The Sole Master Gardener

  

The gardens, muted of colour
form, texture, fragrance
are now a collapsed
architecture, delighting us
no longer as fall deepens
into garden-bleak winter.

Gone the thriving, brilliant
choreography, the boundless
exuberance of bulbs and tubers
bursting into flower, the shrubs
and fruit trees showering petals
transformed into luscious fruit.

The garden now is pallid,
exhausted, its summer audition
long past, the chorus of blooms
extinguished, no encores as the
final departure of leafy canopy
has descended echoing dismay.

The curtain is prepared now to fall.
The last bow and curtsy executed
as nature asserts sovereignty.
Casually deflects assumptions our
efforts reflected ownership
of carefully plotted, nurtured
triumphant gardenscapes.

There is no perpetuity here, merely
the gardener's eccentricity in believing
they exerted control over the order of
their gardening efforts. A brief, illusory
delusion, a borrowed vision, a hallowed
trust now returned to nature
and winter's ascendancy.

 

 

The Rising Phoenix of Jew-Hate

 

In 1930s Germany, Fascist Brownshirts marched 

in the streets, calling out 'Juden Raus!' Jews were 

heckled, threatened, disenfranchised, schools

closed to the very citizens who proudly thought of

themselves as Germans first, Jews second, for whom

German culture and values were prized; Jews among

whom were world-renowned scientists, writers and

artists, financiers and business leaders, soldiers and

housewives, workmen and the social elite -- all

destined for premature death by whatever means it

took. This crime against humanity in a genocide of

unprecedented scale and dimensions troubled the

conscience of an aloof international community

which to the present day avows commitment to that

pithy oath: Never Again. In 21st century Canada 

crowds of Jew-baiting terrorist-supporting Jew-haters

march in the streets, block thoroughfares and bridges

hang banners decrying the Jewish State of Israel and

threaten Canadian Jews in a reprise of history. The

Brownshirts were doing the bidding of the Third Reich

but in Canada, Palestinian Arabs perfecting the art of

propaganda while calling for the death of Jews have

manipulated the  Liberal government to do their

bidding and non-interference in the ransacking of

history, conciliatorily bowing to the raging hate of

the antisemitic mob replaying history in real time. While

Canada's Prime Minister visits Poland memorializing

the Holocaust and gravely intones 'Never Again', the

fate of Jews once more hangs on the balance of hate.

Psychopaths Among Us

 

The White Supremacist's rights to
freedom of expression under Canada's
priceless Charter of Rights and Freedoms
have been inexcusably tampered with;
his parental obligation to lovingly inspire
his young children to the belief that blacks
"must die" to ensure the future remains
bright with dignity and promise
and security for white children.

The Muslim woman whose husband
ensured that an earlier, childless
righteously-spurned wife swell their
household to help raise their three
daughters as her own, had her revenge
when she, her husband and their dutiful
son successfully conspired to murder
those three girls, along with their
guardian. An obvious necessity to
ensure the girls remained biddable to
Islamic ideals of purity and honour.

The elite-ranked military commander
whose professionalism was directed toward
stimulating and enhancing the courage
integrity and patriotic aspirations of
the country's finest, the while officiating
with the durability of rank and regard
welcoming home slain soldiers, lives
taken in the line of national and
international duty, relieves his personal
stress by discreet acts of vicious rape and
gruesomely sex-deranged murders.

These exemplary failures of the larger social
contract pursue their missions, leaving
that great legal compact submitting to
justice, while a reeling public mourns
loss of collective belief in the celebrated
Goodness of Humanity. Their frenzied
lunacy; our grievous tragedy. 

 

 

I Just Don't Get It...!

 

That’s just the way it is, I guess. I don’t have any brothers. Or sisters too, for that matter. But then, you know that, don’t you? I figure you know quite a bit about me. On the other hand, I thought I knew a lot about you. I understand now that I don’t know as much about you as I thought I did, once. I imagine you just think you know me, actually.

I thought that was neat, you having two brothers. Especially that they were so much older than you. You, their kid sister, so they could do nice things for you. Take you places, buy you things, help you out with your homework. Maybe there was a little bit of envy there. I often thought how it might be if I had a brother or a sister. Especially a sister. How maybe it would be really nice. I’d have some company, kind of. It’s lonely, sometimes, being the only kid in the house.

My grandmother told me that it doesn’t always work that way. She said to me sometimes siblings get along well with one another, and sometimes they don’t. She said take her, for example; she took very little notice of her younger sister, and to this day they aren’t all that close. As for her brothers, well, they were all years younger than her, and they were just kind of there, she hardly noticed them.

