A FATHER'S MEMOIR - the shy doctor

A Memoir. My father is writing his memoir. After the unexpected passing of my brother, Abang Chik (a.k.a. Poone) last September, my dad turned rather quiet and sober. And this is for someone naturally quiet and sober. Talking about this with Mr. Ikhlas, my old friend suggested that this would be a good time for my dad to finally complete his memoir in time for his 80th birthday this coming March 2014. At the very least it would be a project to distract him from the painful memory of having buried his second son. So I mentioned this to my father, and since then there is no stopping him. He is now giving the finishing touches to his latest draft which he typed with an old manual Olympia typewriter. He is also sorting out some grand old pictures to be part of the memoir. 

A Typist. His draft needs to be keyed into the computer for editing, and originally I planned to get a typist to do it. But after glancing briefly, there is much I discovered in his recollections that I didn't know about his life... and I am keen to find out more. So I have volunteered my typing skills. Though it must have pleased him, since then my father has been strangely reluctant to part with his manuscript for me to type. Every other day, I keep nagging him for it, and each time he said it is not ready yet.

Is the doctor shy? I think he is just contented to have something cerebral to fill his days.

A Fathers' Poem. Some years back, I wrote something for my dad on Fathers' Day. It is a little late in the day to share it with you, but here it is...

5. Now That I am a Father

Now that I am a father,

Worrying becomes second nature,

As I look at my son and wonder,

How will he fare when

I am here no longer?

Now that I am a father,

I can share my father’s joy and sorrow

And his firmness that grated people so,

By taking the high road,

When easier seemed the low.

Now that I myself am a father,

I think, finally…

I know mine a little better.

And on this day,

Which celebrates fathers everywhere,

I have my own to share with you,

Abdul Khalid, my dad,

From the tips of his toes

To the ends of his white hair!

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

Have a lovely day, sunshine. Don't forget to tell your father and mother that you love them so. No matter that your love for them will never equal their love and sacrifice... and I think we certainly don't need a parent's memoir to realise this God-beautiful truth.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

TRUE LOVE UNVEILED - the Courtship, the Yearning and the Light of Muhammad

Courtship

Writing is my courtship,

And though I seldom tire of it

I cannot deny my restless heart's

Anticipation of this courtship's 

Promised consummation,

Thus while I hold at bay my own ego that besieges me,

Crossing my path like a hydra-headed dragon,

I wait here still, at the Door of Love,

Captivated by the Light shining like a beacon.

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

Writing is not just writing. Writing comes from contemplation and reflection. And if one is predisposed to contemplate and reflect upon the True Love that is given but rarely understood by Man, a yearning grows. A yearning to see this True Love unveiled. To end this courtship in the consummation of the Divine Presence of Allah (s.w.t.).

Verily, Man would despair in melancholic longing, lost and maddened by the siren calls of the True Love. And it is only the generosity of Allah s(.w.t.) that He has let shine a Light from His Divine Presence into our murky world of the ego. A Light that baths the Man with assurance, hope and a promise of mercy without parallel - The Light of Muhammad (s.a.w.s.), before which all darkness is dispelled.

Have a wonderful day, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way 

Rumi, Soul Teasers and a Deck of Cards...

These are called Rumi-spectacles. Wear them to change your perspective of the world,
which of course, changes the world itself....

Ah. Jelaluddin Rumi. Poet Extraordinaire, best-selling poet in the Western Hemisphere since sliced white bread was invented. Inventor of the dustbin hat. The man who spouted tolerance and inclusiveness before the advent of Hippy-ism, One Love, Flower Power and the Ungrateful Dead. A Game Changer, a Muslim Sufi Saint of unparalleled reach who popularized the whirling ritual and founded the Mehlevi Order.

I don't read Rumi. I don't go looking for him, but every now and then someone would quote him on Facebook and there we would meet... two brick on the wall of a friend. 

To change the topic entirely, as a habit, I do go looking for clouds. Especially when I am driving, which is of course appallingly dangerous. I would be driving up the road and be looking up to the sky. I cannot help myself, you see, drawn as I am to the clouds. They are such shameless flirts... The little soul teasers.

