The whispers of love the heart alone reflects battling singlehandedly with the murmurs by the demons of my despair.
There are these three whispers from my heart. Those that you may find here. Those kept as a book only for the eyes of my beloved. And finally, the loudest that my soul whispers – that only the whole of my soul can hear when united.
From the continuous ravaging fires of my own perpetual hell, whatever few flowers I am able to mould from those flames – I bring back to you. The flames, on the other hand, I try to bound never outpouring. I fail, continuously.
We have an incessant tendency of habitually incorrectly naming things. Names lead to interpretations of meanings. They must be accurate. My father in societal terms named me Asaad – ‘message or bearer of happiness, good tidings’. I cannot speak for my parents interpretation, but from my perspective and probably many others, ironic.
To name something, its true essence must be known. “Who I?” Call me of Essence, not Asaad.
From the moment my wife and I met, our conversations and whispers were non-stop. After she would go to sleep, I would write her letters from the first year of our marriage. It was inevitable, I guess, that those whispers become a full part of me that even when the eyes would be shut asleep or the ears unhearing – my whispers of love would still continue.
I whisper of love here, for the daily demons of despair, ego, hopelessness, death, loss, feelings of betrayal, anger, depression, and the loudest, never shutting-up of them all, the whisperers of suicide.
” Not a daily battle, but a per existence battle that most moments are almost lost. Continuous failures. “
The few tools that help carry that tiny ray of life, in the midst of all darkness – I share with you in the hopes it may be of some ease to your journey. And if not, at the very least, you would know you are not alone. Someone who reminds himself continuously, is reminding you also, no one, not even yourself can rob you injustly from the treasures of your destinies. Do not give up! Patience, and certainty – the most impossible traits, are the only choices.
And if I fail to my demons some day, and fall prey to despair for some moments nothing is able to pull you from from their call of death, may the Owner of my soul have mercy on me, – then learn from my mistakes, for I make countless of them, without a stop, without intent.
Who am I?
A nobody with nothing to claim
Whom chants in obsessions of loving pain;
Sometimes reflected in the Nothingness
Sometimes in music and all things inane.
Is not Asaad, is of-Essence:
‘for I am seen dancing by deaf to music
and thought insane!’