#arfamasihuddin

33 posts
  • arfamasihuddin 33w

    Standing afar,
    and yet,
    so near,
    I see
    the smoke of love
    turning into mist.
    How can I let myself
    feel all of that?
    But then,
    you are the secret
    I share with God.

    It is so devastatingly
    beautiful,
    isn't it,
    to fall in love
    with how
    you loved?




    ©arfamasihuddin

  • writersnetwork 36w

    Diaspora Blues

    Out of the marshes,
    I fly, to a land unknown.
    Neither here, nor there.

    The heart tugs at the soul
    and calls out to the Master,
    "Where art, Thou?"

    Walk into the woods.
    Prick, fall, bleed.
    Hear the soft sound of 'breaking'.

    In a crowd of all you love,
    your reflection feels foreign,
    your shadow seems wrong.

    The ugliness of 'why' pins
    me down.
    And all is gone.

    They don't know of the battles.
    It is, but, a glass wall.
    Broken, yet? Slowly, broken.

    Out of the marshes,
    I fly away, to a land unknown.
    Neither here, nor there.


    ©arfamasihuddin

  • readwriteunite 36w

    Originally posted by : @arfamasihuddin
    @mirakeeapp #writersnetwork #writersofmirakee #pod #mirakee #poetsofmirakee #poetry #sufism # love #arfamasihuddin.wordpress.com
    FULL POST: https://arfamasihuddin.wordpress.com/2017/03/11/in-the-middle-of-somewhere/

    Read More

    In the middle of Somewhere

    In the middle of Nowhere,
    I rest,
    thinking of You,
    missing You.

     
    I dip my feet in the easy flow of the
    river, and I run
    my hands over the smoothness of
    the pebbles.

     
    In the middle of Somewhere,
    I look around,
    calling out to you,
    missing you.

     
    The water is cold,
    and
    the pebbles are shining.
    Can you hear the love, too?

     
    In the middle of Everywhere,
    I weep for You,
    because the One
    is You.

     
    The flowers are gorgeous,
    can you feel them, too?
    The grass is misty,
    and so are my eyes.

     
    In the middle of Nowhere,
    I rest,
    thinking of You,
    missing You.

     

    The night descends,
    and I fall into
    Dreams of
    The Pilgrimage to You.

     
    In the middle of Somewhere,
    I look around,
    calling out to you,
    missing you.

     
    The dawn of the birds
    flies me to You,
    And I embrace
    myself through You.

     
    In the middle of Everywhere,
    I weep for You,
    because the One
    is You.


    ©arfamasihuddin

  • arfamasihuddin 36w

    @mirakeeapp #writersnetwork #writersofmirakee #pod #mirakee #poetsofmirakee #poetry #sufism # love #arfamasihuddin.wordpress.com
    FULL POST: https://arfamasihuddin.wordpress.com/2017/03/11/in-the-middle-of-somewhere/

    Read More

    In the middle of Somewhere

    In the middle of Nowhere,
    I rest,
    thinking of You,
    missing You.

     
    I dip my feet in the easy flow of the
    river, and I run
    my hands over the smoothness of
    the pebbles.

     
    In the middle of Somewhere,
    I look around,
    calling out to you,
    missing you.

     
    The water is cold,
    and
    the pebbles are shining.
    Can you hear the love, too?

     
    In the middle of Everywhere,
    I weep for You,
    because the One
    is You.

     
    The flowers are gorgeous,
    can you feel them, too?
    The grass is misty,
    and so are my eyes.

     
    In the middle of Nowhere,
    I rest,
    thinking of You,
    missing You.

     

    The night descends,
    and I fall into
    Dreams of
    The Pilgrimage to You.

     
    In the middle of Somewhere,
    I look around,
    calling out to you,
    missing you.

     
    The dawn of the birds
    flies me to You,
    And I embrace
    myself through You.

     
    In the middle of Everywhere,
    I weep for You,
    because the One
    is You.