There they are. Teasing me with their God-given beauty.

Getting back to Rumi, about a month ago a stranger named Sean popped up out of the etherness  of the Internet and asked if I wouldn't mind too badly if he could reproduce one of my Rumi-esque Sufi-esque sketches. They are going to produce a 40-deck card set entitled 'Rules of Love of Shams of Tabriz'. Shams of Tabriz is Rumi's famous muse, a wandering dervish who wandered (as wandering dervishes have a habit of doing) into Rumi's hometown and sparked his passionate love and fealty. Shams was the Master of the Master then. This is the picture that Sean wants to use...

...which coincidentally contains the two phrases by which I normally close a posting. I guess this means that I should probably stop here now and leave you to your day, your love, your work and play.

God blesses you always, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

A Distant Thunder and a Little Teasing - Sunday rainy thoughts...

52. Distant thunder

I hear the rumblings of a distant thunder

Light is veiled behind a plume of cloud.

But rain is come

The seeker is now the sought

The lover is now the loved

Woe that I was ever in doubt!

 118. Teasing

What is love without a little teasing,

A little sorrow, a little pain,

A little drought before the rain,

A little sting, a little bleeding,

A little snowfall before spring.

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

It is rainy weather here, the end of the year monsoon season. It comes to my country regular as clockwork. Fishermen avoid going to sea these days. The sea is just too rough and unpredictable.

For city-rats like myself, there is no such foreboding doom. Our only pain is the little inconvenience of waiting out the rain. But rain makes good company for prose-writing. The two prose above are actually from my old collection of the DamSunSunAna... written around mid 2004. It rained hard in my heart that year.

Thank you for coming by today. How was Sunday for you?

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

THE STORY OF THE ONE RING IS NOT ABOUT THE RING AT ALL - Tolkien, story devices, miracles, saints and the Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w.s.)

Hearts & Clouds

Clouds turn into hearts,

When you recite,

BismiLlahiRahmaniRahim,

And if they don't, 

Will you now turn on your heel

And walk away from 

Allah and His Prophet?

You can heal the sick,

And you can fly

When you say

BismiLlahiRahmaniRahim,

But if you are not able to,

Will you now turn on your heel

And walk away from

Allah and His Prophet?

Among the wisest of the wisest,

The Universe is in their hands,

But they see it as bad manners

To ask God to use such story devices,

Seeing the miracles already in themselves

And in Creation and the Flawed Splendour that is Mortal Man.

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

(bismiLlahiRahmaniRahim - in the name of God, Most Compassionate, Most Merciful)

Story Devices. I have read somewhere that J.R.R. Tolkien, when he wrote his magnum opus, The Lord of the Rings, were not too keen on 'story devices'. These literary devices are magical events or creatures that are used by him to  turn the plot in a direction that he desired - such as the giant eagles, and of course the One Ring itself, that is able to turn the wearer invisible. Ironic when you think about it. 

The best fellows. The best of fellows are those who rarely if ever use 'miraculous' powers. Because the role of such teachers is to guide mankind unto the path of the Prophet (s.a.w.s) and His Companions (r.a.). There is of course an avenue for the use of some magic to turn people's hearts, but to be quite honest here, I don't believe that the saints like doing such miracles. For they do not desire to alienate their own person from that of their mureeds (students). "Well, of course he is a saint! I once saw him fly!" Saints do not desire to differentiate based on these story devices. Rather, they are calling us to the very human and yet very spiritual journey of Muhammad (s.a.w.s.). And the greatest miracle of Muhammad (s.a.w.s.) are not such things as the splitting of the moon, but the change he made in the heart, the conscience and the life of Man, for the better - learning a good habit, leaving a bad habit, healthy living, caring and kindness, forgiveness and empathy, friendship, courage and forbearance.

Sentiments. This may not make for grand cinematic scenes, but as Tolkien himself was aware of, the story of the One Ring is not about the Ring at all, but the sentiments, good and bad that drove the plot and the lives of the Hobbits, Men and the Elves. The Prophet (s.a.w.s.) would have understood this.

