DO NOT JUDGE, BUT LOOK! - your temporary home in the motel of the human spirit.

Look!

Judge ye not my home

By the measure of my little room,

Nor the smallness of my hearth

And kitchen where I cook,

For my true abode is my heart,

And therein beats the name

Of Ahad and Ahmad,

Do not judge, but look! Look!

Judge ye not my grave

By the measure of its length and width,

For my final abode is built 

With the love from my Lord,

And it is finer than any house

Mortal hands may wrought,

Do not judge, but look! Look! 

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

Build your home, but do not be tied to it. Build your home, but do not make it a prison. For your house, your apartment, your flat, your bed-sit is nothing but a temporary place for you. At best it is the highway motel of the human spirit. So look for companions that will aid you in your journey and speed you towards the Divine Presence. And travel as light as you can.

Have a lovely Sunday, sunshine. I have always said that writing a poem is like composing a song. It is not about arranging as much words and smart sentences as we can, but what to leave out. So short and simple is always nice. God bless you always...

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

GOOD ATTRACTS GOOD - now that you are not here...

Now That You Are Not Here

Dear gentle soul,

Now that you are gone,

I constantly pray for you,

As I know you are constantly praying for me,

Dear gentle soul,

You were not meant to be long here,

Beneath the eaves of this forest of trees,

And the tall roofs of the minaret spires,

Where are you walking now that you are not here?

Now that you have nothing left to fear?

Dear gentle soul,

The middle child of two beautiful souls,

Will you give my greetings to our mother,

Now that you are with her and not here?

Dear gentle soul,

You shall now never grow old,

And your love will never grow cold.

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

My late brother, Saiful Bahri, whom I call Abang Chik (meaning, literally older younger brother) and you call Poone would undoubtedly say to me, "Enough already laaa with the poems (us Malaysians like to say laaa at the end of everything to stress a point)". But if he took such an unexpected and discourteous exit from this world (well, God fated his passing, but I am still going to blame Poone), I think I deserve as much time as I want to write about him. Because, frankly, I won't be posting anything at all here in the Almanac if I am not writing about my dear brother.

Mak Ndak, my auntie sitting near the foot of Poone's grave.
Well, that's what I call her. My brother called her Mak, meaning mother, for
she cared for him when he was just a baby, as my parents
had to travel overseas for my father's further studies.

Last week, a very excellent friend of my brother called Boy (though he is not a boy anymore) dropped by the house to ask for directions to find Poone's grave in the cemetery. We did not talk for very long, but I was deeply touched by what he said. "You know..., if I get to heaven, I would wish my father and mother to be there, my wife, my children... and Poone."

From all these unnecessary accolades about my brother, I rather take it that my brother was a jolly good fellow. And I think in his all-too short life, Poone also collected a bunch of jolly good fellows as friends.

Good attracts Good. That's what I think. Don't you agree, sunshine?

Have a lovely Monday now.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Poone, the Humble Shovel, Suzanne Vega and the Garden of Stones...

The Humble Shovel

You may have ridden in the finest horse and carriage,

You may have feasted from plates of gold and silver,

But to me will you come at the end of your world,

I am your ready servant, whatever your tone,

Me, beside the waiting gravedigger,

Me, your humble shovel

In the Garden of Stones.

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

The Best Time to Go. I am so at home at the cemetery, especially now that Poone (my late brother and the one I call Abang Chik) is laid to rest there. The only issue I have is the buzzing mosquitoes that insist on accompanying me wherever I am, at whichever grave I visit. It crossed my mind that the safest place from this annoying insects is to be six feet under. But thank God that my own passing is not mine to choose the time and place. Are we not lucky that the circumstances of our passing shall be in the hand of He Who Created us? He Who knows us best (and despite knowing all our filthy secrets), Loves us best of all? 

It will be the best of time for us, and for those we will leave behind.

Obnoxious. I have no doubt of this, because God has promised us... Sometimes, we living inevitably sigh and yearn for the company of our dearly departed kin or friend. However happy, angry, sad or irritating our relationship with the deceased may have been. One of my brother's closest friend said to me, as we were burying Poone, "Oh my God, he is one of the most obnoxious person I know!" And I agree with him. But he would also agree that we would give all our worldly treasures to have just one more obnoxious moment with him. 

He he he.

