Midnight Musing

Some time in '86 I sat in Hashim's Newnham Terrace living room intently watching 'The Sword of Islam'. In the course of several consecutive days I watched episodes of the suspiciously propagandist documentary. At the back of my yet to mature, selfish mind then was always the thought/fear that if this element ever gained foothold in my country, I'd be among the first 'infidels' to have my back against the wall facing the firing squad. A relief to me indeed when the embodiment of that Shi'ite sect only confined itself within Iran.  My home was safe but Iran was torn asunder.  I met several Iranian refugees enroute to other parts of the world. Nice people they were, shared some pistachios with the ever-hungry me. They went on their merry way, I stayed on mine.

After Iran, there were other lesser highlighted human-caused tragedies;  for instance in some small countries in Africa somewhere, which import and significance eluded me. That was, for me then, acceptable, understandable as those happenstances had very little chance of affecting either me or my existence.  Hey it rained in Spain, so what? I was bone-dry, happy and contented where I was. 

Later on there was this Bosnian-Serb conflict in the Balkan.  I somewhat sensed then that my antennae of concern were twitching, again. In fact from then on I began to 'feel' with those affected, started to 'see' from their eyes, proceeded to 'listen' in to the war 'stories'. Literally, I became aware.

Oh don't mind that hoity-toity 'aware'. It just came out of my not having a better, proper word to describe that state of being.  A minion such as I would never be elevated to such omnipotent enlightenment - mine is somewhat akin to a junkie's euphoric singular cosmic comprehension - a revelation that he shares exclusively only with himself which he could never explain to anybody else.

Of course, much later there were other wars, too numerous to name, but a few stuck out like a sore thumb: the Saddam war, the Qaddafi war, that Arab Spring, more recently Syria and not forgetting the ever-conspicuous Palestine. Not much synchronicity in that listing, nor do I suspect they were brought about by any common reasoning.  However, they served to highlight to me one common trait shared by those at war - pure, sincere, venomous, unadulterated hatred towards the other side.

Which brings me to the reason why I am writing this piece. I am concerned, very concerned in fact, that I see this poison seeping into and through the very texture and fabric of our society.  Who sowed that seed of hatred? I imagine we had ventured too far ahead into our history that the real culprit had dissapated like a whift of smoke, disappearing, leaving little trace of his/her identity in the long distant past. (Mr. or Mrs. Sleuth - be my guest - the stage is yours - go sleuthing -break a leg, knock yourself out). I don't have much care for who that character was or what his/her motive might be (really?).  My worry is that the seed was sown and it is being used very effectively now to the detriment of me (still selfish but not too much I hope) and all those I hold dearest to me.

Note the fervour with which we go for the other party's throat.  Many are not in it just for the game but rather they are in it for the kill.  The seed has matured and the field is ready for reaping.  When will the master-stroke come?

I think I have come as far as I want to go with this piece. In parting, I bid you  pay heed to this maxim from a well-known friend/foe: "Create a vacuum and fill the void."  This is what I feel the hatred weapon is used for:  to create a void so the vacuum may be filled, preferably with ones that are easily malleable ...

So Hail the puppets! Hail the puppet-master!  When we should be praying for Syria, are we playing for another Syria, instead?

Lambert
22/07/2016

The Passing

I went up Misty Mountain after your
Funeral, not to rejoice but to chase
After a memory thread created
At the moment of your ill-timed passing.

Sheer white walls greeted, shrouded my presence
A hissing silence overwhelmed, as I
Treaded down that lane or this path along
Our picturesque but dysphoric vistas.

The cool fog was an apt sombre blanket
Its embrace I welcomed despite the chill
Listless, I sauntered amidst an avian chorus
Birthing my adieu; my sincere farewell.

As I bear down this passage, linger and
Bespeak for me a spot in the Garden,
For as I traverse my longer route, I
Long for our jaunt here there rekindled.

Stay Love, heal Love, rest Love, wait Love.


Lambert
(08/01/2016)

Musing from the bank of River Kuantan

Sitting there, under the shade of a huge Neem tree, facing Kuantan river, I gazed at ripples created by passing boats. Traffic noises in the background were almost silent in the serenity and tranquility offered by the vista.

The wind that ruffled my hair felt soothing, bringing along wafts of harbour, estuary smells that made me wrinkle my nose from time to time. Another boat passed by, halving the stream almost, churning silts from the bottom, muddying the water, sending waves to both sides of the river, which made little slapping sounds as they hit on the embankment near me.

I sat on under that Neem tree, enjoying the comfort its shades offered, at times flicking off little insects and ants that fell from its branches, to kill time, waiting for my beloveds to complete their errand.

(29/03/2016)