WHEN IGNORANCE IS A MERCY... grappling with death in prose

Grappling with Death
I saw Death walked through the door.
Did the nurses not see him?
As he came close to my friend
I grabbed him and held him tight.

"Do not hinder me." Death said.
"Were I come to you tonight, would you fight me?
Would you struggle to remain imprisoned in this world?"

I shook my head.

"Thus why do you stand between me and my duty?

"I have plans for us, he and I." I answered.

"But if you trade places now, would you want him 
To obstruct me in my duty?
Knowing that I am but a gatekeeper?
Knowing that I am only a servant at the threshold of the Lord?
That I am the necessary path to your Lord and His Beloved?"

"No."

Death came close to a smile as he can, and said.
"So be it. Now, let go of me. For I am not attending to him tonight.
My engagement is with the gentleman in the next bed.

You really ought not to be so emotional, Notrumi."

..................

When Ignorance is a Mercy. Who knows when Death will come? People sometimes think it is a sword of doom, ever hanging over our heads, waiting to slice off our tenuous grip to life. It can be a car accident. It can be death in the battlefield, or perhaps choking on a peanut. From the profound, to the profane to the mundane, death comes to us in all sorts of guises.

But God desires to be known as the God of Mercy, not Doom. Certainly not for us human beings, after He has taken such trouble (though it is of course, no trouble at all for Him...) to create us in our skins, flesh and bones. How would it be for you, were you to know your exact moment of death? Let me tell you that for me it would be an oppressive knowledge to carry. I suspect it will drive many of us mad with paranoia and fear.

So do not fret nor fear your ignorance of your impending date with Azrail (as). Death is mercy, and the fact that you do not know when your lease on life expires is also a mercy.

And of course, the truth is not even the pen of Notrumi can hold back for even one nano-second his own time of death, much less that of his friend, however exalted or dear.  

Yet, such treasonous thoughts entered his mind last night. May Allah (swt) forgive me for even contemplating them. Happiness is only with you, ya Rabbi! Intimacy is only through Your Muhammad Habibullah (saws), Your own Sea of Intimacy for the poor humanity!

Hu Hu Hu.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

-Notrumi Embun, 6th June 2014

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Death Beneath the Bowing Eaves

A MEETING
I came to see you, 
Beneath the bowing eaves
Of the willow trees, 
Bent in praise to the Lord,

I greeted you kindly, 
But your downcast eyes
Did not see me at all,
Cast in pearly tears
For a life spent
Looking for love
All your weary years,

Beneath your emerald robe
Rivers of sadness streamed,
Above your noble head
Was tied a turban 
Of strange symmetry,

Two roses keep your company,
Burnished white and crimson,
The shy fleeting prayers
From two constellations,

At the end of the river
Two clouds form
Like a burial wreath,
For all your trials,
Your poverty, your sickness
And your wealth,

Now finally, you looked up
And you saw me,
And then you said,
"O Death...?"   

...................................................

Prepping for death. I am advised that all I need to know about life is that it is best spent preparing for death. For that moment not to be hastened or delayed when we are introduced to Mr. D himself. But waitaminute... my mistake, it is not about prepping ourselves for death, but for the life after death. "I am but a door." Death says.

Evil does not win by death. In the ancient and modern take of life and death, I find it interesting that ghosts, demons and all sorts of nefarious creatures (including mankind also) are treated to have succeeded in their wickedness if they are able to terminate the life of the hero / heroine / innocent in a story. You will find this in the oldest folklore and you can watch it in the most contemporary horror films. For a believer, death is not a dice game between good and evil. For these fellows death is a threshold to a homecoming, as birth is a witness to a sorrowful parting.  

Azrael (Izra'il) Mr. Death is no servant of the wicked or evil. As an Arch Angel of God, he gets his instructions from the Divine Presence. And no doubt a piece of paper with our names scribbled will one day pass into his angelic In-Tray. InsyaAllah, may we all end in a good passing, at the end of a life beautifully lived as a servant of God and humanity. You know... to be remembered as good sorta chap (or chapette).

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Confession of Azrail, Angel of Death - Veneration of Muhammad

KHADIJAH. The prose below is recorded today. It is a love prose. I was walking in a garden when someone showed me a star. Later he brought a book to me. In the book was the story of Khadijah, the first wife and in my humble estimation, the most beloved wife of Muhammad Prophet of God. The wife whom the Prophet loved and in whose lifetime the Prophet married no other. The wife whose voice was similar to her sister's, and such was the Prophet's love, his countenance changed and was in awe when he heard the late Khadijah in the voice of her sister outside the door, many years after the passing of his beloved Khadijah.

AZRAI'IL ANGEL OF DEATH. But it is also a love story about Azra'il, the Angel of Death. When he finally met his own death at the deathbed of a mortal, Muhammad the Beloved of God, Muhammad the Mercy of All Creation.

THE CHAPTER OF KHADIJAH AND THE ANGEL OF DEATH

The Garden

I was a garden,

Then a gardener came and planted

The most beautiful and delicate seed

I have ever embraced in my earth,

Now, I am a garden of Muhammad.

The Star

I was a star,

Then an astronomer was guided to

Turn his telescope my way,

And for that brief moment in eternity,

I twinkled bright enough, thousands upon thousands

Of years ago, for him to see me.

And He named me the Star of Muhammad.

The Book

I was a book unwritten,

Then a hand took a pen

And the writer began to write.

And the working title he gave to me

Was the Book of Muhammad.

Khadijah

I was a beautiful woman of Mecca,

A chaste widow of a noble husband,

A merchant woman prosperous and famous

For baking the best bread in Mecca.

I saw him one day, and I lost myself to him

And he lost himself to me.

We were wed in a simple ceremony blessed by God,

Attended to by Angels and the line of Prophets -

As I became and shall always be

The Bride of Muhammad.

Azrai'il, Angel of Death

I am an Arch Angel feared by all,

I am Death and death is in my touch,

I end the good and bad dreams of all mankind.

Then one day I was ordered to take

The life of a man and I came upon him

Lying in his deathbed.

In his last breath he uttered the words three times,

“My people… my people… my people…”

And some have called me the Death of Muhammad.

But if you truly wish to know,

I have never come across a soul like Muhammad,

And on that fateful day, I, Azra’il,

Became not the Death of Muhammad.

Muhammad was the Death of me.

For I did not take his mortal life

Unaffected or unchanged.

And since Angels never change,

The Azrai’il of old must have perished

At the same moment when Muhammad passed away.

I died in his sweet countenance,

I died in his merciful gaze,

Which he bestowed even unto me,

The Angel of Death

The ender of lives,

The ravager of humanity,

The killer of hopes.

I died in his delicate words when he

Saw my discomfort and he said,

“O’ Azra’il. You are doing what

You are ordered by God to do.

As I do what I am ordered

By God to do.”

You might not be a Muslim, my friend. But I am writing in the language of love and it is the universal language, yes?

May God bless your life with Love Undiminished and Passion Higher that the Highest Mountain of Creation.

wa min Allah at-taufiq.