Poone's musical taste. Before I leave you, let me leave you with what my brother has left me. A taste in some of the great musicians of our era. In the early eighties, Santa Monica-born folk singer and songwriter Suzanne Vega made a bit of name in England, captivating audiences with her haunting prose and magical guitar. This is one of our favourite(est)... its called 'Cracking'.  

God bless you, sunshine. Be happy and assured of love from God, a love infinite in its breadth and deeper in its solace than your most intimate dreams...

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

THE DOOR OF SADNESS & THE GATE OF KNOWLEDGE - the priceless inheritance of Muslims (may they remember to ask!)

Gone Before Dawn

What is worth dying for

Is worth living for,

What is worth living for

Is always worth loving,

So love thy mother and thy father,

Love thy brother and thy sister,

Love the wise and the foolish,

The saints, the saintly and the sinners,

Love the music of children laughing,

Love the songs that the birds sing,

Love the peace that you enjoy,

Love the things you loved 

When you were just a little boy,

Love the silence before dusk,

Love the chorus before dawn,

Swear your love to them all,

For one day, who knows?

They may all be gone...

They may all be gone...

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

Bukit Kiara Cemetery, with Mr.Cemetery himself, Mikhail.

BEREAVEMENT. To those you have known before they are no more, to those you have known and yet have never met in this world, to the beautiful memories you have shared and for the memories yet to be made, what do we have to offer but our oath of fealty, our solemn promises of love?

DOOR OF SADNESS. As frail human beings, with mortal vessels that contain our ancient spirit, we are accorded some room for grief. A chamber to house our sorrow and lament the passing of our beloved kindred. To sigh when we inadvertently glanced at a picture of our mothers, fathers, family and friends who have all passed on. But this Door of Sadness, this gate through which our tears flow is also the gate of our heart, the abode of our Most Compassionate God who says that "Though Creation cannot contain Me, the heart of a true believer can."

At the Royal Mausoleum, Bukit Chandan, Kuala Kangsar.

GATE OF KNOWLEDGE. Thus the Door of Sadness is also the Gate of Knowledge, through which we are connected to our Grandshaykhs, the Masters of the Path (Tariqa). Above the laments of our own mortality, is the chorus of the Saints, the Friends of God, who, to this day attend to the matters of this world under the power of the Master of Creation, Muhammad Habibullah (s.a.w.s.) and His Companions. And amongst whom, Saydina Ali ibn Abu Talib is indeed known as the Gate of Knowledge, the entrance to the City of Knowledge that is the Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w.s.).

THE DIVINE COCKTAIL. It is thus the priceless inheritance of the Muslims, blessed and fortunate as they are (may they remember!), that contemplation and remembrance of our dearly departed, inevitably intermingles with Allah (s.w.t.), His Beloved Muhammad (s.a.w.s) and all His Companions(r.a.) and Saints (q.s.). Thus we find...

The Intermingling

In our remembrance of the dearly departed,

Our mortality intermingles with immortality,

Our sorrow intermingles with great joy,

Our uncertainty intermingles with assurance,

Our love intermingles  with the Greatest Love of All,

That is the Love of Allah for His Muhammad...

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

He shouldn't be whirling so close to the water's edge. But kids... they will have their fun.
By the riverside maqam of Tok Temong, Kuala Kangsar.

So if you are in mourning for someone, even if it is for yourself, have great hope, my friend. For you are assured of love, mercy and compassion of a Lord matchless in His vows of love, mercy and compassion for you and the reasons for your sorrow.

Alhamdulillah.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

NOISY CREATURES IN A NOISY WORLD - death before dying and the silence of the grave

Noise and the Silence of the Grave

I am a noisy man,

I need not speak for you to know that,

You can see it in the expression of my face,

In my colour, in the clothes I wear,

In how I walk, sit or stand

Any where, any place.

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

Noisy Creatures. Mankind tend to be noisy. Within ourselves, even in silence, we are confronted with our hopes and dreams, our fears, ambitions and guilt, our uncertainty and our passion, our worry for tomorrow, and our regrets for yesterday - Amid this relentless internal din we let the present go by unattended by our focus and attention.  

Noisy World. To make matters worse, this personal cacophony of emotion throws a veil across our perception of the world, making the world also a right hellish racket to bear sometimes.

Silence of the Grave. So I am on a quest for a quieter world. I am not going to change the world itself, but I will try to do what I can with myself. The Sufis and other mystics of the world have elucidated about the concept of death before dying. And I wanna try that and receive the benefit that comes with death without actually being buried. What benefit, you ask? Why, the silence of the grave of course.

