Animosity

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by Huzaifa Akbar

Come close and bid me farewell; touch my eyes with smiling lips.
Let the children grasp my hands with soft and rosy fingers;
Let the ages place their veined hands upon my head and bless me;
Let the virgins come close and see the shadow of God in my eyes,
And hear the echo of His will racing with my breath.

I read the last verse and I could feel the icy, yet warm words slip down my ears and explode in my mind. I feel the intensity of Khalil Gibran ringing inside my body, and slowly, very discretely, warm my insides to the core. I can feel the goose bumps on my arm blossoming like a sunflower awakening from its slumber as the warm arms of the Sun embraces it in a morning in spring.

I read Khalil Gibran’s poetry every day in the cold desolate frosty evenings, so that they could calm my nerves and provide my soul shelter from your icy bellows. 

Unwrap me from this white linen shroud and clothe me
With leaves of jasmine and lilies;
Take my body from the ivory casket and let it rest
Upon pillows of orange blossoms.

I do not despair you; I loathe you because of the veil of gloom you cast over His children. What I do like about you is that, you always let the tiny spark of hope live inside everyone’s heart that there will always be a haven waiting for us and the cozy sheets that lay there awaiting its master to return and conquer his realm once more. 

I often felt that you are simply unnecessary for this time, that you are one flame that has been doused because of a plethora of light. But, I wonder, I remain curious as to His mysterious activities. He has created everything out of purpose, and then yes, you should have some function, some derogatory function that seeks nothing else than to spread gloom and despair over His kingdom. I simply shrug my adolescent thoughts and bow before His Majestic works and hope that someday, I too would be acquainted by the knowledge of your purpose.

Alas, I did uncover the truth behind the mystery that ever so caused havoc in my serene thoughts and caused multiple relapses in my chores, I was exposed to your reality. 

You are responsible for the slumber of the Almighty’s servants whom we, the superior beings look down upon and mistreat. Not just that, you light up the roads with the Flame of the Forest, and rejoice the hearts of the unbelievers and ignite the fire of the Beauty of Thy Lord. 

The Almighty works in mysterious ways. I was senile. I can only be ashamed of my undeveloped mind and act childish while belittling your magnitude. I simply forgot the ecstasy you brought me while I was tucked under my comfy sheets and sipping tea. 

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,
But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.
It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,
But rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels forever in flight.

Lo! The world, the Lord brings you, winter.