Tuesday 25 December 2012

Twas Winter


Twas the winter of bad decisions,
None of them were bad people,
Satan had not chosen them as significant parts
In his bid to wage war against The Almighty,
No,
They were merely a group of people
Incapable of rising in predictable scenarios,
Miserable apart,
Bitter together,
They tested the limits of unconditional love,
As one attempted to drug herself into an oblivion.

The others rolled their eyes,
Noting the failed attempt
as a mere cry for attention.
A child throwing up ingratitude,
As means to achieve what she perceived we didn’t want for her,
And so they acknowledged it,
Turning away and toasting the Christmas birth of their father.

We are not bad people,
Bad choices,
And bad decisions
Haunt our footprints,
We are stuck in recycled predicaments,
Incapable of breaking free,
Help us,
Ya Rahman, Ya Raheem,
Sincerely,
- a badly battered servant

Saturday 22 December 2012

InterFaithtion


Destiny and Faith waited at the café,
They had invited Hope,
But Hope had decided that too many nouns
At one table could be overwhelming for their guest.

Besides so many conjoined nouns at a table
Was bound to inadvertently draw the attention of Optimism, who
Was hardly uncomfortable with an uninvited sign lingering over its halo!

Their guest was a renowned ‘no-show’,
Many times they believed this meeting to be forthcoming,
And in anticipation
They showed up at the café,
But of course
Depression turned up instead, late
With a megaphone
Bragging about another victory!

This guest was special,
A brave soul,
Who Bravery had boasted about
From an early age,
But then she no longer preferred
The company of qualities
That sparkled her nature,
She preferred to banter with Melancholy,
And with Regret,
Who was tucked inside her chest,
Remorse had no need to appear,
As Guilt was clearly embossed upon her garments.

Twas a clear breezy night,
And as the sun drew to wave its final depart,
Their guest was yet again a no-show.
They were in no doubt that she had fallen,
yet again under the spell
Of enveloping her consciousness in a fruity vapour.

After all the coloured fog cloaked her shame,
And it was the only time Melancholy and Regret
Drew their conversations to a temporary close,
As she basqued in the ambiance of numbness.

Tired of Disappointment accompanying them on their journey back,
Destiny and Faith decided to place their principles on the sidelines,
Deciding to journey to the preferred venue of their no-show guest.

In the near distance,
They could hear the merridom of Depression
Whistling and howling with the satisfaction of yet another victory,
But as Depression approached the café,
It became depressed at the sight –
Two empty seats where it knew they had been.

As they turned to see the sight of a depressed Depression,
They watched Disappointment dancing around Depression,
Rejoicing in a one-man conga line around Depression,
Who had become too weak to stand,  
Resting on seats where moments earlier the other nouns had waited.

They giggled at the sight,
And undoubtedly their unprotocalled actions
Forced Hope to flutter it’s way over to them.
Destiny and Faith called out to Hope,
Informing it that they were still on the same mission,
But alas it was too late.

In spite of knowing fully well that it was their actions that had called it,
Hey-presto Optimism rode in on its unicorn,
Gleaning with self-satisfaction,
Expecting the other nouns to applaud its entry onto the scene.
Destiny and Faith rolled their eyes,
And welcomed Optimism like an old friend,
Knowing they would have to hurry their journey,
To prevent becoming overly infected with their counterparts,
After all they did not want to lose their perspective!

As they arrived at the foggy café,
The venue was dark and damp,
No doubt they would not be alone with the girl,
Optimism promised a favorable outcome,
Boasting of the powers of its unicorn,
But as they looked around for their guest,
It would appear that she was a no show here as well.

Creeeeeeek,
The café door swung open,
in came Depression, Disappointment and Misfortune
And in a conga line, rejoiced in the other nouns’ state.
Optimism shrunk and wilted into its cousin Pessimism,
Joining on to the conga line,
half heartedly,
Seeing it as pointless.

Meanwhile
Destiny disintegrated into nothingness,
Hope wept, as Faith tried to console it.
Misfortune took pity and walked over to the two and explained the situation.

You see,
The girl had arrived at the original café,
a little later than anticipated,
finding no Faith and Destiny
it engaged in dialogue with Depression.
Depression comforted her disconcerted state,
And so she decided to embroider
Her garments in it.

In spite of this,
Faith was determined,
It bid adieu to the others,
Knowing fully well,
It would try again.
Hope felt hope at these actions,
and accompanied Faith on its departure from the scene.