Have a lovely day, sunshine. Be useful, be happy and forget about the One Ring and the parlour tricks of the Devil. The unadorned finger pointing to the Oneness of God is the best accessory your soul can ever wear...

Galadriel rejected the Ring. You should too. Stay mortal and simple.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way   

Droplets of Beauty - pictures tell stories

My Maker is more beautiful than me...

Droplets of Beauty

My mind is restless,

And my heart is waiting impatiently

For some word, some vision to come my way

And strike me down as a lonely tree atop a lonely hill

Assailed by wind and thunder on a stormy day,

But sometimes love is no opera, no grand vista

But little droplets of beauty, that if you look hard enough

Will tell you of your Lord God, and His Love...

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

My Maker is more interesting and inspiring than me...

I went for a walk this morning. But I woke up late, and so my plan to scurry about in the cold morning air has gone astray. Outside, the day already looked hot and bright. So I planned my walk along the most shady avenues. And the walk must end at the neighborhood cafe where they serve a decent cup of coffee. This is exercise sinner-style.

He he he.

Even in death, my Maker leaves me to be beautiful...

I have nothing more interesting to share than these pictures I took while walking. It broke my walking rhythm, but that's all right. I think I was meant to notice such things. So I guess this means that I am meant to share them with you.

Man made me from inspiration of the Maker and His works...

Have a lovely Sunday, sunshine. God bless you.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Online Epithet - a practical and convenient solution for a sudden visitation by the Angel of Death

Take the words written below and carve it on my gravestone...

1. I am unimportant

I am unimportant.

You, o'readers, 

Are all that

Is left of

Me.

So say to Him that

You read and

You understood,

And I reminded

You of Him

Beautifully

And with

Sweet,

Lovely

Prose.

For I have been dipping

My quill in an ocean of honey,

And there is nothing

Real and worthy

Left still

Of me.

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

Can someone plan his own epithet on his gravestone? On a random trip down memory lane I found this old prose, recorded some 3 years ago.

But I guess this entire almanac is an epithet of sorts. I find this thought a little morbid, but strangely assuring.

No, don't worry, sunshine. I am not myself planning to die any time soon. But to have an up-to-date epithet is both practical and convenient since we never know when the soul train will come whistling into the station, next stop - the World Hereafter.

Have a lovely weekend, sunshine. Talk to you real soon.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Two Languages and Two Personalities - trashing out a new blog and the startling discovery of another personality...

It's you! It's no one else. He just sounds a little different, that's all...

I have been busy this weekend, sunshine. I am trying to concoct a blog in my native Bahasa Melayu (Malay) language. It is funny how we appear to have different personalities in one body, and think and write in different languages. It is not as unusual as some people may think, and I have an impressive royal personage from the past who said something along a similar vein...

I speak Spanish to God, Italian to women, French to men and German to my horse

(Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, 1500-1558 a.d.)

If you can understand Malay, you might want to read it. It's entitled 'Chembul' and can be accessed by Clicking Here.

My posting in my native Malay is very different from the Almanac. The language is err... how shall I say it...  replete with marketplace language (bahasa pasar), informal and often crass. It is very crude with little subtlety, almost non-existent prose and even my late sainted mother would be reluctant to consider it a fine piece of writing. And to top off this strange menagerie of language, I have adopted a different personality too, for I am known as 'Gue' in this new blog. Let me tell you that this is a startling surprise even to myself.

I am not sure whether I can keep up two blogs in my life. As it is, I am stealing time between chores and work to handle the Almanac, so perhaps I won't be maintaining Chembul. We will see...

Nothing to report today, sunshine. Just the strange thoughts that writers think in their tiresome search to find their voice... In whatever and however many languages they are 'fluent' in. 

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

God and the Distinguished League of the Broken Hearts

51. O’ Lord, are You with me?

I was driving home

Late one night,

And I felt a tinge

Of uncertainty.

With worry, I whispered,

“O’ Lord, are You with me?”

And the Voice answered,

“Yes.”

I was praying late

The same night,

And while prostrated

On the prayermat,

A sense of deep relief

Overwhelmed me,

So I whispered,

“O Lord, are You with me?

And the Voice

Again answered,

“Yes.”

