April 6

Duniya ke Musafir Nasheed

 

New Version By a small boy [name unknown] in Mysore City..

Translation:

Oh travellers of this world

your destination is the grave

This journey for which you are preparing will last for only two days

Since the creation of this world thousands and millions have arrived

No one is left

They’ve been engulfed in soil

Do not forget this, this will be everyone’s final abode

Oh traveller of this world

Your destination is the grave

With your own eyes

how many burials have you witnessed?

With your own hands

how many of the dead have you buried?

Of your own consequences

why are you so unaware?

Oh traveller of this world

Your destination is the grave

These great mansions you have

they are of no use

These tall and lofty buildings that you have built

they are of no use

Only two metres of this vast earth, will be your small home

Oh traveller of this world

Your destination is the grave

Here today

Gone tomorrow

You are not to stay in this world

Your destination is to leave

This journey for which you are preparing will be over in two days

Oh travellers of this world

your destination is the grave.

 

 

CHANGE YOUR LIFE RIGHT NOW..

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February 9

A Crabby Old Woman

A Crabby Old Woman

When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through her meagre possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this "anonymous" poem winging across the Internet:

Crabby Old Woman

What do you see, nurses ?  What do you see?
What are you thinking when you’re looking at me?

A crabby old woman, Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her food and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice,  "I do wish you’d try!"

Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe?

Who, resisting or not,  lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill?

Is that what you’re thinking?   Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse;    YOU’RE NOT LOOKING AT ME.

I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.

I’m a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now a lover she’ll meet.

A bride soon at twenty -  My heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.

A woman of thirty  my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other  with ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man’s beside me to see I don’t mourn

At fifty once more,  Babies play ’round my knee,
Again we know children – My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, My husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing young of their own ,
And I think of the years and the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old woman and nature is cruel;
‘Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles, Grace and vigour depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass A young girl still dwells,
And now and again, My battered heart swells.

I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I’m loving and living life over again.

I think of the years – All too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people, Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman;   Look closer….see, ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within…..we will all, one day, be there, too!

February 9

Who I Am!

By Izdehar Albowyha

Who I Am !

[Must Read To Know What is Hijab]
(An Excellent poem about the Muslim Woman)

What do you see
when you look at me
Do you see someone limited,
or someone free

All some people can do is just look and stare
Simply because they can’t see my hair

Others think I am controlled and uneducated
They think that I am limited and un-liberated

They are so thankful that they are not me
Because they would like to remain ‘free’

Well free isn’t exactly the word I would’ve used
Describing women who are cheated on and abused

They think that I do not have opinions or voice
They think that being hooded isn’t my choice

They think that the hood makes me look caged
That my husband or dad are totally outraged

All they can do is look at me in fear
And in my eye there is a tear

Not because I have been stared at or made fun of
But because people are ignoring the one up above

On the day of judgment they will be the fools
Because they were too ashamed to play by their own rules

Maybe the guys won’t think I am a cutie
But at least I am filled with more inner beauty

See I have declined from being a guy’s toy
Because I won’t let myself be controlled by a boy

Real men are able to appreciate my mind
And aren’t busy looking at my behind

Hooded girls are the ones really helping the muslim cause
The role that we play definitely deserves applause

I will be recognized because I am smart and bright
And because some people are inspired by my sight

The smart ones are attracted by my tranquillity
In the back of their mind they wish they were me

We have the strength to do what we think is right
Even if it means putting up a life long fight

You see we are not controlled by a mini skirt and tight shirt
We are given only respect, and never treated like dirt

So you see, we are the ones that are free and liberated
We are not the ones that are sexually terrorized and violated

We are the ones that are free and pure
We’re free of STD’s that have no cure

So when people ask you how you feel about the hood
Just sum it up by saying ‘baby its all good’

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February 9

The Muslim Woman "Unveiled"

ATT34396

By Izdehar Albowyha

You look at me and call me oppressed,
Simply because of the way I’m dressed,

You know me not for what’s inside,
You judge the clothing I wear with pride,

My body’s not for your eyes to hold,
You must speak to my mind, not my feminine mould,

I’m an individual, I’m no mans slave,
It’s Allah’s pleasure that I only crave,

I have a voice so I will be heard,
For in my heart I carry His word,

"O ye women, wrap close your cloak,
So you won’t be bothered by ignorant folk",
Man doesn’t tell me to dress this way,
It’s a Law from God that I obey,

Oppressed is something I’m truly NOT,
For liberation is what I’ve got,
It was given to me many centuries ago,
With the right to prosper, the right to grow,
I can climb mountains or cross the seas,
Expand my mind in all degrees,

For God Himself gave us LIB-ER-TY,
When He sent Islam,
To You and Me!

Behind the veil I am the queen..
I have a body that nobody seen..
Many people think I am oppressed-
And wonder how I got myself into this mess..

My veil is my cure..
And makes my heart pure..
It earns me my love from Allah my Lord..
And makes me strong against any sword..

Behind my beautiful veil lies..
My saviour from the temptation of guys!
‘Behind my veil,’ I begin to say..
‘Is where I shall forever stay!’

February 2

The Cab Ride

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I walked to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a
frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils
on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and
glassware.

‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase
to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her.. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.’

‘Oh, you’re such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave
me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive through downtown?’

‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly..
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a
hospice.

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have
any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice.. ‘The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me
the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighbourhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m
tired. Let’s go now’.

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a
portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were
Solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.
‘Nothing,’ I said
‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.
‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She
held onto me tightly. ‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she
said. ‘Thank you.’

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning
light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?

What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware – beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID ~BUT~THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

You won’t get any big surprise if you send this to people. But, you might help make the world a little kinder and more compassionate by sending. it on and reminding us that often it is the random acts of
kindness that most benefit all of us.

Thank you, my friend…