Sunday, December 25, 2016

is it truly darkest just before the dawn?


If so then please..make 
me strong  
                enough 
                            to just hold on

Saturday, September 10, 2016

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.

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

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

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Monday, February 15, 2016

"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