Grace and Grave. For I reckon that once you are along this path, you will get to hear and see the more important things in life - the Grace of God in everything that we are granted, the Wisdom of God in every tribulation that we may face, and the Beauty of God in the smiles, the laughter and the gentleness of our family and friends, and even from the acts and words of strangers. And of course, the Power of God in the thunder storms at sea, the high mountains in the clouds and the vastness of the oceans.

So I am intent on reducing the noise in my life. And as a Muslim, I am asking God for the intercession of the Prophet Muhammad's (s.a.w.s.) hand to reach into me, and turn down the volume dial within me.

Ahh. Lovely. Outside I can already hear the birds singing their hearts out on this peaceful overcast Wednesday morning.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

THE DIVINE PROMISE OF MERCY - cemeteries, life, death and love

Cemetery of Bahagian Mosque Bandar Kuching, Sarawak

Only One Breath Separates Us from the Hereafter

People look unto the graves and cemeteries

As if the distance between life and death

Is a far and long journey,

But truth be told it is 

Only a breath that

Separates us.

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

I like cemeteries. It has a peaceful and gentle ambiance that encourages our heart to dwell upon the past lives of our dearly departed kindred, and to reassess our own life and where we are heading. And of course, as we get older, more and more of our beloved kin and companions have become residents there. So I go there also as a balm to our separation. 

Royal Maqam Bukit Chandan, Kuala Kangsar, Perak

Death is no finality. For us, the cemeteries, with its grave heads, mausoleums and tombstones do not give an air of finality, for if we believe in God, in whatever cloth or creed we may wear, we all believe in the eternal nature of the human soul. To us pious fools, the grave is not the buck-stops-here for our lives. It is just a door, a gateway from the transient to the permanent, from the hot and cold, bitter and sweet nature of this material life, to the eternal life in the Divine Presence of our All-Loving God (s.w.t.).

Protestant Cemetery, Georgetown, Penang

The Divine Promise. My admiration and gratitude for the Sufis and Dervishes cannot be counted in gold, silver or copper. For they have taught me to love life, yet to walk between the graves of the deceased, noting the lovingly written inscriptions of those whom they have left behind, to reflect upon the great journey that is this life, and the promise of hope through the mercy and salvation of God Almighty (s.w.t.). For when God gives us the hope for forgiveness, there is no 'maybe' or 'what-ifs', only the Divine Promise. Beneath the drooping eaves of the trees in the cemeteries of this world, you will find the answers to many of the questions to this life. How ironic. But that is God for you... Unique, Subtle, All-knowledgeable. 

Bukit Kiara Cemetery, Kuala Lumpur.

Have a lovely Sunday, sunshine. Life life well...

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

By the Perak River with Tok Temong - The Prince Part 26

As I mentioned on Saturday, over the weekend I was in Kuala Kangsar, Perak. I was there with Mikhail on a roadtrip ("Living life on the road!", my 9 year-old son says). We left Kuala Lumpur at 8am and was chased all the way up the North-South Highway by a torrential downpour of epic proportions. There was a few hairy moments as we passed by coach buses and heavy lorries trundling up the road. "I don't want to die, God! I have not gotten enough pahala (good merits) yet!!!" protested Mika as the car slightly aqua-planed across a puddle of water on the road. Don't get me wrong, the highway is a well built construct and water drains well off it. But as I said, the rain was epic. 

We were coming up north to visit the final resting place of al-Marhum Shaykh Raja Ashman Shah ibni Sultan Azlan Muhibbudin Shah. But we are also visiting the maqam (tomb / grave) of Tok Temong, the legendary and real female saint of Perak. Her maqam rests on a quiet plot by the edge of the Perak River, and on the Saturday, Mika and myself managed to visit her first. Below are some pictures we took on the first day of our trip. Oops, I mean road trip. Sorry Mika. He he he.

My directions to the maqam of Tok Temong is sketchy at best. From some online
searches I managed to find the village of Kampung Temong Hilir about 10 minutes drive
from the royal town of Kuala Kangsar, the seat of the Throne of Perak. I also found online
a brief direction telling me to find the mosque in the village and head up another 100 metres
or so. And then there would be a small lane on the right. I saw one and hoping I found
the right place I headed down the quiet kampung road. There was only a few houses.
The road was still wet with the earlier downpour as my son and me slowly drove
through the thick undergrowth and tall trees. Somehow, the place felt right.