I don’t know how it would be if I had a brother or sister. Either older than me, or younger. I’m not certain if I even have a preference. I suppose someone older could be kind of a help, a guide, someone to talk to when Mom gets pissed off with me for something. That would mean I’d do an awful lot of talking to an older sibling, if they allowed me to. If they were interested in hearing me. I don’t know if that older brother or sister would be sympathetic, or whether they’d just laugh at me.

See what I mean?

And then, too, if I had an older sister would she even be interested in me ... or think of me all the time like being a pest she couldn’t get rid of? I’ve got friends who talk about their kid brothers or sisters like that. They talk about what a nuisance it is, how they just can’t get away from them, how they screw everything up, at home. I don’t think I’d be interested in trying that one out.

But, say, if I had a sister maybe a year older than me? A year isn’t all that much difference in age, is it? So say there was her, and then I came along and we grew up together, wouldn’t it make sense that we’d play together as kids, and then got to like one another and spending time together, and confided in each other, and were best friends?

I asked one of my friends if that was what it was like with her and her older sister. She just looked at me like she hadn’t exactly heard my question. Then she laughed, and I understood that she had heard what I’d asked. Her laugh was the answer.

So I guess I’m just day-dreaming about something ridiculous, anyway.

And I guess, Erin, I’m trying my best to understand what’s happened to you. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re feeling. I mean here you have a complete family, your Mom and Dad are there at home, even if they’re both busy, working all the time. They’re there some of the time. And then when everyone is together, you’re all there…together. I know I’m not saying what I really mean, but it’s hard to put into words.

So there’s you and your Mom and your Dad, and there’s also your two big brothers. One’s married now, I know, and the other one’s going to university. I know your family. We’ve been friends for years, after all. I’ve slept over at your house, had dinner together with you and your family. I’ve been around your family for years. I’ve even gone to church with your family, even though I don’t believe in God.

Neither does my mother. And she’s a single mother, left my father years ago. She’s really busy all the time, since she’s got to earn a living for us. She refused to take any money from my father. My grandmother said the arrangement they made, even though she signed papers written up by my father’s lawyer, was that he would have no visiting rights with me, in return for not paying child support. I can’t understand that, actually.

Is money that important, after all? You’ve got a father, a biological father and he’s not interested in seeing you, ever? He doesn’t even know what you look like, after all these years. He’s just kind of happy not having to pay child support. That really, really bugs me.

There’s no photos of him at home, but I know what he looks like. My grandma has lots of family photographs in her house, and there are some photos of him and my mother, in their frames, sitting on pieces of furniture there. There are more pictures of him in some of the family albums, but I’m not all that interested in looking for them actually. I don't remember much about him, it was so long ago. But I don't believe I want to remember anything about him. He's out of my life.

Anyway, this isn’t about me, is it? All right, it is about me, partially. I am involved, after all. Since I am - or was your best friend. Erin, I loved being your best friend. I want to continue being your best friend. You have no idea how hurt I feel that you keep shoving me away. I’m … disconsolate … that’s what I am. That’s what my grandma said, when I told her about all of this. She’s upset for me. I can always count on her for that.

But you’ve got family all over the place, even if they’re kind of distant in relationship; they live close by. My only two uncles live in Toronto and Vancouver, and I only get to see them maybe once or twice a year, when they come visiting. And neither of them has any kids, so I don’t even have any cousins.

Your family, even though they live close by, kind of ignore one another. You’ve got two cousins, girls your age, but you’ve always told me they’ve been mean to you, and you just don’t like being around them. I could see where you were coming from, but I found it puzzling, anyway. I’d have made an effort, I’m sure, to get my cousins, if I had any, to like me. I think. But then, what do I know, I don’t have any.

Erin, I do so very much miss you. I realize now that this isn’t new, this distancing from me, this hostility I feel and see from you. It’s been happening for a while, and it disturbed me and perplexed me and I didn’t know what to do about it. For a while I thought I’d just drop you as casually as you seemed to be doing to me.

It didn’t work for me, Erin. There’s a dark little worm inside me, squirming around, making me miserable, and that worm is the disquietude I’ve felt about our relationship, about its having suddenly seemed to dissolve, and I couldn’t figure out why. It’s worse now, your hostility toward me is more aggressive, more overt. You’ve progressed from speaking nasty things about me to the other girls when I haven’t been around to actually doing it in my very presence; I can hear you whispering about me and when I turn around, I can see that odd smile on your face.

What, exactly, does it mean? You can’t possibly have decided, after all these years, that our friendship was meaningless. We both invested a lot of time and emotion in our friendship. We’ve done things together, helping one another, that most people would never credit. You’ve told me things you told no one else. I confided to you things that I would never even speak about to my mother.