Saturday 22 September 2012

Servitude


There is an ambiance
Of imbalance
In my heart,
Prolonged by own ineptness
To understand.

This incomprehension
Has led me astray
Willingly,
Gradually,
Nurturing
An enslavement to doubt.

Time magnifies these
Draining emotions
As I continue to
Hold on
To all the matters
That have factored
To my present dismay.

Letting go
Is never easy,
It shows an acceptance
To the abhorrence
Committed by one’s own self,
Against one’s own self…

In our neurosis
We look to blame,
Blaming others,
The easiest reflex,  
But then
When there is no one
Left to blame,
We blame ourselves.

Of course
As true as this latter blame maybe
This is beside the point,
A point we are contended
Not to turn over,
Simply because the alternative
Is a far more difficult
Stage to rise to…

The reality of our
Enslavement,
We are
Without a doubt
Enslaved to something
This is our choice
It could be our despair
our desires
our depression
our jobs
our over sleeped states
our relationships
our lifestyles

We want to be free
And so we are free,
But this does not excuse
Our purpose, for why we are here
And with this free will
We are tricked,
And over time
We are slowly driven to another enslavement…

An enslavement we should realise,
Before it’s too late –

And with forgetfulness
And Idol-ness
We invite him,
The despised creature
Who lingers in our selfish desires,
Who marvels in our weakened state…

And so,
My conviction has weakened,
My heart darkened,
My certitude feeble,
All because of my choice,
My choice
To be enslaved to doubt
And regret,
Instead of returning to Him.

Repentance
Returning to Him,
An easy enough solution,
But not so easily done,
Why?
Because I have questions
Questions about my worthiness
My wretchedness.

My memories are
Etched in stone,
I can’t escape them,
And with them I welcome
him, the disgusting creation
back.

I am waiting,
Waiting for the
Reinstillation of faith,
When I have atoned enough.

I don’t know
When this will be,
When my servitude
To Him will be true,
And permanent,
This much I have hope for,
This much I don't doubt,
Maybe then Insha’Allah,
I will be saved.

Tuesday 14 August 2012

A Eulogy? Nah :P


We teach students to accept failure as constructive criticism.

Yet when this failure is imparted on to us
(By senior observers)
We cannot so easily digest this,
At least not constructively.

In fact it gets lodged,
Lodged in our throats...
And although comfort beckons us to know
The superficial nature of these ever-changing OFSTED gradings
We still can’t help but feel a devastation.

A devastation SO magnanimous
It sets ablaze the very core of our teaching identity –
You think I’m being dramatic, right?
Heck I’m a temporary contract holding teacher of four years,
Can you imagine the dramatic dialogue
That takes place
If I were longstanding member of a teaching organisation?!

But wait,
Academia teaches us to be objective,
That insightful felicity can not
Be hitherto epiphanised
At least not if we do not question an observer’s motives.

So why when you grade me must I accept your opinion,
When you have just told me that you do what I do
With a similar class?
Yet your 'Outstanding' - Hmph!
BS Politics
Government
LA
School Departments
Its all BS
So watch me pack my bags
And traipse on over to the private sector!

Cloaked Dishonour

One loose string was pulled
And it all began to fray.
All that remained in her left hand
Was fallen silk from
Whence she had spun a garment
That this Uggo had cloaked himself in.

As they parted
She was still hesitant,
Insisting she could spin another,
It would just take time
Patience,
She would of course have to do all the hard work.
And so
She returned to the spinning wheel
and began the laborious task.

Nothing but the finest
Would do for her beloved,
So she grabbed her iPad
And ordered fabric
From a distant land.

Maybe chain metal around the chest
Would prevent a frayed catastrophe!
Oh and a helmet!
And a lance,
No wait – she hesitated
That was getting too costly…
After all fortune was hardly
Easily comeby for this maiden.
But since she believed in this investment
She was willing,
Hopeful, The chain metal would be worth it,
Shiny,
Honorable.

Yet as she waited for the precious material to arrive,
He began his ‘spiritual’ retreat
Believing he was better off
He was not...
As he stood bare chested
He basqued in his chumphood,
His ego inflated…
He knew how much she had invested
He knew she was still clinging to hope
Yet he would not let go
To his macho bravado
Deciding to set his sights
A simpler garment
One that would never have the intelligence 
To pull away at his weakness again,
At least not prior to betrothment…
And if she did, well then
He would present this past anecdote,
To shed some light.

Coward.