    ©arfamasihuddin

  • writersnetwork 36w

    Unfold Your Own Myth

    Theirs was a simple story. It didn't make you laugh, it didn't make you cry. It made you gasp in wonder. It made your heart beat loudly. It strangled your breath and it made you wonder if such a story even existed, if two such individuals were even possible? And because they were, it made the Optimistic You laugh at the Pessimist You.

    They were old, conservative doctors. And you walk into their clinic to witness the most incredible of all sights. Why, you ask?

    A middle-aged man sat behind the doctor's table, listening attentively to the patient seated before him. You can see his forehead wrinkled with the exhaustion of empathy and professionalism and the awareness of the sacred trust that a patient places upon his doctor. He is sitting up straight, his posture dignifying his confidence, but his eyes are compassionate; and that is exactly why he is always busy.

    But there is something strange, something unusual about him. His left arm is missing, and the right hand is missing some fingers. You look at him and you ask yourself, "How can he examine his patients?" But you see, he absolutely can.

    On his right hand, is seated with grace the companion of his life. His wife.

    What can be better than putting all those years of medical school to some excellent use by living your dream and by ensuring that your husband gets to live his? Why not? Isn't that companionship? Isn't that what men and women have been running after? Time was the sole witness to that.
    And that  was their story.
    She examined the patients - felt their pulse, palpated the tender areas of hyperalgesia that kept them awake at night, and bandaged their wounds. He looked at their patients, careful to not miss out on any detail. Had they been eating properly? Was their cough dry? How often did they experience those headaches?

    She felt. He understood. They diagnosed and treated together with a trust that was holy magic and could never go wrong because lives mattered. Together, they evaluated. Their minds worked in sync.They were not two doctors, they were one. There was no competition, how could there be? A biochemist and a pathologist work together for the greater good, and they knew that happily. Sheets of prescriptions became proof of them, of the unbelievable bond that they shared. Diseases were cured,  and satisfied patients became their family. Trust thrived and love bloomed.

    And this, dear reader, was their simple story.
    Now, does that not make you wonder? Does that not make your heart thump loudly? Does it notstrangle your breath with the uniqueness of its existence? You see, miracles do happen. Wabi-Sabi does exist. Life is beautiful...with worthy people.

    “Don't be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.” -  Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi, 'The Essential Rumi'.


    ©arfamasihuddin

  • writers_paradise 37w

    A little too much

    Is it possible to love
    too much?
    She asked.

    I told her it is.
    But
    It is terrifyingly beautiful.

    Like the setting sun,
    going orange, silently?
    She asked.

    Like the darkness of
    the universe,
    I said.

    How will I know if it's loving too much?
    A little too much?
    She asked.

    Your heart will sink
    and your limbs will be heavy
    and it will hurt, oh, just a little too much!

    Will it break me?
    She asked.
    Will it?

    Don't be scared, I smiled.
    The Broken will be a Gorgeous Whole.

    Break! Endure! Bleed!
    And
    then return to Yourself.

    Why do we love
    too much?
    She asked again.

    Because God loves too
    much.
    I told her again.

    A child of Adam
    seeks a home.
    And he loves too much.

    A child of Eve
    gives a home.
    And she loves too much.

    Yes, we love too much.
    It is possible
    to love too much.

    But,
    she asked.
    What is too much?

    And then,
    I smiled a tired smile.
    A grateful smile...

    The slow curve of the Ansoo Lake,
    and the snow on the Alps,
    and your...aansoo.

    That
    is
    too much..

    It is possible to love
    too much, yes,
    I said.

    It is possible
    to love
    too much.






    ©arfamasihuddin

  • sejalm 38w

    A little too much

    Is it possible to love
    too much?
    She asked.

    I told her it is.
    But
    It is terrifyingly beautiful.

    Like the setting sun,
    going orange, silently?
    She asked.

