Wednesday, 31 December 2014

Black Positively

I dreamt last night while asleep restlessly,
Of a painting I had painted, apparently.
Blackness overpowered a layered background,
The kind a nyctophilic would be around,
Like heavy rain on a dark, black night,
The calligraphic 'Allah' glowed in white,
And unseen symbols scattered around,
Of beige, off- white and lapis ground.

The emotions felt were of immense relief,

That Allah is present in the darkest grief,
That unknown beings are sent to guide,
Light forms, Dakini, positive minds.

Dark negatives and imagined scenes,

Are the 'Sharri waswaasi khannaas'* it seems,
Veils of lies cast upon
a vulnerable mind trying to hang on,
Not giving in, fighting on, climbing up and moving on.

Black it was before He said 'Be',

Black, the shroud of all mystery,
Black, the source of the colours of life,
In black He is, the source of light.

*the evil of the whisperings of the slinking (Shaitan).

(Qur'an, Surah An-Nas, Verse 4)

~Ambereena Razvi

Tuesday, 18 March 2014

For Ali Mahdi - 'Piece of Paradise'

For Ali Mahdi - 'Piece of Paradise'
40 x 60 cms
Colouring pencils on white card

Tuesday, 14 January 2014

هيهات منا الذلة

هيهات منا الذلة

I saw her scattered all over the sidewalk….
Hijab askew.
White before, now of a red hue.
‘Haithaath minna dhilla’, escaped her lips
Before she closed her eyes,
And slept in bliss.

I see a child crouched a little further….
Head buried in her hands,
Longing for her mother
Who died fighting for her honour
‘Haihaath minna dhilla’, she hears the chant and feels the power.

I see the old man,
His white beard soaked in blood,
Protecting his kin,
His clothes torn, his mind worn,
‘Haihaath minna dhilla’ - to himself he has sworn

I see the youth,
Some still fighting,
Retaliating an oppression,
Refusing to live in disgrace and depression,
They wake up every morning,
Shedding their blanket of dreams of freedom,
Stopping to take a breath - seldom,
‘Haihaath minna dhilla’running through their blood,
Never to give in,
Minds made up.

I see me
Painting their troubles,
Painting their pain,
Telling their tales,
‘Haihath minna dhilla’, running through my veins. 

-Ambereena Razvi