unmoved
its like hovering above an end game
where movement is only time

is there even a world down there?
its pitch black abyss, the face of the earth
could have been wiped off without us knowing
a telltale sign of the glimmering studs
enchanting, luring, trapped.
a blinking light of the metal wing.

could one be consumed by darkness?
a black hole of a memory
its dark, the only colors are memories
and only memory.
vivid, haunting, trapped.
yet at peace in the slumber of the heart.

a universe of darkness that envelops your soul from deep wihin,
intimidating.
The Glory of The Almighty,
the dark night that extort your sins again before you,
a heavy heart, a single tear.

journey of the worlds.

2008-06-11T09:18:00.000-07:00

i dream a dream i wish i did not dream. my soul wanders to unknown dimension. ive been to places so real and vivid. i know my soul is very light and it can fly. i know my soul thinks about me as often as i think of my soul.

on the beach, light fairy footsteps, with no sense of touch to feel that soft grainy sand. but i know thats how it would have felt like. plunging down a cliff into jewel blue sea. plunge deep and deeper. into giant corals and the silence of the ocean. i cant swim in real life. and i cant now.

my mother is always very beautiful in dreams. God bless her soul. she has happy face and wears white clothes. and sometimes, a blue angel with the most brilliant eyes.

i have seen bad influences in my dreams. and i have only and only need a prayer. a strong shield of protection from the Almighty. The light shimmers, glows and dims. Sometimes leaving you in the total darkness of an abyss. the strength of your inner being. sometimes i would have the prayer for shield. At most special time a spoon for weapon. sometimes i would be lost for words. mantra gurgled in my throat, mouth locked in stone. one time i vomited words, hoping a prayer. the evil one laughed.

your soul ends up at the same place more than once. things seem familiar even though it feels surreal to your physical being. sometimes a spectrum of the real world. sometimes a strange place being familiar. at times, you hover right above your shell of a body.

a golden wing arched above chaos of the earth. a golden sky with the loved and saved ones. i am looking with envy and desperation. in the midst of apocalypse.

when your soul is hurt in a dream, you dont feel the pain, you feel the feeling of the pain. when your body is hurt in the real world, your senses rupture with pain, your soul screams a silent agony. how do you tell them apart?

have you really woken up from your dream?

them inevitables

2008-05-28T19:53:00.000-07:00

i see smart sharp suits. immaculate hair, frowns done artfully. briefcases in hand, eyes forward. only a straight path where money and power lies. luxury and wealth. round-the-clock work and more to come. an ant in the giant nest of corporation. like the smiling robots in billboard. successful, happy, unmoved.

i see them slouched, papercups in hand. asking for that penny or two that would never leave your handbags anyway. the same clothes day and again. with dogs, a leg missing, hungry eyes, loyal to death. lying under old blankets, inside broken guitar cases, the warm glow of a lonely beggars' life.

standing across waterloo, a fine sunny day. bustling office workers. loosen ties, hands reaching for beer. another day gone, another day same, the difference is the sun.

beggars having a conference in a garden. dogs paying tags, roaming and chasing. bunsen burner cooking little bits of what they could buy to share. laughing. shaking heads at unsold bundles of big issue.

a man with a cloth laid in front of him, begging for change outside the tube station, reading a tattered copy of Shakespeare.

an old punk, with battered leather jacket, kneeling in the grass listening to an old radio with grief etched his leathered cheek. he doesn't beg. he looks over his friends' dogs while they do. i wonder if he had the chance of a lifetime, destroyed.

a woman crying. old, white, haggard. punk-ish and harsh. wanted to kill herself by jumping on the train tracks. kept saying they had her baby.

the man who said i had the most beautiful smile.

arab warrior

2008-05-28T19:49:00.000-07:00

euston station, with its common black cabs and common drivers. bland grey sky, hidden sun. a stark contrast to the arab prince hailing a cab for his family, ignored. veiled women, crying babies. a handsome man in suit. and a gold jeweled dagger tucked neatly behind his coat. glimmering ancient secrets of exotic faraway kingdom in this cold land.

monika and shaira

2008-05-28T16:59:00.000-07:00

i met monika selling big issue. i thought she looked like a lady i met on the train before. i might be mistaken. or i might not be. she looked haggard like how a beggar looks like. sullen skin, two golden teeth, tired eyes. she's 17. with a one month fetus in her stomach. and another two hungry young ones homeless in edmonton. and another one of her dead sister's offspring. a husband, a year older, selling the same thing. no shelter, living by the street, babies crawling where rats do.

she has very beautiful eyes. romanian, and would never want to return there.

i met shaira at bayswater. extremely pretty with a beautiful child. living in a caravan, another 2 children waiting to be fed. a muslim refugee from kosovo. 19 years old. she must have been a baby when her parents brought her here to glory land. a broken promise, a message sent.

muslim aid available at whitechapel. you need to write your stories, fill application letter, post it to them and wait for reply. first, you need to know help exist. second, get a permanent home address. third, afford pen, paper, envelope and stamp. fourth, walk into post office amidst staring public and hope to get a reply within two months. for real.

i am as hopeless as they are. money flows everywhere. just not to them. May Allah SWT bless their heart and soul. And May He gives them the true rich and wealth in Jannah. For that is the ultimate end. and the ultimate pursuit for happiness.

time traveller

2008-05-28T16:35:00.000-07:00

i saw a great white dog, slightly bigger than a big goat. an old man in russian fur hat and moleskin boots. standing tall and sharp like a soldier. looking at an ancient tree. sitting on the news stand. lost. waiting. a time tunnel must be open tonight. i look at my watch. it says : 13 o'clock.