Ramadan 2017 in Sarajevo, Bosnia                      

The first day and the second

What a blessing!!!

Brothers and Sisters in the Old Town speaking the words Salamu Alaikum

Sisters wearing veils with colors like in the bright rainbow appearing before me and my two new friends from Bosnia in a sky above a bussling bazaar, there a smaller group of humans watching and a larger group of tourists capturing a rare moment in Sarajevo on photo

Many brothers wearing kufis and many brothers with trendy hair styles paired with Western outfits gathering in the courtyard of Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque, the largest in Bosnia and sixteen centuries old. Tourists from Africa, America, Europe, and other landscapes and many locals exchanging words and gestures in a month better than a thousand

Families spending time together at the Grand Mosque and at smaller mosques and in other places surrounded by picturesque hills and green plush trees

A father, a mother, their toddler son...he practicing walking on a masjid's cobblestone, and their young daughter...she smiling at her father as he walks by. Each family member physically at a distance from each other. Each family member at a cell's distance in communion with each other.

In the mid afternoon on a Ramadan's day, a sister from Munich and I having met for the first time at Bey Mosque ride together in a taxi up a steep hill to see a guest house she knows

A smell of lingering cigarette smoke permeating the air within the house so thick beckons me to leave politely and quickly. Unaware of the smell's degree, the owner learns of its' offensiveness as I disclose my sensitivity to & the dislike of the smell of cigarette smoke, both acutely heightened while fasting

Careful steps back down the steep hill to the city center, me avoiding stumbling on a large rock or being runover by a speeding automobile, interestingly instead I stumble upon a beautiful grave yard of uniquely shaped white gravestones and a charming mosque with a high minaret

At the bottom of the hill sits a crafts and artistry shop, one of many in Sarajevo's Old Town. Upon entering and a brief conversation with the owner, a piece of generosity is handed to me, a square shape piece of wood with Ayat tul Kursi in hand calligraphy

During the late afternoon hours, a time for reading Quran by many at mosques in the city. Sisters and brothers sitting on carpeted floors, some with backs supported by mosque walls, some with bodies sitting in chairs, fasters occupied with the most perfected Divine Scripture

A brief leisurely stroll with my two new friends Dzenita and her sister Amina through part of the Bazaar, they sharing opinions of their favorite restaurants, best eating experiences, and other things

In the early evening, a time to buy food to prepare for the Iftar meal. Showing me how it's done in Sarajevo, Dzenita and Amina invite me to join them on an excursion up a hill to buy Somun, a Bosnian flatbread topped with black seeds from the city's famous bread maker. Standing in a line longer than Georgetown Cupcake, Dzenita surprises me with a gift of Somun for myself

Two dates, one cube of Bosnian delight, and one cup of water to break our fast with at the Bey Mosque. A canon bomb sounds off to announce the time for Magrib prayer and Iftar, customary in Sarajevo during Ramadan

Startled and alerted by the bomb's depth and volume, I stand up to join the congregation for communion with God, The God Most Gracious, Most High

Out of nowhere I'm invited to Iftar at a shop nearby the Grand Mosque, about 8 of us guests being served by the warm owner, she offering a meal for Iftar at her shop every night during Ramadan, a big-hearted tradition of hers

Cevapi, Cevapi, Cevapi...I'll say it once more, Cevapi -- sold in Bosnian restaurants, cafes, bazaars, and made in many homes, eaten happily by many fasters at Iftar. Served with freshly chopped onions, some served with a soft white cheese, some with a red peppery sauce, many served with Somun, all ways tried by me and tasting as scrumptious as my first experience with Cevapi in Germany, then falling in love with it

Cold winds at night from the surrounding mountains, a refreshing air yet taking my breath and power away from the chill of it, completely disappearing with my start of Isha prayer with other Muslims and the declaration "Allah hu Akbar"

9 Muftis with impeccable Tajweed each taking turns to recite the words of our Grand Lord before sunrise, me weeping from God's messages, the reality of His greatness, my servitude to Him, and a recognition of sounds similar to that of my Mumin Father's, those familiar to me since birth

Three dear sisters, university students from Turkey and I journey together on foot after Fajr from the Old Mosque to a street train, along the way stopping by a community center, our destination - their home an hour or so away to rest, the four of us coming to know each other and each others' thoughts with every step. Contempleting my desire to spend more time in the city over sleep, the three sisters showing great generosity and I embrace and exchange Salams at a stop near the main station, the three walking with me to an open place before continuing on

In the land of a marriage between the East and the West and where newspaper is used to clean a cafe window, on the list of to-dos -- shopping for gifts for family and for souvenirs, window shopping done along the way, asking myself Shall I buy a Dzezva, a hand-made Bosnian coffee set, or a vintage wood Sarajevo box, or a woven wallet, or Bosnian sweets.