And yet, you said not one word to me, gave me no hint of what was really happening with you. To you. Instead, you told some of the girls at school we’ve always liked and hung out with. But not me. I had to learn from someone else. I couldn’t believe it. I felt horribly for you, and felt sad for me, too. I tried to let you know that I now knew, so it was all right. I was determined to do what I could to help you overcome this dreadful thing that happened to you.

And I tried, and I kept trying, but you kept slamming my words right back at me. That really devastated me. I didn’t want to say anything to my Mom, because I knew she would tell me that I was doing something wrong. She would defend you, saying that you had been traumatized, that your psyche had been damaged, that you needed understanding and patience from your best friend. That this was no time to abandon you, that I had to stand by you and do whatever I could to extend my friendship, to help you heal.

She just won’t hear what I want to tell her, she doesn’t actually hear what I’m saying. She’s so fixated on what you’ve gone through that she sticks to that, and won’t hear about my pain. To her, I’m just being selfish and self-absorbed.

I’m not!

My mother says she knows me better. She says I am being selfish. That I’m concerned with the way I feel, not the way you feel. That I’m missing the connections. That I’m taking offence because I feel you’re not responding to me the way you should, the way a best friend should. She says I’m expecting too much of you under the circumstances, because of the trauma you’ve suffered.

I’m trying to understand that, Erin. I’m trying to get my head around the fact that you’ve had six years of your life to tell someone what was happening to you, and you just never got around to it. My mother said that I couldn’t begin to imagine such a thing because I’ve never lived it. I guess she’s right there. But I still don’t understand, anyway, Erin, why you never, ever said anything to your mother. Or your father. Right, I forgot, you aren’t into telling your father all that much.

I’m trying to get it through my thick head, that same head that hears you calling me stupid all the time now, how it could possibly be that for all the years we’ve known one another, you’ve lived with this. There was never any hint that there was anything wrong with your life at home. I thought that your family was normal, in the sense that mine isn’t, since you’re all together, father, mother, kids.

Well, there’s nothing normal, obviously, about what happened with you. Migod, since you were seven years old! How could you stand it? I know you love your brothers because they’re your brothers. They seem nice enough; they were always nice to me. But your brothers … doing that kind of thing …

Remember when we were in grade six and they began that sex education course with all of us? I was so mad, remember? I really, really resented that they were taking us kids, just in grade six - we were only ten and eleven, after all - and making us learn all that stuff. Who wants to know about it? Won’t there be enough time to tell us about stuff like that when we’re older? I thought, back then, that maybe when we were in grade eight, or beginning high school, that would be a more appropriate time.

You never really responded when I spoke about that. You just shrugged your shoulders. And told me to just forget about it. I remember that. I remember how kind of distasteful it was to me to hear about that stuff. I hated it. I tried to talk to you about how I felt, but you weren’t interested in discussing it, you said. No wonder. Now I know why.

There wasn’t too much they could teach you, after all. I don’t mean that in a hurtful way. It’s not your fault. You were only a kid, and you were kind of trapped, weren’t you?

I mean your brothers are a whole lot older than you, you looked up to them, you trusted them. Your parents trusted them too, to kind of keep an eye on you when they weren’t around. And they weren’t around a lot of the time.

And me, I envied you, having big brothers who were around so you weren’t lonely or anything. Guys you could kid around with sometimes, that kind of thing. Because you’d be relaxed around them, you knew them so well….

 

 

Freed At Last

  

The Book of Women 4:3

English translation by M. H. Shakir

"You can never be equitable in dealing with more than one wife, no matter how hard you try. Therefore, do not be so biased as to leave one of them hanging (neither enjoying marriage, nor left to marry someone else).... "

The viper that consumed her heart and her spirit, the adder that took dainty nibbles of her liver and her spleen, the asp that sucked the very marrow of her bones; defeated, all. Her vital organs consumed, she has peace. Her agony of existence dissipated. She awaits the final release of Death. To be welcomed as a pious Muslim to her everlasting reward.

