is it truly darkest just before the dawn?

If so then please..make 

me strong  

                enough 

                            to just hold on

in the One

who moves the rain,

"trust"

as he streaks, hesitantly,

across the window of the train,

swallowing and being swallowed by,

the other drops of rain

along his track

the same track travelled 

many times by many who 

look just like him, 

across the windows of countless trains:

the sons of countless rains

enough times to doubt;

for maybe on the out

                                   side it is only one who 

looks just like him:

stick-like physique,

glasses too thick,

nose too often picked;

on the backdrop of drops of rain

looks back a face full of error

on the window mirror

                                   ring his inner pain

he recalls this train track

from - has it been that long back? 

he is surprised - as surprised 

as he is at his 

own insecurities

so near yet so far

has 

so little yet so much

happened in that time?

a year 

for this globe to travel its track 

back to the same station;

as into a station familiar

this train brings him home

to a pain familiar;

a house not a home

for how can it be home

being a distance not few

to his loved ones old and new?

engaged

in trying to gauge

what next to do

and whether she is true..

of course she is;

of course..right?

in the One

who moves the train,

"trust"

as he streaks, hesitantly,

across half the globe:

high-flyer, 

over-achiever, 

burden on his shoulder 

carrying the family's hope;

undeserving

medic student;

coping with the 

intermittent abdominal pain 

of pent up wind on a ride 16 hour;

contemplating the 

intermittent emotional pain 

of pent up feelings on a ride 1 year.

in the One 

who removes the pain,

"trust"

____________________________________________________________________________________

Work of non-fiction.

dear family,

Perhaps 

'home' is not a place.

And  

when we miss home 

it's not the house we miss, nor 

the hometown.

For what is to miss

of bricks and buildings?

No..

it must be that we miss not the physical place,

but rather it is 

her people, the memories, the emotions

that we long to return to.

Dear family,

'Home';

I would say it is not a place,

rather it is a feeling:

the feeling of 

being with loved ones,

of going down routes oft-travelled,

of the familiarity of old times.

Perhaps 

that's what we mean

when we say

"I am home"

It's that time of year again.

Missing home, 

Abang

from the train back to Preston

yet we keep going back

to that we know

will hurt.

Why?

[82:6]

"when you were born I planted a tree..."

In this story,

I am that tree 

who today presents to the world 

a hard bark

which is so very thin,

barely hiding beneath it 

the sapling still there:

soft, vulnerable, naive;

sprouted from a seed planted

so few years ago.

A tree who, on occasion, thinks

he is done growing up;

thinks he is ready to face anything 

thrown at him by the world

though he is still untested by 

her storms, her droughts, her winters.

"...now it's twice as big as me."

In this story

I grew up, but

along the way hurt you. 

Today when I look back at

those years in which I 'rebelled',

I could almost laugh at the idiocy of my own actions. 

But should I laugh,

with the knowledge that

those stupid actions made you cry?

So here we are, ma.

In this story

I now walk up the stairs 

leading to the paediatric ward,

past a window which reads:

"When you were born I planted a tree;

now it's twice as big as me."

to meet ill children and worried parents.

Parents who understand that I am not yet a doctor 

but regard me with trust reserved to one.

I don't know if I deserve that trust. 

How can I feel ready to be a doctor when

I barely feel ready to even be called a man just yet?

When I see that painted window

I remember you:

The lady who will always be 

my first best friend, 

my number one fan,

my hero,

my mother.

Happy birthday, ma

(and happy anniversary to you and papa) 😬

I hope you will be at peace seeing me continue growing up,

with the knowledge that I will always be your little boy 🙃

Love you, moosh2, assalamualaikum.. :)

work of non-fiction