In a bazaar walkway, Maher Zain's song "Ramadan" playing loudly. At another moment, lyrics about a month of devotion and sacrifice from Sami Yusuf echoeing. Shop owners in Old Town with dispositions of calm and quiet grace greeting me and others cordially and respectfully. Shopping a few hours more until near sunset for post cards with a real version of the Grand Mosque, finding only less than satisfactory versions. Time running out for shopping, another reason now to return to Bosnia, God-Willing

Magrib prayer a second night at the Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque. Observing the crowd, a striking occurrence taking place, a teenage boy walking a small length behind a man on to the mosque carpet. There the boy approaches an older man giving him a respectful hand shake. After prayer, a native of Sarajevo shares with me in wholesome conversation, "You are known in the town not by what you have. You are known by how well you behave."

Another invitation, this time for a cup of a tea at a cafe. Overflowing with people mostly young adults, men and women sitting at tightly packed small tables inside and a few outside, conversations merging into each other with a loud volume flowing throughout, Shisha being smoked by some, cigarettes by some, smoke in the air and the temperature inside melting away heavy make-up on sisters' faces. "This is Ramadan in Sarajevo." Madia says. "One aspect of it." says I. Not having a good feeling right away when walking in and not wanting to stay, the two of us leave quickly.

My two new friends Dzenita and Amina aka angels of hospitality and kindness reciprocating my gift to them of Milka chocolate give me a gift before departing the next day. "Tespih!!" A burnt red and yellow colored set with sparkingly gold thinly cut wrapping paper looking stripes purchased at the Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque gift shop. Not knowing then I collect Tesbih, their gift is now my most favorite of my Tesbih collection

Husbands and wives, men and women both young and old, well-groomed and well-dressed, some holding hands as they stroll through narrow pathways in the Old Town on a Ramadan's night. Families talking and eating at restaurants, friends in groups sharing laughs, so much to see, so much to experience. At a cafe where baked goods, ice cream, and other sweets are sold, a lady sitting with a group of others initiates speaking to me, stopping me in my tracks. Bidding me farewell, she extends me a gracious compliment

Ramadan 2017 in Sarajevo, Bosnia to Remember

The first day and the second

What a blessing!!!

by Najwa Kareem

Ramadan is here,
so lets all fast,
it's the ninth month of the year,
lets make it last.

When you see the Ramadan Moon,
up in the sky so bright,
you need to get ready,
to pray all throughout the night.

Now that Isha has passed,
lets get up in congregation,
to pray Taraweeh,
with the Muslim nation.

Ramadan is here,
so lets all fast,
it's the ninth month of the year,
lets make it last.

The first ten days are upon us,
so we need to avoid what's wrong,
keep good intentions,
all day long.

It's the middle days now
when there's things to buy and your phone rings,
don't let these worldly matters,
distract you from doing the right things.

Ramadan is here,
so lets all fast,
it's the ninth month of the year,
lets make it last.

Now it's the last ten days,
lets stay in the mosque for long,
lets do may good deeds,
and avoid what is wrong.

Lal a tul Qadr is upon us,
it's the Night of Power,
let's start praying the Allah(subhanawataallah),
throughout the night for every hour.

Ramadan is here,
so lets all fast,
it's the ninth month of the year,
lets make it last.

Ramadan isn't forever,
so lets do what is right,
avoid doing bad,
with all our might.

Ramadan is here,
so lets all fast,
it's the ninth month of the year,
lets make it last.

I was born into a
Hall of wooden pews and
Sundays full of crinkling satin bows,
Confronted by a stern-faced woman with iron grey curls
Tighter than her heart.
I remember very little of those
Sunday rooms, mazes of correct answers and long half-hours
I was raised through new pews,
Carpeted halls and
Long hours with brown haired ladies
A book 1200 pages thick of
Tradition and my mother's folded hands as I peek
From under my bowed head,
Earning sharp reprimands from white  robed men.

I saw them,
Of course,
Walking in Dearborn, Detroit, Ann Arbor, far away lands of unrest, but
They weren't in little, white, homogenous Chelsea, Michigan,
Of course,
Not them.
Yet I marveled at soft amber skin
And deep chocolate eyes full of
More galaxies than I ever knew existed,
Split solar systems of hushed mosques and mosaics that I was never
Allowed to see.

But I loved it.