    Like the darkness of
    the universe,
    I said.

    How will I know if it's loving too much?
    A little too much?
    She asked.

    Your heart will sink
    and your limbs will be heavy
    and it will hurt, oh, just a little too much!

    Will it break me?
    She asked.
    Will it?

    Don't be scared, I smiled.
    The Broken will be a Gorgeous Whole.

    Break! Endure! Bleed!
    And
    then return to Yourself.

    Why do we love
    too much?
    She asked again.

    Because God loves too
    much.
    I told her again.

    A child of Adam
    seeks a home.
    And he loves too much.

    A child of Eve
    gives a home.
    And she loves too much.

    Yes, we love too much.
    It is possible
    to love too much.

    But,
    she asked.
    What is too much?

    And then,
    I smiled a tired smile.
    A grateful smile...

    The slow curve of the Ansoo Lake,
    and the snow on the Alps,
    and your...aansoo.

    That
    is
    too much..

    It is possible to love
    too much, yes,
    I said.

    It is possible
    to love
    too much.






    ©arfamasihuddin

  • fauzia 38w

    A little too much

    Is it possible to love
    too much?
    She asked.

    I told her it is.
    But
    It is terrifyingly beautiful.

    Like the setting sun,
    going orange, silently?
    She asked.

    Like the darkness of
    the universe,
    I said.

    How will I know if it's loving too much?
    A little too much?
    She asked.

    Your heart will sink
    and your limbs will be heavy
    and it will hurt, oh, just a little too much!

    Will it break me?
    She asked.
    Will it?

    Don't be scared, I smiled.
    The Broken will be a Gorgeous Whole.

    Break! Endure! Bleed!
    And
    then return to Yourself.

    Why do we love
    too much?
    She asked again.

    Because God loves too
    much.
    I told her again.

    A child of Adam
    seeks a home.
    And he loves too much.

    A child of Eve
    gives a home.
    And she loves too much.

    Yes, we love too much.
    It is possible
    to love too much.

    But,
    she asked.
    What is too much?

    And then,
    I smiled a tired smile.
    A grateful smile...

    The slow curve of the Ansoo Lake,
    and the snow on the Alps,
    and your...aansoo.

    That
    is
    too much..

    It is possible to love
    too much, yes,
    I said.

    It is possible
    to love
    too much.






    ©arfamasihuddin

  • she_wrote 38w

    A little too much

    Is it possible to love
    too much?
    She asked.

    I told her it is.
    But
    It is terrifyingly beautiful.

    Like the setting sun,
    going orange, silently?
    She asked.

    Like the darkness of
    the universe,
    I said.

    How will I know if it's loving too much?
    A little too much?
    She asked.

    Your heart will sink
    and your limbs will be heavy
    and it will hurt, oh, just a little too much!

    Will it break me?
    She asked.
    Will it?

    Don't be scared, I smiled.
    The Broken will be a Gorgeous Whole.

    Break! Endure! Bleed!
    And
    then return to Yourself.

    Why do we love
    too much?
    She asked again.

    Because God loves too
    much.
    I told her again.

    A child of Adam
    seeks a home.
    And he loves too much.

    A child of Eve
    gives a home.
    And she loves too much.

    Yes, we love too much.
    It is possible
    to love too much.

    But,
    she asked.
    What is too much?

    And then,
    I smiled a tired smile.
    A grateful smile...

    The slow curve of the Ansoo Lake,
    and the snow on the Alps,
    and your...aansoo.

    That
    is
    too much..

    It is possible to love
    too much, yes,
    I said.

    It is possible
    to love
    too much.






    ©arfamasihuddin

  • readwriteunite 38w

    A little too much

    Is it possible to love
    too much?
    She asked.

    I told her it is.
    But
    It is terrifyingly beautiful.

    Like the setting sun,
    going orange, silently?
    She asked.

    Like the darkness of
    the universe,
    I said.