IN the context of proper attire and conduct, the Quran lays down one basic principle, namely, modesty which is stated in Surah 24: 30-31: Tell the believing men to lower their gaze (avoiding its concentration on a person’s body, or a certain part of it) and to be mindful of their chastity; in this they will be more considerate for their own well-being and purity, and surely God is fully aware of all that they do.
And tell the believing women to lower their gaze (avoiding its concentration on a person’s body, or a certain part of it) and to be mindful of their chastity, and not to display the charms of their bodies (in public) beyond what may (decently) be apparent thereof; hence, let them draw their head-coverings over their bosoms.
And let them not display (more of) their charms to any but their husbands, or their fathers, or their husbands’ fathers, or their sons, or their husbands’ sons, or their brothers, or their brothers’ sons, or their sisters’ sons, or their womenfolk, or those whom they rightfully possess, or such male attendants as are beyond all sexual desire, or children that are as yet unaware of (the physical attractions of) women’s nakedness; and let them not swing their legs (or other actions in their walking) that may aim to draw attention to their hidden charms.

They too, are at peace, saved from themselves. They will be re-united with us. No vestige of the struggle will remain, between their unheeding denial of God's instructions and their final submission. That submission to His divine will complete, irrevocable.

Her inner furies erased by the grace of God, she is prepared to embrace them; her sister, her daughters. Compassion now replaces enmity. Calm resides in her breast; an hitherto-unknown quantity; a soul-restorative.

Allah absolves those who do His work. He takes them gently unto Himself, cradles their weary essence, brings them final comfort.

You it was he loved, not me. His choice was you, when he had from among so many to make his selection. In our tribal village, the dashing, handsome great grandson of the village founder, son of the tribal chief, an integral portion of the wealthiest local family; he chose you, Dahlia.

The homely one, his first cousin with whom he shared childhood memories. Quiet and unassertive, her only obvious quality one of kindness, warmth of presence. Her form dense, already matronly. Why her? Years passed and she did not conceive. Whispers ran through the village. His family took note, and became impatient, yet he begged them not to press him. When several more years passed it was clear she was barren, a disgrace to herself and to her family.

When he set her aside, gave her freedom to leave, her family would not welcome her return, they disowned her. And when his eyes turned elsewhere though his heart was heavy, he looked at younger women, and in particular one whose clear complexion, long, lustrous black hair, sultry eyes and vivacity marking a vast contrast to his cousin,e became his choice.

She, Amirah entered his life. And she made his life pleasant and comfortable so he might wish to remain with her. When her father informed her of Almadhi's interest she was happy beyond comprehension, and she was anxious for formalities to be concluded, for the ceremony of marriage to be done with, to have him welcome her into his strong arms. It did not take long for her to pridefully advise him and her family that she was bearing his son.

For a son it was; Alhusain, their first child. She had fulfilled his desires and his need to have a son, and there would be more children for she was fecund and more than prepared to do all that was expected of her.

When Alhusain was yet an infant her husband became restive, and it was clear he was dissatisfied with something. Her relief was great, but she came close to despair in any event, when he advised her he had begun proceedings to emigrate with his family to North America.

She dutifully made all the required arrangements on her part, and determined which of their belongings would accompany them. Drying her tears she did what a good wife must do to follow her husband. She was fearful of leaving her family, her friends, her village, her society. And then, a catastrophe; a fortnight prior to their departure, Almadhi claimed to have had a vision and in that vision he was instructed to bring Dahlia back into his household. She would, he informed her gravely, aid her in the raising of their children, for Amina was yet again gravid.

She knew, even before they left, that Almadhi would be visiting Dahlia in the night-time hours, for he was permitted as many wives as he could afford to support, and he could afford to support more than merely two wives. From scorning the woman who she had replaced, she turned to detesting her and spoke harshly to her, although Dahlia made no protest.

When they settled in their new place on another continent and Atifah was born, Dahlia held the child as though she were hers and hers alone. She brought Atifah to Amina to be nursed, and did everything else for the baby, leaving the care of Alhusain to his mother.

Amina resented Dahlia on the one hand, but was grateful that she was spared having to look after an infant and a baby on her own. She was unrelenting, however, in her spite toward Dahlia and would never permit her to forget that she had been the spurned one and it was Amina who had brought honour to Almadhi's family, not she. Dahlia would never respond, merely dip her head in assent.

And then two other babies were born in fairly short order, two more girls, Daniyah and Bhashira, and Dahlia opened her great heart to the new babies each in turn, while their mother turned away from them. The three girls felt Dhalia to be their mother, for it was she who comforted them, encouraged them, supported them. With Almadhi's approval, Amina focused on their son, and Dahlia on the three girls.

And Amina's hatred for Dahlia, even while she gave up maternal custody of her three girls to Dahlia, festered and caused unrest in the family. Almadhi chose to ignore the tension, and he continued also to take his conjugal rights with Dahlia, far more often than with Amina, which she knew, and which drove her to a frenzy of raging acrimonious execration.

Dahlia deftly, in their large spacious home, kept to her own apartment, and it was there that the three girls spent most of their time at home, as well.

