|And what of us, Ku Ash?|
Who are you and who am I?
The Confession and the Question
People confess to me of their times with you,
Of their secret moments with you
In this world and in their dreams,
Of the conversation and confidence
That they shared with you,
And you with them…
People confess to me of their yearning for you,
How you used to call and talk to them,
How you told them to come and see you,
And how generous you were with them,
Sharing a seat in a football stadium,
Having ice creams by the sea-side,
Praying before the tomb of saints...
People confess to me of their love for you,
Speaking softly their words of love,
Their eyes twinkling with unshed tears,
Their lips murmuring with smiles yet to be…
For they have all confessed to me,
That complete and whole they shall never be,
Until that day comes when you are united,
O’ Prince, O’ Master, with those whom
You have left behind, whose hearts
With yours are forever entwined.
And what of us, o’ Ku Ash?
Who are you and who am I?
I find it easier to speak about people's feelings towards al-Marhum Shaykh Raja Ashman Shah ibni Sultan Azlan Shah (Ku Ash) rather than my own. What can I share? Nothing. It is a given thing. I am a son of common stock. He is the son of a King.
|He spoke little, but letting his courtly manners and|
generous gestures speak volumes of what his
shy lips will not speak. That is Shaykh Raja Ashman Shah.
But the greatest irony is that he cares not for himself. If he was alive right now, Ku Ash would gesture, "Me? What of me? Who am I? Does it matter?" And he would conclude by saying, "You must know who you are first. That is my main concern above all. For I look at you, and I see a divine promise. Something which you yourself cannot see. If I am to mean anything to you at all, it is to help you to know who you are. Beyond that, I am nobody. A weak servant of an Almighty Lord and a follower of a Prophet known as Mercy to the Worlds (pbuh)." I say Ku Ash would gesture and not speak, because he was like that to many. Speaking little but letting his Adab (courtly manners) and generous gestures speak volumes of what his shy lips will not speak.
If you see me alone
Having tea in a coffeeshop,
Working in my workplace,
Resting in the garden,
Or even if you see me
In a company of friends,
But with my distant eyes
Dwelling on some distant horizon,
Know that I see him there,
Having tea with me,
Working beside me,
Resting with me.
Am I crazy?
Or am I just acting? For I am happy. Happy to have shared at least my writings with him. For he is not dead to any of his innumerable friends, followers and groupies. Not dead to anyone whose lives he touched - for the love he has reaches beyond the veil of death. To some, this veil is wider than all of Creation. But for those adept at speaking the Language of Love, death is nothing but the thinnest shred of gossamer, not a hindrance to waylay the fundamental transactions of love between the Beloved and the lover.
|When you can speak the Language of Love, you smile so much and so often|
that your jaws will ache. I kid you not.
Have a lovely day, sunshine.
wa min Allah at-taufiq
Hate has no place in Islam
Love will show the Way