Category: Literature

Fisherman of luck

fisherman

 

I’m just a fisherman of words
When luck be my might
A word will bite
When the waves crash with vengeance
I’ll pull in a sentence
When the sea roars, masts are frail
I’ll reel in a whale.

-W.E.

I have a confession to make.

It’s just all luck of the bite.

Your job is to throw out the bait, that can never stop if you wish to have a meal.

The rest is up to the sea. If she feels merciful, she will grant you a taste.

When there is an abundance, she will let you feast.

I don’t own a thing.

Some of my catches have been releases of far better men and women before me who don’t need to devour their catch.

The experience is enough for them.

Learning, Knowledge, Wisdom

learning

 

Learning
Throwing your ego into the sea and watching it drown in the vastness of what
you don’t know.

Knowledge
Admitting you have the ego to drown and that the sea of vastness is there

Wisdom
Showing someone else how to do it.

-W.E.

Humility is what will commence the journey.
It will set you on fire in your love of learning, knowledge and wisdom.
A great scholar said, ‘The more I learned, the more ignorant I became’. Think about the context of this magnificent quote. Think about who said it and it’s weight.
He wasn’t ignorant by any means but this is an expression of humility and defeat. Admittance he’s a speck of nothing despite of who the public thought he was, in the vast ocean of knowledge that existed and opened up to him the more he learned.

Poets Feast

Jordaens_King_Drinks

Tonight, we feast on words.
Even though we are separated by worlds.
Your ages so tender,
So full of splendour,
Colloquially speaking,
You’re mind benders.
And mine?
Battered, beaten and bruised,
Torn, healed, re-abused,
But, I remain amused.
At the possibilities ahead,
Just like you,
Open hearted to receive,
To conceive,
To achieve.
So raise the goblets in time,
And lets drink loves wine.

-W.E.

Extreme-mist

derwish

I’m an extreme mist of the worst kind,
I’ll pose at one end of the spectrum,
In full sight,
Or a midnight blind.
I’ll fog your thoughts,
Stir the soil to be sewn,
Have you scurrying back and forth,
Rope ends of your mind.
So push me to that end,
Or to the other,
Through the thickness of it all,
Who knows what you’ll find.

Time to hijack the term back from the lazy throws and empty prattling of media musers.

Too long it has been deployed by the mass hysteria-mongering media, abused to stigmatise people.

Words are not theirs to use when they cannot appropriately contextualise them. They are ours.

The word extremist is not evil, not in the correct context or deployment.

Shakespeare is an extremist.
Beethoven is most definitely an extremist.
Einstein an extremist.
Ghandi an extremist.

Any person of worth or merit devotes themselves to an extreme beyond the norm to spring forth greatness and beauty the conformity of society cannot produce collectively in their mediocrity.

-ME

Artists are not drunk enough

intoxicated art

For me, the ability to write only comes in the stillness of the night.
Thoughts, ideas, musings and pondering pass through me during the day.

A word from him, a look from her, a thought from that person expressed through mere presence, my guard is up and I’m on alert and I take notes but I only find the reaping at night when silence prevails, my belly is empty, life forms are otherwise dead and the stillness allows it all to manifest.

Like a bashful girl summoned from behind a veil, some things deserve their own stage.

You must find that place and realise the worlds most noble sages, scholars, writers, artists, musicians and poets all revelled in solitude.

Some may need alcohol to remove these filters and inhibitions, but it will always be a mask, a psychotropic drug that keeps the demons at bay long enough for you to function. But the best of your work will only come when the body is pure, detoxified of material and of ego and ripe with a fertile soil.
-ME

It’s not just a pen.

pen

 

Renowned Muslim thinker and scholar Hamza Yusuf recounts a story when he was in the Mauritanian desert under tutelage from great masters who have carried on proper Islamic tradition and scholarship down to students for hundreds of years. He was cleaning under his nails with a pen when something struck him upside the head. His teacher threw something at him and told him, “Hamza, God has sworn an oath by the pen”. He immediately understood his mistake at disrespecting the otherwise inanimate object. (1)
But look at who he is now.
When you have such reverence for things, you can then pass on value to your family, students, friends and more.
Where is the reverence and respect for those sacred things?

(1) Quran Chapter 68 is titled ‘The Pen’ and begins it’s first verse with God swearing an oath by the pen. “Nun. By the pen and what they inscribe,”

The Wall

the wall

My size precedes me.
Say my name and people envision a hard time. A large guy with an ability to talk, conviction backed by brutality backed by humility, now there’s something to ponder over.
‘They can’t exist together’, you say.
Stereotypes of what should or shouldn’t be swarm your mind,
Overwhelm you until your mind collapses,
Your spirit bent over and I knee it to its head.
Beads of sweat fountain out of you,
Buts it’s not sweat,
It’s ignorance,
It’s arrogance, it’s your prejudice,
It’s your lack of compassion.
I built this body on purpose! Not for show, but for purpose.
I can verbose with you ad naseum about the health benefits,
How I will outlive live the average person, how I can crush the average person, albeit all in a perfect world.
But the reason I built it, I have come to discover is to keep you all away, I had to dig that one out on my own.
Whilst your fingers jab away at keyboards,
You comment and opine,
You sit your behind,
You snort the cathartic line
Of social approval, conformist, online.
I learned to close my fists, feeling it viscerally,
Neck pulsating,
Jugular vibrating,
Heart palpating,
Perpetrating,
Violence on flesh,
The real kind,
That’s done and dusted when one of us falls,
I don’t care for your flaws,
Man up and own them all,
Look up from the screen to see past the scores.
And multitudes of panderist’s, of safety network enforcers, of appeasers and cheer leaders.
Some people swear they are introverts,
Swear they like being alone but their guard is down.
I see their body language. They invite you all in willingly.
They don’t have the requisite guarded posture of an introvert.
Stay the fuck away from me. I’m pleasant, left alone.
Don’t come knocking and expect a half arsed attempt of insincere welcome.
Don’t come knocking expecting me to tell you my life’s grievances or what I heard or what I did on the weekend.
Don’t come knocking expecting cordiality and mutual acceptance if there is something I disagree with.
Really, I’m this big because I want to keep you away,
For your own sake, not mine.
Part of it is Gods work, I didn’t choose this height.
Maybe HE wants you to keep away.
However, the width and girth is my work.
The ability to fight you off with ease,
The ability to challenge your mind and break you down with my incessant pestering at the obsessive, compulsive details because you’re only happy if we only lament the surface trivialities,
Yeah, that’s my work too.
So step up,
Step up if you have the gall,
Talk to me, I dare you to climb the wall.
Maybe if you did,  you’d be let inside and realise this large cavity I have created was to be able to house as many of you,
Safely,
Securely and passionately.
Yes there is a wall, it’s high but if you have claws and feet, you can climb in, come over that wall, and be secure within its confines.
Maybe I purposely built it that high to only allow those with real drive, with sincere intentions inside.

Beyond silence, beyond me

tumblr_mnsv1jGOQ11r4gfq8o4_1280
Photo Credit: http://brownguymakesart.tumblr.com/post/52033467142/an-nafs-the-crossroads-of-human-disposition

If silence is the absence of noise,

Then take me to the place where even silence vanishes.

Maybe there, I, will cease to exist.

-ME