    How will I know if it's loving too much?
    A little too much?
    She asked.

    Your heart will sink
    and your limbs will be heavy
    and it will hurt, oh, just a little too much!

    Will it break me?
    She asked.
    Will it?

    Don't be scared, I smiled.
    The Broken will be a Gorgeous Whole.

    Break! Endure! Bleed!
    And
    then return to Yourself.

    Why do we love
    too much?
    She asked again.

    Because God loves too
    much.
    I told her again.

    A child of Adam
    seeks a home.
    And he loves too much.

    A child of Eve
    gives a home.
    And she loves too much.

    Yes, we love too much.
    It is possible
    to love too much.

    But,
    she asked.
    What is too much?

    And then,
    I smiled a tired smile.
    A grateful smile...

    The slow curve of the Ansoo Lake,
    and the snow on the Alps,
    and your...aansoo.

    That
    is
    too much..

    It is possible to love
    too much, yes,
    I said.

    It is possible
    to love
    too much.






    ©arfamasihuddin

  • writersnetwork 38w

    A little too much

    Is it possible to love
    too much?
    She asked.

    I told her it is.
    But
    It is terrifyingly beautiful.

    Like the setting sun,
    going orange, silently?
    She asked.

    Like the darkness of
    the universe,
    I said.

    How will I know if it's loving too much?
    A little too much?
    She asked.

    Your heart will sink
    and your limbs will be heavy
    and it will hurt, oh, just a little too much!

    Will it break me?
    She asked.
    Will it?

    Don't be scared, I smiled.
    The Broken will be a Gorgeous Whole.

    Break! Endure! Bleed!
    And
    then return to Yourself.

    Why do we love
    too much?
    She asked again.

    Because God loves too
    much.
    I told her again.

    A child of Adam
    seeks a home.
    And he loves too much.

    A child of Eve
    gives a home.
    And she loves too much.

    Yes, we love too much.
    It is possible
    to love too much.

    But,
    she asked.
    What is too much?

    And then,
    I smiled a tired smile.
    A grateful smile...

    The slow curve of the Ansoo Lake,
    and the snow on the Alps,
    and your...aansoo.

    That
    is
    too much..

    It is possible to love
    too much, yes,
    I said.

    It is possible
    to love
    too much.






    ©arfamasihuddin

  • anne_verse 38w

    A little too much

    Is it possible to love
    too much?
    She asked.

    I told her it is.
    But
    It is terrifyingly beautiful.

    Like the setting sun,
    going orange, silently?
    She asked.

    Like the darkness of
    the universe,
    I said.

    How will I know if it's loving too much?
    A little too much?
    She asked.

    Your heart will sink
    and your limbs will be heavy
    and it will hurt, oh, just a little too much!

    Will it break me?
    She asked.
    Will it?

    Don't be scared, I smiled.
    The Broken will be a Gorgeous Whole.

    Break! Endure! Bleed!
    And
    then return to Yourself.

    Why do we love
    too much?
    She asked again.

    Because God loves too
    much.
    I told her again.

    A child of Adam
    seeks a home.
    And he loves too much.

    A child of Eve
    gives a home.
    And she loves too much.

    Yes, we love too much.
    It is possible
    to love too much.

    But,
    she asked.
    What is too much?

    And then,
    I smiled a tired smile.
    A grateful smile...

    The slow curve of the Ansoo Lake,
    and the snow on the Alps,
    and your...aansoo.

    That
    is
    too much..

    It is possible to love
    too much, yes,
    I said.

    It is possible
    to love
    too much.






    ©arfamasihuddin

  • shine_a_name_thats_not_mine 38w

    A little too much

    Is it possible to love
    too much?
    She asked.

    I told her it is.
    But
    It is terrifyingly beautiful.

    Like the setting sun,
    going orange, silently?
    She asked.

    Like the darkness of
    the universe,
    I said.

    How will I know if it's loving too much?
    A little too much?
    She asked.

