When it rained

Dubai gets just a few days of rain every year and it becomes a momentous occasion. Radio stations bring out their romantic playlists across languages, social media posts of raindrops and wet roads jostle for attention and every one is smiling. What’s app groups remind everyone that it’s magical and encourage people to head away from the office for tea or coffee.

Cloud formations visit a city that is used to clear skies and there’s a wonderful nip in the air. There’s a sense of celebration because everyone knows there’s not too many days like this.

I wonder when friends and relatives from other parts of the world see our posts of raindrops and clouds, do they wonder as they look at their rain drenched windows, what the big deal is.

Hear are some wonderful moments from my camera yesterday as this day of blessing passed by during a dubai winter. And yes, the day was magical!

2015/01/img_5012.jpg

2015/01/img_5017.jpg

2015/01/img_5037.jpg

2015/01/img_5015.jpg

2015/01/img_5007.jpg

2015/01/img_5003.jpg

2015/01/img_5010.jpg

The journey. A poem on unravelling spirituality.

This is a poem on the journey of spirituality. The quest for the spiritual man is to return to the purest form of an infant who we are born as. As life goes by, the scars of experience and the scab of the world erodes that angelic innocence.

How do we bring up our kids to grow up maintaining the integrity, fun and joy of childhood to their adulthood intact? How do we instill character that doesn’t need a journey back in time anymore?

The journey

IMG_2127.JPG

Two travelers set sail together,
An infant and his first cry
And an old man frail as a feather,
their lives on a perilous journey.

The baby was aglow like sunrise,
His skin like the softest fleece,
The world asleep in his closed eyes,
Tomorrow his world to seize.

The old man was the setting sun,
Wisdom etched lines upon his face,
Memories faded gently to oblivion,
His yesterdays escaping his gaze.

A white canvas lay by the infant,
It’s aura cascading with rays,
It was purity without a single dent,
A fiery white hue with a golden blaze.

A golden cocoon lay by his side,
A gentle womb nurtured him perfect,
His world was negativity denied,
A cloak of godliness did protect.

Tomorrow a gentle stroke of grey,
Strikes upon the canvas gently,
From within the love and play,
His happiness does momentarily flee.

He touches anger, fear and doubt,
As cracks form with his fortress,
He hears anger and elders shout,
And to earn love he must impress.

Time flies by on purposeful wings,
His peers, mentors and critics speak,
Life shares its barbs and stings,
The infant and his moment antique.

Responsibility sits upon his shoulder,
And so does ambition and greed,
His glow setting as he gets older,
Purity takes wings like a bird freed.

The old man was the setting sun,
Wisdom etched lines upon his face,
Memories faded gently to oblivion,
His yesterdays escaping his gaze.

The white canvas becomes his quest,
His mind filled with debris and dirt,
The glow has abandoned the nest,
His heart and negativity often did flirt.

His mind seeks the journey and a cure,
The spotless canvas now old and used,
He was the angel infant once so pure,
Spirituality, your map is so confused.

-Sajith Ansar

Pic by John French on Pinterest