Unable to sleep

After the prayers

I was writing,

When I felt

Someone watching,

And then asking,

“O’ Taufiq, why are

You writing still

While others sleep?”

And I typed this reply,

“Because, o’ Voice,

You give me

No other choice”.

“I don’t?”, He asked.

And then I typed,

“Yes, you don’t. And thank You.”

Tracing a smile upon my face, He sighed and said,

“Oh, you are welcome, Taufiq.”

This is not how I write prose ALL the time. It happened late one night in early 2009, as I was driving home, alone, weary and brokenhearted. I think we have all at least once in our life, have driven a car at night, alone, weary and brokenhearted.  In the next couple of days I was well enough to write this prose below. And give a little consolation to another broken heart. Life is funny that way. It is often full of joy, but in between are moments of poignant sadness, when we, deceived by this world, place all our hopes and dreams on this world, only to be disappointed. And we really cannot blame the world, for the world is saying to us, "Your Lord has told you of my nature and form. Yet you choose to believe your ego and disbelieve your Lord."

53. Precious tears

O’ you bedewing your pillow,

Your tears are My tears, o’ sad one.

What has taken you so ill,

So as to pull one pearly tear

That is so precious to Me?

If you have no where to turn to, turn to Me.

If you have no hope to cling to, cling to Me.

If you are faced with doubt, doubt not My Love for you.

If you are faced with fear, if you feel unloved,

Oh, love! Do you not hear?...

I am your Lord, your King.

The Mightiest, the Greatest, the One.

Between you and I, there is nothing,

And if you will be my Moon,

Will I not be your Sun?

To shine on you,

Each precious day,

So that no harm will you despair of.

Do you not know,

O’ shy one?

In Me is the cure

For all ill that

Your heart may endure.

I think we will make it through this life just fine, sunshine. You and I, we are members of the Distinguished League of the Broken Hearts. Oh, you don't remember signing up? You have, sunshine, when we met on the Day of Promises, before time as we know it began. And on that day, witnessed by God in His Court, we agreed to form this league that we may help each other, and remind each other of Him and His all-encompassing and all-enduring Love, Compassion and Mercy for us. This association may not sound like much, but it is. Because our patron is God Himself. And in God is the cure for all ill that humanity may endure. 

Have a lovely Monday. God bless.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Women, The French and Their Wicked Witty Wisdom... of sorts

Heche presented to me a couple of very old looking books, all of which I shall share with you one day. But perhaps the most quirky little hardcover is a book entitled ‘A Thousand Flashes of French Wit, Wisdom & Wickedness’ - A compendium of collectible French quotes and proverbs by one J. De Finod. The book was first published in 1880 and this particular copy being the 1916 publication. The book is almost 100 years old with 100 years old social niceties and prejudices. People were quite conservative in those days, priggish even. Or at least Finod himself had that impression, when he wrote in his prefatory to the collection…

“In compiling this book, I have carefully excluded everything that would seem objectionable to you, my liberal but virtuous reader, the English language being the more austere than the French in its expressions; but, after having paid a legitimate tribute to your just susceptibilities, I have, without timorous scruples, preserved such piquant gems as could be enjoyed without endangering your morals.”

He is afraid of endangering your morals. But I think we will do just fine, sunshine. Moving on he writes…

“A final word to the lady reader: You will see, fair reader, that much good has been said of you, and, alas! Much bad also; this is because no subject more worthy of attention has ever haunted the minds of all great philosophers of the world. But listen to this well-meant injunction: Believe unhesitatingly all that is said in your favor, and deny energetically, as myself do, all that is said to your prejudice. Do not criminate an innocent compiler, who would not exchange one of your smiles for all the wisdoms of Solomon, and who has inserted in his book the malicious remarks of certain ill-natured philosophers, only to show how far man’s ingratitude can go. “

De Finod

My initial impression was - An Apologia pathetic and groveling to womankind. But having read some of the quotable quotes from the French about women, I am not surprised. Perhaps he was not compiling all these French sayings alone. Perhaps De Finod was married, and his wife (or mistress) was hovering around him, reading the manuscripts and muttering, “Hmm… I hope you yourself do not subscribe to some of these vicious things that the French say about women!” To which De Finod may have protested, “Of course not, my little pumpkin! I condemn such prejudices from the core of my being. They are after all, just being French”

Just perhaps.