We found her alright, but I was a little disappointed to find that the maqam was fenced
and the gate was locked. But there was a small sign giving the cellphone number of the
caretaker. I called Abang Mus (brother Mus) and he said to hold for a bit as he would come.
Less than five minutes later he arrived in a small motorcycle, a dark-skinned gentleman of
41 years of age, a thin figure with an easy smile. He let us into the maqam.

This is a brief signage put up by the Museum Department. If I may translate it,
it reads, "Tok Temong was the (female) ruler of the Temong district before the rule
of Sultan Muzaffar Shah I (1528-1549). On the day of his coronation, His Majesty
was presented by her with a 'geliga embun' which became, to this day, one of the
royal coronation instrument of Perak. She was also responsible for granting
the rule of Inner Perak to the  present Perak state government.
- This maqam was built by the Museum Department in 1976."

Abang Mus later invited us to the riverside which was at the end of a long
steep concrete steps. Mika immediately rushed down.

At the riverside there is a small shelter built of wood and bamboo. There is
also a small rickety old jetty which juts out into the mighty Perak river. At the end of
the short jetty were two medium-sized stones rising above the waters. The two stones are
an important location for one of the royal coronation ceremonies of a new Sultan of Perak.
Tradition tells us that the two stones were originally one stone, but was broken in two by
an earlier Sultan (Sultan Mansor, I think) who later vanished (ghaib)
and was never to be seen again.

Abang Mus. In the background is Mikhail, beating a hasty retreat
after slipping and falling down. No, he wasn't hurt, he just hates
getting his jeans wet and dirty. Poor fella.

We had to postpone the trip to Ku Ash's maqam to the next day. While we rested
in Ipoh, Mika complained about his new Crocs that his mum bought him. "Yes, Papa...
it is almost pink!" he complained. "And it is the same size as Mummy's!" he paused
before continuing, "I bet Mummy bought it so that she can borrow it! I wish Uncle
Herman (Mika's stepdad) was doing the shopping! He wouldn't have got me this colour!!"

Well, that's it for the first day, sunshine. Sunday would be even better. 

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Prince. The link to this post has been uploaded to The Prince Page, which contains all previous postings relating to al-Marhum Shaykh Raja Ashman. You can access the page by clicking here.

Above My Bed of Frangipani Flowers

Above My Bed of Frangipani Flowers

I am not going to be building towering towers,

I am not going to fill libraries with my writings,

I am not going to sculpt a David, a Venus or anybody,

I am not going to climb the highest mountain,

I am not going to get one billion hits on my Youtube video,

I am not going to be a stinking rich writing a computer program

Nor will I be known for my singing prowess,

I only hope to live the rest of my life

Being as little a problem to anyone,

And that is how I hope to while away my hours,

And if anyone cares to carve an epithet,

I hope it will simply read, "He was a nice fellow to know"

Above my bed of frangipani flowers...

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

I am on a roadtrip with my son, Mikhail. Early this morning we left Kuala Lumpur for the royal capital of the state of Perak, my mother's hometown and coincidentally the hometown of al Marhum Shaykh Raja Ashman Shah ibn Sultan Azlan Shah (Ku Ash).

Mikhail with his Upin and Ipin comic.
We stopped by the Tapah rest area for breakfast.

Perhaps my soul is less ambitious than others. Perhaps my soul knows me enough not to expect too much from me. Sometimes I think that my soul's only pretension to virtue and goodness for me is that..."If, he doesn't accidentally step on an ant today, I would be happy."

We are spending the night here in Ipoh, the state capital, just a half-an-hour's drive away. Tomorrow we shall be making one more visitation to Kuala Kangsar, then a leisurely drive back home.

Ku Ash. Prince of Perak, Sultan of Hearts...
al fatiha

Have a wonderful Sabbath, sunshine. God bless you.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Our Memories is Greater than the Sum of all its Parts - life, death, mothers, masters and God

Bukit Kiara Cemetery, Kuala Lumpur.

