One and Twenty till Death

**eh ehm**

Poe, Shelley, Wordsworth, Coleridge, & Keats: Some of the greatest English poets (and perhaps this observation transcends languages) were all incredibly young when they wrote their "masterpieces." It was in the fervour of their youth, their newly-awakened senses to the world, their idealistic perceptions, their polarized complex views of pain, love, suffering, endurance, beauty, nature, and death, which amount to what are contemporary literary standards. I would even go so far as to say, what they wrote in this short period during their own lives, has influenced the perceptions of our entire society. They have left an impact on so many from their ideas.

This is not something novel, or exemplary in itself. What I found truly remarkable about them, was that they made these observations and wrote these words of depth, beauty, and wonder at such a young age. In their early twenties, most people of our time are grappling with trivial concepts. These men dealt with poverty, families,children, wives,work or lack thereof and yet had the insight, the depth the... I'm not sure what the word is, the genius (?) to extract some lessons of life from it. They put into words their pain, suffering, their love, and epiphanies that are so poignant even today. They tell us of our emotions better than we can describe them ourselves.

Why is it that now at twenty-whatever we usually see parties, immaturity, confusion, and/or apathy of the world around them? In the words of a twenty-whatever that I know, " I'm worried about me right now, not what is happening half way around the world." Their are few that care about others, or even the insight and depth to care about themselves.

Why do we think that twenty-whatevers have yet to become what they will be, or what they will be remembered for? Why shouldn't they aspire to achieve good things, perhaps even great things in their youth? We have lowered and lowered the bar to a point where even if a 21 year old exhibits the carelessness of a 6 six year old, it is acceptable.

To those who think they will do great things later in life, why wait? Do whatever you can at this point, in this moment... UTILIZE your youth for you, not against you! Carpe Diam!!

**steps off soapbox**

Doubt

I wonder why exactly have I chosen English. I'm not particulary good at it, nor is my writing of any superior caliber. Even as I type these words, I question the ones I have chosen, their position, the thought, the idea. Your career should be something you're good at, what if you are mediocre at everything that interests you? What if even at your full potential you are barely up to par? I've always set a high standard for myself. Despite working at about 70%, I've made decent grades, written decent articles. I don't know if I do have another 30% to even work up to. Maybe I'm kidding myself by saying I'm not working up to my potential. Maybe this IS my potential. Maybe decent is the best that I can do. A thought worse than never reaching my potential, is to reach it and find out... I'm just mediocre.

It wasn't curiosity that killed the cat, it was mediocrity which murdered it.

If it were, as it may that I should move on and die today
In the early hours of dawn, should a lifeless body be found
Amidst the clutter of books, should I fade away
as the adhan rises softly in the background

If it were, as it may that I should move on and die today
What of those whom I have left behind.
Would even a silent tear be shed
long after I'm buried dead or soon to be a forgotten memory.

If it were, as it may that today I begin my afterlife
What care would I have of those still alive
What is their opinion of my leaving, or of my life?
My only care is where will my soul arrive?

Is this light-weight backpack sufficient for my journey
will I fall short and end with eternal burning?
Oh Allah! Forgive my soul of my sins and spare me from the fire
It is only Your pleasure and jannah that I desire

The Clod and the Pebble

Love seeketh not Itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care;
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.

So sang a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet:
But a pebble of the brook,
Warbled out these metres meet.

Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to Its delight:
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.

-- William Blake

Are you a clod or a pebble?

Another day, another blog

Asalam alaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatuhu

So this is officially the eighth blog I've had, and the rest have pretty much been abandoned. Either it was because of disuse which lead to forgetting the password, or the server going down. Anyhow, the muttaqoon blog is still alive. It's hooked up to an artificial respiratory machine, but "alive" none-the-less. I'm working on something decent to put up on there.

As for this blog, I really only made it so that I could comment on Fatima's blog. Then I had a little bit of time on this beautiful Ramdan, Saturday morning, so I decided to post something. It's purpose is yet to be determined. I could post up my English, and education work...my "observations" of the socially awkward, lanky, uncoordinated, apathetic beings that are known as teenagers.

They are an interesting bunch. They noticed their English teacher's poor grammar. =/ Honestly, it irked me too. She said, "Get out of the floor." You're not in the floor, you are ON the floor, so you have to get OFF the floor, not OUT of it... There are other instances as well. I'm not a psychotic grammar freak(as long as I vehemently deny it, everyone will believe me), but at the least an English teacher should have impecable grammar.

Oh, by the way, a belated Ramadan Mubarak!