Well, without further ado, these are some of the more succulent morsels of French wit, wisdom and wickedness that I found worthy for my reader’s attention. And just like De Finod, let me tell you that I am just quoting. Please don’t shoot the messenger. 

 Poor old Hugo. Either he fell irresistibly in love with a Femme Fatal
or maybe his Landlady kicked him out.

Criticism of the sex does not totally come from the opposite. 

I disagree with this 17th century writer. I think that wrinkles are
the grave of vanity, not love at all. But of course some are
prone to treat them both alike.

 True. And boy, are men good kindler of fire!

Uh oh.

 Who's gonna argue with De Sade?

*Gulp* 

Have a lovely Friday, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Become a Bridge. Don't Burn the Bridge.

104. What’s Your Name Again?

My name is unimportant

My life is insignificant

Words are all that is left of me.

And even they are on loan,

A bridge to the Great Unknown

To a Liege Who desires to be known.

TWITTERWARS. First there were flaming emails, as human conflict ascends into the internet. Then it became twitter wars, as people fight each other in full view of the world.

MORONS. I can understand that in the spur of anger and frustration, we lose it and we say things we would regret. What is more culpable however is when people actually take the time and trouble to write something nasty in an email, on Facebook or on Twitter. I can easily forgive the sudden impulse of verbal discontent that we sometimes let fly. “Moron!” is my favourite adjectives for inconsiderate drivers. My sainted late mother would let burst an even more earthier condemnation of drivers whom she believed had been severely uncivil… “Makan taik punya orang!” Literally meaning, “Those damn shit-eating people!”.

So we lose our temper, because that is the price of living in a society of imperfect mankind. It just happens. In fact, I would probably lose temper even when alone on a deserted island. No doubt, I would catch my reflection in a secluded pond, before muttering, “You damn fool. Look what happens when you go cheap on the ferry ride…”

WRITING. But writing is different. Writing requires introspection. It demands contemplation of the words and the meaning we intend for the reader. Surely, if you had to sit back to write something, and if you reflect into your inner space, your conscience and your heart, SURELY there must be something good to write, instead of the damning judgment of some other person. Surely, at the end of it all, whatever we write, especially nasty thoughts, will have no good result. Not for you nor for the intended reader…

I write because I like to write about God. And about the beautiful persons that He acquaints Himself with. So I write about the Prophets, the Companions and the Saints. But I also like to write about ordinary people. Because for whatever reason which I cannot imagine, God acquaints with us too. Indeed He seems Most Preoccupied with us.

So write about the good and God, sunshine. Become a bridge. Don't burn the bridge.

Pax Taufiqa

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Love is a Mystery to Me, So I Sought Her in the Library

Love Among the Books

Love is a mystery to me,

So I sought her in the library,

Under the section of Fiction,

I found all of her anger,

Sorrow and despair

Were but a temporary state.

“I am not always this way,” she said.

Under the section of Current Affairs,

I found books and books about me,

And often it is about love and hope,

But sometimes the story is very sad,

To which I must answer her

And say, “I am sorry.

My bad".

Under the section of History,

I read about her birth, her childhood,

Her family and friends,

Thus she found me there, and said,

“May our own history never end.”

Under the section of Humour,

I found her funnier

Than Karl Marx,

Her slapsticks more hilarious

Than Spinoza,

And her laughter more musical

Than Gershwin.

Under the section of Literature

I found her as Lizzie

In Pride and Prejudice,

As Marianne to tame willful Willoughby,

As Layla being courted by Majnun,

Wracked by love, overwrought by jealousy.

To which she fussed, “Jealous… ME?”

Under the section of Poetry

She found my soul there,

Hard at work, scribbling prose

Of God, Prophet and Love,

And she demanded,

“Where am I in all of this?”

To which I said,

“Why, love, in the kiss…”

She paused for a bit, biting her lip

Before firmly summing up,

“Damn the kiss, write something about ME!”