Our Memories

Though you may not see Him,

Verily, He sees you,

Though you may not hear Him,

Verily, He hears you,

Though you may not remember Him,

Verily, He remembers you in good company,

Not a single moment has He left you in doubt,

Not a single page of your life that He has not read aloud,

Every glance, every tear that you shed,

Every laughter, every smile and playful pout,

All your joy and bitter regrets,

All your good and all your bad,

All your within and all your without,

Like a riverfall descending down the mountain side,

Like the little fishermen boats that run through the harbour,

You course through His thoughts as you make your way to Him,

To His sea and to His mercy,

And along the way,

You met me

And you helped make 

Our Memories.

…………………………..

Dearest mother,

How I miss your smile and laughter. Your impregnable optimism and your fire. How I miss your cooking, all that fish and vegetables. How I miss you bringing fruits and produce from other countries. How I miss you greeting the many friends and family who would come to our house, bringing light of laugh and love into our lives.

Dearest master,

How I miss your presence, silent and all-encompassing. How I miss the way you say my name. And how you made me feel. You were small in stature, but somehow you seemed to me seven feet tall. I still have your number in my cellphone. If I call it, who will now answer?

Dearest dearest,

You were ever present in these, the memories of my mother and my master. My beloved, benovelent, most kind and merciful Creator. I knew you were there. I had no doubt. For you have given me a life rich with love and laughter, tribulation and ease, success and failure. However my life has turned, I knew I had your undivided attention…

Alhamdulillah,

Arbayah binti Haji Hashim, somewhere in South England.

Subhanim Allah, Sultanim Allah, Nabim Muhammad alayhi salam.

Wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

My happiness is by their side

I await the Day

Eidul Fitri, Mika, my Mother, Sponge Bob and the Solace of the Cemetery - pictures tell stories

Early in this morning of 1st Syawal, as droves of Muslims made their way to perform the Eidul Fitri prayers at mosques all over Malaysia, Mak Ndak (my auntie), Mikhail and myself sneaked towards the Bukit Kiara Cemetery which hosts the final resting place of my mother, Arba'yah binti Hj Mohd Hashim. While there I took some pictures (as is my habit in all cemeteries). And these are the stories that the pictures tell...

My mother is a gardener. My auntie Mak Ndak tells me that she was that way even
in her childhood days, always pottering around in the lawn outside my grandfather's
house in Kuala Kangsar, the royal seat of the Sultan of Perak. It was her gardening and
digging about that unearthed a small trove of ancient golden plates. I think that the number of people
who discovers hidden treasures is quite small. And those who discover them by accident
is even more minuscule. I do believe my mother was born under a lucky star. As a
gardener I thought she would be pleased to have a bouquet of yellow roses posed in
a small tin watering can. Me and Heche found it at a florist just the evening before.  I think
it turned out pretty, don't you agree?

There she is, the indomitable Mak Ndak- Giving her greetings of peace to the spirit of my late mother, her
much beloved second youngest sister, and making her doa (prayers) for my mum's peaceful and joyous
 after life. As we left much later, I heard my auntie whispering under her breath, "InsyaAllah (Godwilling),
Ba'yah, I will be joining you here one day..." I know I am being selfish, but I found myself praying that
the fateful day will be delayed as long as possible, for my Mak Ndak has been a pillar in my home and
a reservoir of memories of my mother that is simply priceless to me. Allah knows best...

While we were at my mother's grave, Mika wandered away and crossed over to the section
of the cemetery for babies and little children. I looked for him until I saw him returning from a
distant way, looking rather pensive and busy. What was he up to?

He came across a little grave of a baby, and crouched down to read the
inscriptions, that would normally state the name, date of birth and death of the dear child.

Then he abruptly stood up and gazed across the babies' graves, as if he was looking
for something or someone. I could not contain my curiosity much longer, and
I asked him, "Hey, Mika... what are you doing over there?"

He replied back, "I am looking for my friend! Remember... the baby that I gave a
present to? Remember...?" Indeed he did. When we were here last time, he stubbed
his Crocs on a stone and his Sponge Bob character fell of his Crocs. He left it at
the grave of a baby as a gift. But he was looking at the wrong place, because I remember.
So I said, "I know where your friend is! Come over here first, Mika, you need to help me
find another grave for Mak Ndak..!

For my Mak Ndak wanted me to find the grave of her late aunt, Hajah Aminah Saad. So with
Mikhail in tow, we started to make our way down the line of graves near my mother's. It is not
far from there, Mak Ndak said. So Mikhail started to check the inscriptions on all the readable
grave stones, sometimes commenting, "Hey Papa! This one died in Ramadhan... I guess he
is kinda blessed, right?" Right, Mikhail. After a while we came across a grave stone with exactly
the same black marble as my mom's and after pushing aside the shrubbery that blocked it, found
my late grand aunt's final resting place. Mika and myself were flushed with pride to find her.