    Your heart will sink
    and your limbs will be heavy
    and it will hurt, oh, just a little too much!

    Will it break me?
    She asked.
    Will it?

    Don't be scared, I smiled.
    The Broken will be a Gorgeous Whole.

    Break! Endure! Bleed!
    And
    then return to Yourself.

    Why do we love
    too much?
    She asked again.

    Because God loves too
    much.
    I told her again.

    A child of Adam
    seeks a home.
    And he loves too much.

    A child of Eve
    gives a home.
    And she loves too much.

    Yes, we love too much.
    It is possible
    to love too much.

    But,
    she asked.
    What is too much?

    And then,
    I smiled a tired smile.
    A grateful smile...

    The slow curve of the Ansoo Lake,
    and the snow on the Alps,
    and your...aansoo.

    That
    is
    too much..

    It is possible to love
    too much, yes,
    I said.

    It is possible
    to love
    too much.






    ©arfamasihuddin

  • chocofudge_ 38w

    A little too much

    Is it possible to love
    too much?
    She asked.

    I told her it is.
    But
    It is terrifyingly beautiful.

    Like the setting sun,
    going orange, silently?
    She asked.

    Like the darkness of
    the universe,
    I said.

    How will I know if it's loving too much?
    A little too much?
    She asked.

    Your heart will sink
    and your limbs will be heavy
    and it will hurt, oh, just a little too much!

    Will it break me?
    She asked.
    Will it?

    Don't be scared, I smiled.
    The Broken will be a Gorgeous Whole.

    Break! Endure! Bleed!
    And
    then return to Yourself.

    Why do we love
    too much?
    She asked again.

    Because God loves too
    much.
    I told her again.

    A child of Adam
    seeks a home.
    And he loves too much.

    A child of Eve
    gives a home.
    And she loves too much.

    Yes, we love too much.
    It is possible
    to love too much.

    But,
    she asked.
    What is too much?

    And then,
    I smiled a tired smile.
    A grateful smile...

    The slow curve of the Ansoo Lake,
    and the snow on the Alps,
    and your...aansoo.

    That
    is
    too much..

    It is possible to love
    too much, yes,
    I said.

    It is possible
    to love
    too much.






    ©arfamasihuddin

  • arfamasihuddin 38w

    A little too much

    Is it possible to love
    too much?
    She asked.

    I told her it is.
    But
    It is terrifyingly beautiful.

    Like the setting sun,
    going orange, silently?
    She asked.

    Like the darkness of
    the universe,
    I said.

    How will I know if it's loving too much?
    A little too much?
    She asked.

    Your heart will sink
    and your limbs will be heavy
    and it will hurt, oh, just a little too much!

    Will it break me?
    She asked.
    Will it?

    Don't be scared, I smiled.
    The Broken will be a Gorgeous Whole.

    Break! Endure! Bleed!
    And
    then return to Yourself.

    Why do we love
    too much?
    She asked again.

    Because God loves too
    much.
    I told her again.

    A child of Adam
    seeks a home.
    And he loves too much.

    A child of Eve
    gives a home.
    And she loves too much.

    Yes, we love too much.
    It is possible
    to love too much.

    But,
    she asked.
    What is too much?

    And then,
    I smiled a tired smile.
    A grateful smile...

    The slow curve of the Ansoo Lake,
    and the snow on the Alps,
    and your...aansoo.

    That
    is
    too much..

    It is possible to love
    too much, yes,
    I said.

    It is possible
    to love
    too much.






    ©arfamasihuddin

  • merliarider 40w

    Originally posted by : @arfamasihuddin
    #mirakee #writersnetwork #writersofmirakee #pod #writing #arfamasihuddin.wordpress.com #https://arfamasihuddin.wordpress.com/2017/02/16/i-like-the-idea-of-you/

    Read More

    "The idea of you..."

    It was cold out there, and the unsettling feeling of missingsomeone, something, disgruntled him.

