Thursday, 14 August 2014

Umayyad mosque, Damascus, Syria.

Pedestal of Imam Hussein's head. Ummayad mosque, Damascus,Syria. 

You cant love Allah without loving what Allah loves. You can't love the beloved without loving what the beloved loves.

You love the one who loves the beloved.

The Prophet (SAW) grandson was beheaded and the head was on pedestal for display to public. 

How can we Muslim claim to love the beloved while ignoring or forgetting this fact.

We are paying attention to the little things and forgetting the bigger picture. We bore hatred because some prefers to prostrate on the earth while the rest prefers on a carpet. We're expecting a uniformity in unity, whereas we forgot that we were born differently. 

On the 10th of Muharram (ashura) where there is a community busying themselves making porridge, another community is weeping, mourning, but were blamed for doing it. 

Can you blame someone who are in love for not eating or sleeping?

Nevertheless if you are trying to attain love by not eating or sleeping then you are out of your mind.

If you think by whipping your body will enable you to feel the love from deep down in the soul then you are asking your ears to hear colors and eyes for the sight of sound.

Love sits peacefully in the heart, not frantically running in the mind. You are irrational if you are trying to rationalize love.

Peace be upon him and his family. 


Monday, 9 December 2013

Kullu nafsin dza'iqatul maut

كُلُّ نَفْسٍ ذَآئِقَةُ الْمَوْتِ

Kullu nafsin dza'iqatul maut

-Surah Al Ankabut (29):57

Every soul shall taste death.

Death is not the end but a beginning without ending.
Good ending perhaps a good beginning without ending,
Bad ending perhaps a bad beginning but with good tidings. 
But a good beginning may delude you from good ending.
It is not a good ending when your Rabb says "QATI ! QATI !"
Responding to "Bring me more!!"

and that is your world.

Tuesday, 23 July 2013


Glasgow Necropolis

Necropolis, Glasgow 2007-2010

This is just life and death
Whereas the afterlife is just another uncharted ocean of freedom.

Sunday, 17 February 2013

Time after time

Time passes by differently for you and you.
What appear almost a year may appear a day to you.
What feels like a present to me may already be a history to you.
What feels forever to them might just be an instant to us.

The footsteps that started our journey recently has turned to infinity.

Tuesday, 18 December 2012

trippin billies

Eat drink and be merry,
because tomorrow you'll die.

Eat drink and be merry,
because tomorrow you'll die.

Because we trippin billies.

Monday, 1 October 2012

Time is running out.

"The heaven for wife is underneath the foot of her husband. The heaven for husband is underneath the foot of his mother."

I would like to tell you a story.

There was this woman, married , blessed with 3 boys. 3 bundles of joy perhaps?
Working full time at a press company, she decided to work full time as a housewife. "Parents should raise their kids", a principle she still holds. It was an easy life, husband gets good money, 3 boys tearing up the house, very manly mother because the 3 boys should grow up a man not male.

The law of being fair dictates that it is not always raining gold and candy. Money is no longer at the tip of finger. 2 of the boys already able to make it on their own . Barely though. Leaving the youngest. The mother would do anything to make sure her boys gets good education, decided to work. She even considered working at a condom factory. Of course all the boys said a big no. Theres nothing wrong working there, but no.

8 years of baking cakes finally took a toll on her. Hypertension build in. Diabetes kicks in because she is one of the sweetest mother ever exist. Her heart is starting to give up, telling her that her time is almost up that you are soon going to rest well considering all your sons grew up and able to take care of themselves.

At the hospital, It was too much to bear for the boys watching her now fragile mother teaching her grankids to fold paper ship. Reminded those boys when they were kids folding paper ships, paper planes, newspaper, toilet paper, used toilet paper , as long it can be folded.

It might be 5 years, a year , a month, they dont know. But as father time walks by, the boys realise that they dont have much time.

With the smiles she carved back in even in those hard times, the boys understands, she never even thought about herself. Only how to make sure the boys able to make it on their own.

There is no way a children can repay her mothers deed. They can only grow up, be how they should be, and give the gift of prayer, praying she will be at ease in the afterlife even after time stops.

But for now time is ticking. Less and less time is given for the boys to prepare themselves for when the time comes. How can they move on from this.

A mother's sacrifice. 

Saturday, 8 September 2012

Trippy happy

Things were bob marley trippy
When your feet separated from the sea bed
you lost touch from reality.

Things were jimi hendrix crazy
You showered from his rays of epicness
Streamed down all along the watchtower.

Things were normal as reality
Like hearing colours made you happy
Like seeing music made you trippy.

Saturday, 4 August 2012


it's 2:11am. She is sleeping. I'm thinking. now it's 2:12am. Im listening to 'all i need' . I'm hitting backspace again and again. There's a notification blinking on the screen. There's a picture of audrey hepburn on the wall. I had just googled audrey hepburn just to make sure the spelling is correct. The song is going to end. I'm wondering what song to choose. ok it has ended. I'm sleepy. But sleep is .. shit youtube lag. the song was choppy, like when chinamen talks, they chop every words. I'm not high. I'm not drunk. Im not smoking. I dont smoke anymore. anyless. fitter. happier. more productive. try saying that in a robotic voice. The baby guitar is dusty. rusty. The cameras are there. fully aware. There are prints of flowers on the curtain. Not my favourite. I prefer blinds. The flowers are shaped like an eye. Illuminati? free mason? obsession? I should be learning dutch by now. But i chose sigur ros instead. They are not dutch. Hoppipolla.

It's has always been an ugly, worn, abandoned building as a backdrop, the fairy as the main cast, graffiti at the back adds characteristics. The sky is yellow, I shoot you exactly at the point of being emotionless, so to evoke emotion in me. I call that an art. heck people said picasso is an art.

It's 2:38am.