So Mika did the honours and recited the al-fatiha for his great grand aunt, Hajjah Amina
binti Mohd Saad. I am somehow pleased that he has made acquaintance with our
ancestor. I think my mom would have been pleased too.

Mika in his one-Croc Sponge Bob continued his search for his friend. He found his 'friend
and 'the gift'. It was nestled between the grave and the stone marking which gives the number
of the grave in the cemetery's registrar of the dead. I was apprehensive that perhaps someone
may have simply thrown away the Sponge Bob, perhaps thinking it to be a mere litter. But instead
an unknown person took the little toy and wedged it where we found it.

I asked Mika if the baby was a boy or a girl.
"It's a boy, Papa!" he said after checking the tombstone.

Before we left, Mika gave the greetings of salam to his friend, and once more
recited the al-fatiha (the Opening Verse of the Holy Quran).

Amiiiiin.... (Amen)

Before we left, I asked Mika to wedge Sponge Bob back to its original place.
Mika complied and said, "Yeah, Papa... the baby will find it easier
to grab Sponge Bob and play with him from there..."

We returned to my mother's grave where Mak Ndak was waiting for us patiently.
Mika turned to face her grave as he recited the al-fatiha. "This is the fourth
al-Fatiha I am saying for Tok (Grandma)!" So Mak Ndak and myself dutifully
raised our hands in doa behind him. His recitation was longer than normal before he finally
sighed a profound, "Amen!" Then smiling impishly, Mika confided in me...
"I did two bonus doas for Tok!" That's Mika for you.

I don't think I am a good dad. I set way too many bad examples for him. For like it or not, as adults, we become de facto teachers, by the things we do or by the things we omit to do. For the young, whether he or she is our son, daughter, niece or nephew will inevitably look up to us as an example. I pray that where I am amiss, God and His Prophet Muhammad (pbuh), and the Companions and Saints will cover my son, Mikhail. For I am someone truly sensitive as to his weaknesses. And boy, do I have my weaknesses... 

But when it comes to the cemetery and graves, sunshine, I am happy with Mikhail's contentment and curiosity around so many dead people. There are many adults out there who still cringe with fear at the mere whif of graves and the deceased, which I think is a rather ridiculous and short-sighted attitude. After all, we are all gonna end up here one day. Alhamdulillah, may we be gathered by God the Most Compassionate and Most Merciful in a worthy and noble company of kindred souls. Amen.

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

The Gardener in the Garden of Stones - Eidul Fitri and my mother

The Gardener

Goodbye sweet smile,

How you broke the gloom of night

In your breaking dawn each time

You turned and smiled at me,

Goodbye gentle heart,

How you lifted me up every time I fell,

How you gathered me in your arms

And assured me that you will always be there,

Goodbye kindly soul,

How you made this house a home

And how you fed everyone who came

With food and kindness,

Goodbye beautiful spirit,

How struck I was with your passing

Never to know when we shall meet again,

Under an overcast sky, I took myself away

And in solitude, I began to cry,

Goodbye loving gardener,

Where are you now tending to the flowers and trees?

In whose garden are you pottering and weeding?

For I hope they appreciate your love and work

Among your geraniums and orchids

Far more than your son ever did.

………………………………..

Each Eidul Fitri that marks the end of Ramadhan finds me just that bit more quiet, just that bit more introspective, as sweetness and sadness mix in the vessel of emotion that we call the human spirit.

This Eidul Fitri is the 10th since my mother left the bosom of her family and friends. She was a lot of things to a lot of people. She was a dutiful and caring wife, a generous and loving mother, a smiling matriarch of the extended family, a concerned sister to all her siblings and an unforgettable personality to her many, many close friends. But to the big garden that once adorned our home for 20 years at No.2 Lorong Basong, she was The Gardener. Every morning I would see her pottering around the garden, watering and trimming the plants, fertilizing the soil and cutting away at the weeds that is her eternal enemy. Later she would scold me for kicking my football into the shrubs and knocking down some of her beloved flowers and ferns.

What I would give to have her come in right now and scold me.

Have a wonderful Eidul Fitri, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way