Almadhi's business continued to flourish, and life was good to the family. Their circle of friends and acquaintances remained firmly within the Muslim community where they were well known. Dahlia, however, was open and committed to casual friendships with those of their neighbours who were non-Muslims, and this too infuriated Amina, and she demanded that Almadhi do something to discourage this un-Muslim-like behaviour, one that their regular Muslim cleric, the respected imam of their mosque warned against.

As the children entered adolescence and beyond, the girls began to emulate their beloved Auntie and became freely engaged outside the confines of their home, with their peers who were not Muslim. When this became apparent to Amina, she railed against the girls' behaviour, warning them that their father would not approve of it.

And when she informed Almadhi of the girls' indiscretions he became more alarmed than she might have imagined. He brought the girls to his study and lectured them sternly, and later spoke privately to Dahlia, forbidding his children to mingle with non-Muslims in any kind of social situation.

As the years passed and the girls became older, one 18, the second 15, the last 13 years of age, tension in the household increased. Particularly as their mother announced she and their father had decided their girls would now not only wear the headscarf, but also begin wearing an abiya.
the girls were horrified and Dahlia was distressed for them.

As soon as they left the house they would discard the abiya, push it into their school bags, to be retrieved when departing school for the return journey home. But Alhusain, witnessing this, reported it to their father. And reported also that his sister Atifah had been seen speaking to non-Muslim men.

The household became a hothouse of accusations, denials and counter-accusations. The girls were desperately unhappy and their aunt became extremely worried for them. Nothing was resolved despite the threats of dire punishment, for the girls became more defiant, refusing to even wear the abiya on leaving home and Dahlia tried to explain to Almadhi who was not closing his mind yet to her, and to Amina, who loathed her, how in their new country the girls were being influenced by other social mores that would not impact deleteriously on their personal faith.

Almadhi became furious with Dahlia, something that had never before occurred. And Amina watched, fascinated, as he set Dahlia aside, refusing to hear her out, shunning her company. And it was when Almadhi approached Amina, together with Alhusain, and, face stone-hard, infused with an anger they might never have suspected resided in him, said they must take steps to save their family's honour.

So it was that a dreadful accident occurred, when one of the family vehicles driven by Atifah, with her aunt sitting beside her and her sisters Daniyah and Bashirah seated in the back somehow managed to plunge into a wintry-icy canal, in the city where they lived. The submerged vehicle and the four dead bodies were discovered by a police patrol, for their family had reported them missing.

A truly dreadful tragedy. The three remaining family members went into deep mourning.

It is in a jail operated by infidels that they now await trial and judgement by kuffars; completely unjust, without divine guidance, meaningless. 

Then, On The Other Hand

 

Does there exist a social phenomenon
exemplified by adolescent angst
more fraught with adult irritation?
Children's propensity to view their
inner landscape as needful beyond
the grasp of parents' realization
exhibit a profound sense of self-
entitlement guaranteed to be met
with perplexed bedevilment.

Surely this emotional affliction
besets only offspring of socially
emancipated, economically-advanced
countries whose children have never
experienced deprivation and the
compelling drive toward advantage
leading inevitably to survival...?

Children who cannot conceive
of the desperation of endemic, deadly
disease, malnutrition, a stifling
of the yet-hopeful human spirit.
Little wonder exasperated parents
would admonish and remind their own
of starving children abroad. Witless
young remain fixated on their boredom,
not the distant reality of a workhouse.

Perhaps, on reflection, this malaise
is in truth a gift of nature's design.
Cleverly imposed and engaged to release
from the frustration of stasis, the
creative genius of a Socrates, a Galileo,
a da Vinci, an Einstein. Towering figures
of human intelligence and unsurpassed
achievement through creative drive.

Humankind designed in nature's image.

 

 

Last Night, This Morning

 

 

Last night the huge velvety vault
of the sky was aglow as rarely seen.
Dimpled with hugely-gathered
snow crystals becoming bright
sparks of crystalline, light-refractive
distractions billowing languidly.

Softly evanescent clumps of snow
crystals languorously drifted
through the earthly atmosphere
luminously illuminated by ambient
sky-diffused light from the
vastness of the cityscape below.

In bright, soft shadings of melon,
mauves and pinks, shedding their
own borrowed brilliance, the
binary snow-gatherings made their
journey, finally assembling into a
vast, all-encompassing comforter
contouring the landscape.

As dawn sent its dim waking light
over the horizon and into the
soft new arras, birds stirred,
lifting heads from under recumbent
wing-havens to view their
brilliantly altered landscape.