interest

'it's their fault', screams the suited man as his dreams come to naught. he had money in his hands but it was never real, only shadows of interest, to which he payed too much interest, and sold his life for it all to be taken away and now he's left with nothing, or even less, or more.

what's more than nothing? a wise man used to say, 'the half of it's not much', but not everyone can understand that realm of logic. nothing is what you get when you pay everything on top of debts in which you owe more than the seller sold. a devious trick to distort the mind and wage war on the Benefactor, the most High who decides all price..

so at what cost comes nothing? it's priceless, and unbuyable. there is no nothingness anymore, it's been had. except when everything is dead and the Almighty king says, 'Whose is the kingdom today? - Allah, the One, the Irresistable'.

and a day of reckoning when all those who had been suited in their best prada and dolce&gabbana shirts and ties are risen up to account for their 'interest'ing accounting, after which comes an everlasting gloom (and even gloom is a pretty word, which those proponents will wish for, and cry and beg for, and never attain).

fed with the disgust of unimaginable pain, and filthiness, eternally regretting not listening to these words, and only wanting to die, and to have never existed.

and that's a never that's just as impossible to attain as nothingness and oblivion. and just as unimaginable..

so die in your state if you dare, and we'll see you on the other side.

witness that at least we told you, as you lie in the darkness you prepared for yourself.

interesting, isnt it?

my first ever sonnet: on man

man makes things more difficult for himself,
because he's got nothing better to do.
he wont take the help of anyone else,
he's afraid to walk in another's shoes.
arguing he can't find a solution,
not even looking for one anyway,
instead wandering in blind confusion
expecting to find an answer some day.
ego hurt by this inability
self-esteem shattered almost to the core.
revealed man's innocent fragility.
he doesn't want to exist any more.
oh man, dont take these problems to heart.
force the self into making a new start..

vision

seems like you're in a little paddling boat
trying to get to the middle of the ocean -
thinking you'll find something there.
but if you arrive all you'll find,
is that you're a million miles from any shore
with nowhere to land and no solid ground.

so it's better to stay on your island
of knowledge, slowly building it up
against the stormy seas -
til you have a continent,
then you can begin to build bridges
to reach the others,
instead of looking for cracks in ideas
without knowing the plan..

travelling

gone are the times, one would suppose, when the pen can run free. as constraint pulls in from everywhere and the thoughts that could be seen, never heard, to be unpalateable are so hard to put into words. this makes reading so much more difficult, and the writer's imprisoned in a self-imposed h-block.

as in those ozzy soaps, the walls are mere paper, and atoms, weak to the mind that perceives beyond all that, seem to tower above in structures too great to overcome. however, all minds are susceptible to that kind of restraint. our world is designed to confuse us in this way, so as to test us in our ability to realise.

the path to realisation is long, and frought with so many obstacles that all travellers need a guide. we see so many who dont even know they're on a path to begin with - those who perceive their existence as a mere frolic through the garden of desires and pleasure, without direction or limit to what it is permissible or no, and it's so tempting just to join that throng, but the mind just wont allow it.

it's a blessed feeling to be in the state of intermediate understanding which places one between knowing and un-knowing, past the border of ignorance - a barrier perilous to cross back over once one has broken through..

..to know Allah has specifically mentioned one's name,

..to know that He has a special purpose for you

..to take the time to ponder, and to try to find what that special something is, and to turn away from the unreality of those created things, and rely completely on Him, who cares, and knows, and is over every-thing, powerful.

oh the beauty of being a servant to the Almighty. the only true happiness comes from this state. and this happiness is not easy to contemplate, or describe, because one cannot describe something to one who hasnt experienced anything similar. words do not qualify, just meaning beyond feeling perhaps.

so a writer, when putting the words down has no hope of touching the hearts with anything like the taste of what knowing the Knower is like, has to only hope that hearts with their innate yearning start to turn back towards that Truth and essence of all existence, to take their place among the travellers on the returning path.