     
    He sought the warmth of the coffee shop because the aroma of coffee beans had a magical effect on him; like sending him to sleep. It was like living a reality too..dreamy. You just want to live it forever, don't you? Sit there, beside the window, looking out, far away - into the past and the future - wishing, hoping that someone as crazy as you would turn up and join you in living the silence of being understood.

     
    He walked in, wistfully, and chose his favourite spot. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the seat of the chair and wished and missed. Looking around, he sensed his lonely presence.

     
    Coffee shops were strange places, he mused. You could sit in solitude and listen to people cry over their sorrows and pretend to look away because you don't want to embarrass them. You could listen to people singing over good grades, job promotions, babies, marriages, and you pretend to hide the envy tugging at your heart because they remind you that you have been waiting for too long. You could eavesdrop over unshared troubles, and intelligent political debates and judge while not judging, he chuckled.

     
    He looked around again, hoping to catch a similar soul, troubled by the volatility of its own thoughts and feelings. Disappointed, he sighed, wrapped his hands around the cylindrical plastic cup steaming with his favourite beverage.

     
    Many a time, our imagination can be the biggest dragon in our life, he traced his thoughts on the edge of the cup.

     
    And little did he know, that a few years later, a similar soul troubled by the intensity of her thoughts and feelings would sit right there, sipping on the same, nostalgic aroma of freshly brewed coffee and chocolate chip biscuits, thinking the same things, missing the same.
    And that is called the Game of Destiny.



    ©arfamasihuddin

  • arfamasihuddin 40w

    #mirakee #writersnetwork #writersofmirakee #pod #writing #arfamasihuddin.wordpress.com #https://arfamasihuddin.wordpress.com/2017/02/16/i-like-the-idea-of-you/

    Read More

    "The idea of you..."

    It was cold out there, and the unsettling feeling of missingsomeone, something, disgruntled him.

     
    He sought the warmth of the coffee shop because the aroma of coffee beans had a magical effect on him; like sending him to sleep. It was like living a reality too..dreamy. You just want to live it forever, don't you? Sit there, beside the window, looking out, far away - into the past and the future - wishing, hoping that someone as crazy as you would turn up and join you in living the silence of being understood.

     
    He walked in, wistfully, and chose his favourite spot. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the seat of the chair and wished and missed. Looking around, he sensed his lonely presence.

     
    Coffee shops were strange places, he mused. You could sit in solitude and listen to people cry over their sorrows and pretend to look away because you don't want to embarrass them. You could listen to people singing over good grades, job promotions, babies, marriages, and you pretend to hide the envy tugging at your heart because they remind you that you have been waiting for too long. You could eavesdrop over unshared troubles, and intelligent political debates and judge while not judging, he chuckled.

     
    He looked around again, hoping to catch a similar soul, troubled by the volatility of its own thoughts and feelings. Disappointed, he sighed, wrapped his hands around the cylindrical plastic cup steaming with his favourite beverage.

     
    Many a time, our imagination can be the biggest dragon in our life, he traced his thoughts on the edge of the cup.

     
    And little did he know, that a few years later, a similar soul troubled by the intensity of her thoughts and feelings would sit right there, sipping on the same, nostalgic aroma of freshly brewed coffee and chocolate chip biscuits, thinking the same things, missing the same.
    And that is called the Game of Destiny.



    ©arfamasihuddin

  • writers_paradise 40w

    Sometimes

    Sometimes, I wish I didn't write, or I couldn't write. These words on lifeless paper spell out sadness for me; they are a living proof of the dead hopes and bitter almonds that haunt you when the ghosts don't. And when don't they? They just don't when you are so overwhelmed by what you are not, that you have no choice. You are scarred by blisters and you don't even know why. Or maybe, you do. Because you are afraid of not being the first and the most powerful breath of fresh air that hits a warm, dry desert and helps you mount the Everest of Bliss.

