“Yes there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run there’s still time to change the road you are on”

 

Drip drip..

She focused her undivided attention to the sound of the raindrops splashing against her window in a random fashion. Some times the wind would assist them, and they would splatter here and there at a rapid speed. And, sometimes they would find their own way down to the glass, and trickle slowly down the vent that lay between the glass and the hood of the car. Too soon, the slight pitter patter of the rain turned into a chaos of loud thumps. Every raindrop hit the window like tiny rocks. Asma turned the switch inside her car, and the wipers began to push away the drops rhythmically. Her eyes surveyed the movement of the wipers from left to right to left, until she felt a shadow sneak in through the corner of her vision. She turned her head only to find a smiling face drenched in rain peaking inside her car. She saw the tiny droplets of rain trickling down his forehead, down the tiny buttons on his soaked shirt, to – she stopped. Saved by her modesty, she didn’t follow the raindrops down to where ever they were headed, and immediately looked back up into his eyes. She pressed the button with her finger, to open the window just a smidge, so she converse with the drenched man. “Salam alikum, I’m looking for directions to the Al-sahara mosque. Could you assist me?”

***

Nine years and counting, ‘I would not want my life to change at all’, he thought as he rested his head against his chair watching two hands wash those dishes. He moved his gaze to the ring on the finger, and two gold bangles striking against each other as the hands moved under the running water. He smiled. Nope. not one bit. He loved where he was. He loved the room he was in. He loved what he saw. He loved and was always thankful of all that he had gained since that day in the pouring rain. What he loved most was not knowing that trying to find his way to the house of Allah (swt), in the pouring rain Allah united him with his half deen. His zawjati.

 

------------------------------

Title: Stairway to heaven – Led Zeppelin

“Your reminiscences transport the soul To memory?s Paradise?its future goal.”

 

Dim and dark,

that’s how she liked her room at the end of a long day.

Leaving the brightness, the whispers, the reminders outside the door,

just embraced by her own fatigue, she collapses on the bed.

Her eyelids close her off from the outside world as she let’s out one small sigh.

Soon she could hear her own breath going in and out, the tranquil silence of the room,

as each train of thought halted at its station, to rest for the day.

It was nice like that. To be able to hear your own thoughts and breath, just to know that you are still going.

She flushed all of the day’s junk out of her mind, sweeping up the incomplete and unnecessary information from every corner.

She locked the door, tossing the key in her bag,  and walked out onto the softest bed of green grass you could see for miles.

A body comes and stands close by, tapping her shoulder with the softest touch.

“Oh you came!” she feels the excitement in her voice as she looks over her shoulder.

“I’ve been waiting for you! Do you have it?” she gets straight to the point.

“Have what my dear?”, the person looks at her with puzzlement.

“The book! Remember?”, she eagerly speaks.

“The book? Why, you’ve had it all along my dear”, the person says with a slight amusement in her voice. Perhaps she is smiling. “It’s right behind you.”

She hurriedly turns her head to find it. Her eyes focus in something small surrounded by many rays of light. She focuses in on the object, as her ears wave in a screeching sound. Her eyes bring in some flashing words..numbers..

7:00am!

Another day another dawn.

 

*****

I apologise to all my readers for not having a piece up in the last few weeks. I just got finished writing my exams, so there will be more writing coming up soooon! Hope you lovely people around the world, are having a great week! :)

With lots and lots of love,

Yours Truly x

Where there is Haq, there is batil. Where there is right, there is wrong. Where there is Hussain, there is Yazeed.

 

 

Afghan Shia Muslim's cry near dead and injured after explosions during a religious ceremony in the centre of Kabul on December 6, 2011. At least 30 people were killed in an explosion at a Kabul shrine where Shia Muslims were marking the Day of Ashura Tuesday, an AFP photographer saw. The blast came in the city centre where Shias had gathered to carry out religious rituals to mark the day, a public holiday in Afghanistan. Click here for full report.

When the whole dunya is against you, yet Allah(swt)’s blessing keep your faith alive, and powerful as ever… you know you’re on the right path.

Happens every year, and each year the population of commemorators increases.