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

Heche says I don’t write much about her. That even when I do, it is in the passing, a minor point before I tear away into the stratosphere.

So I will stop here before I go any further.

For those celebrating love on Valentine’s, I wish you many happy kisses. For those celebrating love each and every day, you have my utter admiration....

Wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

My Bad, Your Good - finding happy answers about life, love and God

1. The nature of knowledge

All knowledge is contained

In the Ocean of the Lord,

And if perchance, I appear

To name different types of knowledge,

Know that it is merely because

I have taken a cup from the Ocean,

And man, in their foolishness,

Keep asking me,

“What are you talking about?!”

My Bad. The cloud of labels at the bottom right column has grown awfully untidy, don't you think? I really must do something about it, simplifying it to a few broad headings. But for the life of me I find it a troublesome chore. It is time-consuming enough to write and sketch, but to endure reading and organizing the postings and prose? You are of course, correct. I should have organised my method properly before I even began recording this almanac. My bad.

Your Good. If you intend to continue your visitation to this almanac, I can only assure you more of my bad. Bad poems, bad grammar, bad spelling, and generally bad, bad, bad all over the place. So you see, I am ever happy to have you here. Your goodness with my badness. And perhaps somewhere in between we shall find some happy answers about life, love and God.

8. Promise me

Oh Lord,

Let not the rivers run dry,

Let not the sea turn to cinder,

And the air to ash,

Let not the voices be silenced,

Let not the songs stand mute,

However fierce the questions,

However troubling the riddle,

We can only try.

But take not the voices and the songs

Away from me.

Have a lovely day, sunshine. You are my voices and songs.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

At The Nib of My Pen - Muhammad and Mikhail

How I write About Mikhail

When I wrote your poem,

I had the Prophet Muhammad in my mind,

In my hand, and at the end of the nib of my pen...

I picked up Mikhail from school during lunch. He was surprised. "Aren't you working today, Papa?"

"Yes, but I am not so busy. After all, it's your birthday!" I replied.

We dropped by Nandos in Bangsar for some chicken. Is it me, or are those damn roasted poultry overpriced? While waiting for our food, I took some pictures of my son. "Oh, Mika. You are SO not photogenic. Come on... smile properly..." He explained why he cannot smile very well for the camera, "But I am not so happy."

"Why aren't you happier?"

"It's not as if Aqheel is here with us. If he was here, I would REALLY be smiling." (Brief note: Aqheel is his 11 year old cousin, and my brother's youngest son).

"Oh, I am so SORRY." I answered hotly. "If that is the case I will just take pictures of you minus your alleged smiles!"

Honestly.

Later we wandered into Toys 'r' Us, where amazingly my son was not interested in buying anything. "I don't want anything, Papa. I am waiting for Mummy to give me my money." Then he mused, "I wonder if she has gotten paid already. Hmm..." (Brief note: His earnest mother promised to reward Mika with cash on his birthday for totally dropping instant noodles from his diet... Yes, guilty as charged. We bribe our children.)

Then we wandered into a bookshop, where I bought him a TinTin adventure comic book, entitled "The Blue Lotus. "I chose it because it has a dragon, Papa." He explained.

While paying, I received a call from my brother inquiring about Mika because he wanted to drop off Aqheel at the house. I told the birthday boy the good news and without much ado, we paid quickly and hurried home. As I drove, I notice my son sitting quietly in the passenger seat. True enough, he is really smiling now.

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

I am not terribly worried about my son. I believe that wherever he may go in future, it will always be a good place. Perhaps it is the innate belief (or hope?) of a parent. Perhaps it is a father in denial of the murkiness and hazards of our times. I recorded the prose below because there was a time when Mika might have actually migrated overseas, to live in a foreign land, thousands of miles away from me. When I wrote the poem, I had the prophet Muhammad in my mind, in my hand, and at the end of the nib of my pen...

A good land

Wherever you may go, Mikhail

However far you may journey,

Because you bring me with you,

The land to which your feet takes you,

Will, with my blessing,

Always be a good land.

Have a beautiful day, sunshine. God bless all our children. 

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way