    Sometimes, you wish you didn't feel so much. It's a curse when it brings you to the dry autumn of melancholy and you realize with a sinking heart that you have missed the train - the train that was taking you towards a destination unknown, unheard, unseen, but a destination nevertheless. It shakes you down to your very bones and you hear your joints rattling with the disdain of bittersweet, the kind that leaves you all hopeless and vulnerable and seeking the kind of joy that only the heavens can fetch you.

    Sometimes, I wish I had realised sooner that only the Divine is true and Everlasting and Omniscient and all the rest is just a figment, an illusion to give you a taste of 'happy' and of 'joy'. Only He, and He alone is yours truly and eternally. He is not yours alone, but He is still yours, all yours, forever and now,because He created you with more complexity than the simplicity of your thoughts, and more simplicity than the complexity of your composition. Atoms, elements, compounds - these are but you. And while He created billions of galaxies, He also created you to be its rust, to be its stardust. How could you defy Him? His is the only Love that is yours alone despite being everyone's.
    'And which of the favours of your Lord will you deny?'

    Sometimes, it's the possibility of all and the existence of none that brings you to the shadow of light. Sometimes...sometimes, it's the sun shining after the night, and the Black before the Yellow and Orange that brings you to the coolness of the warmth of home. Sometimes...

    ©arfamasihuddin

  • arfamasihuddin 40w

    Sometimes

    Sometimes, I wish I didn't write, or I couldn't write. These words on lifeless paper spell out sadness for me; they are a living proof of the dead hopes and bitter almonds that haunt you when the ghosts don't. And when don't they? They just don't when you are so overwhelmed by what you are not, that you have no choice. You are scarred by blisters and you don't even know why. Or maybe, you do. Because you are afraid of not being the first and the most powerful breath of fresh air that hits a warm, dry desert and helps you mount the Everest of Bliss.

    Sometimes, you wish you didn't feel so much. It's a curse when it brings you to the dry autumn of melancholy and you realize with a sinking heart that you have missed the train - the train that was taking you towards a destination unknown, unheard, unseen, but a destination nevertheless. It shakes you down to your very bones and you hear your joints rattling with the disdain of bittersweet, the kind that leaves you all hopeless and vulnerable and seeking the kind of joy that only the heavens can fetch you.

    Sometimes, I wish I had realised sooner that only the Divine is true and Everlasting and Omniscient and all the rest is just a figment, an illusion to give you a taste of 'happy' and of 'joy'. Only He, and He alone is yours truly and eternally. He is not yours alone, but He is still yours, all yours, forever and now,because He created you with more complexity than the simplicity of your thoughts, and more simplicity than the complexity of your composition. Atoms, elements, compounds - these are but you. And while He created billions of galaxies, He also created you to be its rust, to be its stardust. How could you defy Him? His is the only Love that is yours alone despite being everyone's.
    'And which of the favours of your Lord will you deny?'

    Sometimes, it's the possibility of all and the existence of none that brings you to the shadow of light. Sometimes...sometimes, it's the sun shining after the night, and the Black before the Yellow and Orange that brings you to the coolness of the warmth of home. Sometimes...

    ©arfamasihuddin

  • arfamasihuddin 41w

    Diaspora Blues

    Out of the marshes,
    I fly, to a land unknown.
    Neither here, nor there.

    The heart tugs at the soul
    and calls out to the Master,
    "Where art, Thou?"

    Walk into the woods.
    Prick, fall, bleed.
    Hear the soft sound of 'breaking'.

    In a crowd of all you love,
    your reflection feels foreign,
    your shadow seems wrong.

    The ugliness of 'why' pins
    me down.
    And all is gone.

    They don't know of the battles.
    It is, but, a glass wall.
    Broken, yet? Slowly, broken.

    Out of the marshes,
    I fly away, to a land unknown.
    Neither here, nor there.


    ©arfamasihuddin