The countenance escorting her presence befalls as a thousand questions showering as meteorites, on my awed face.
I have always known, for what now only seems centuries, that God is with me. In this moment though, my doubts are enhanced and my fears of existence, a little reinforced.
‘What is this state? What are these sounds enveloped in it?’, I find myself lost in this transfix of a controversy once again: Hadn’t I been a fool, yet again, to presume (without much evidence) that I was perhaps rid of the recurrences of this condition!..?
It all comes from Allah, I must not forget that either. This ‘condition’ I must own as my own; there is no attempting to escape the inevitable: else there is then further madness.
There is already enough madness here…not insanity, but pure madness, the good one. It’s the sort of ‘good’ that can occasionally turn bad too, though not without some useful consequences often then.
‘I know you are sad, may I help you?’ I ask. He doesn’t reply. I gaze at the innocent child masked in that cold face, from behind those dark-circled eyes. It is not all that hopeless, there is still a flicker, a shine there. He turns away that mask of a face, wants to hide the shine again.
He closes his eyes. I return to the realization I have to go, I have work to do. We are fortunate we met on the street and not elsewhere; or you wouldn’t have been able to shut your eyes so much at will, I couldn’t have walked away with so much ease.