My room became a tiny haven,
My dusty mirror showing a soft headscarf wrapped carefully,
Gently,
Over flyaway frizz,
Green cotton matching hazel eyes.
I knew not the complexities,
So I faked them,
Simply kneeling because I could not
Remember all the beautiful
Dances of prostration to praise another name of God.
Foreign syllables try to roll from my strangely
English tongue; I never realized how
Odd and stiff my born language is,
Too full of contradictions and
Double entendres, strict lines of black and white
Inky blood spilled on snowy sheets of paper,
Ancient characters telling me how to live my life.
As far as I'm concerned,
Allah (swt) and God are just two names
For the same deity,
And I simply preferred
Fajr
Dhuhr
'Asr
Maghrib
'Isha
Over the Lord's Prayer and
Hail Mary.
My rosary beads were quiet patches of rakaahs
Though I could not pronounce any of the words.

I kept secrets too heavy to lift into the
Dark recesses of my mental hiding-holes
Instead dwelling in discrepancies and dealing in bargains.
Half of me fit perfectly to each,
A blasphemous picture of the ****** Mary
Transposed to the cover of a Qur'an
I had never opened, like the
Guilt-edged pages of Bibles growing weary
Under my desk.
Two irreconcilable pieces of religion,
Broken images of stained glass crowns
That can't be formed into the intricate patterns of an
"Exotic" heart.
So for today I pack away my rakaahs and prostrations in a wooden box,
And take up my cross again.
Someday, though,
My heart will chase itself through the five pillars,
And I will shake out the green cotton,
Wrapping it carefully over a flyaway soul.

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Sabke zindagi ki kuch aesi kahaniyaan hoti h jo logo s chupi hoti h
Jo bsh kuch anjaana sa hota h
Tik wese hi yh kahani h
Isha ki

Logo ka manna tha wo kathor dil wali amir ghamandi ladki h
Pr log kya jaane wo amir ** k v akeli h
Logo ko kya pta ki wo v bsh kuch waqt pehle khudh s mili h
Mohobbat tutne s jada dard apno k ruthne ya bharosha tutne pr hota h
Wo to ek maasum si thi
Ushe to pta hi nhi tha ki wo kabhi esh Isha s milegi jo ki kathor patthar ki trh sakt h
Pr jis waqt ushe fareb, dokha or bewafaae k dard ka ehesash hua
Uski sachchae s jo wo wakif hue to usne apni masumiyat ko khudh k saamne mrta paya
Usne uske dil ko gilli mitti s kathor patthar bnta paya
Usne apne bharoshe pe bharosha kr sb kuch tutta - bikhrta paya
Ush din apne ko hi nhi apno ko v khudh s dur jata paya
Or ush waqt khudh k maut pr khudh ko rota paya
Or fir bn k tayyar hue kathor patthar
Jisko puri trh smjhna aaj v aashan ** na paya

the old tale forgotten, whispers
I imagine.

Slow slow
Cali-ing an imp's pulse, a life's response to my
spondaic plea

Hear me.
Fret not, the game is afoot. Real life
has ridden the wind
to catch us up

we win again
and set us round this flame to teach us
past the games
past the practice

craft has prospered in wisdom's embrace.

taste, and see.
The story on one tongue tastes bitter, while

I always find it sweet.
The blind leader has an old horse
who always makes it
home, I have a promise I follow and

the horse is far behind, keeping pace
with the game afoot,
far behind.

When this tale is told,
may you be the first to tell it true.

--- each line I think ends the trail
--- but I think wrong

the tale and the trail are seeming symish,

here we be in this book of life, whence, if we find our name,
we remain forever.

Can you imagine? In a word realm, we may remain.

The secret is we live. That's the tale I tell.

===
it's all ish or isha, isn't it It, the nameless
missing wished for thing,
the
exact which one,
we all feel we lack.

A touch never felt, but hoped for
through the pain,
oh, the shame.

Yours, the blame.

---- old man not so old
---- all the lies that you were told
---- were told to all since Cain, these are the common chains.

The mission, the quest to bher the blame away in phors o'shame,
while holding all the truth

a word may logically hold ina reasonable realm,
a word realm

whence, in the be
gin or gen ing (on going ing ing ing)

Genius ginning seed from fibers fit t'make threads
fine as spider webs,

watch, chile, watch this bobbin spin and spin and spin

soon be baby sleep in full-on gamma state,
while gran'ma spin the cotton wit' no thought of a wheel.

By and by, we see things beginnin' better, from seed up.

Sgt. Why-**** calls me, from the VA hospital, in MIami,

why you interupptin me , Why-****? He say

stroke-slow, y'know

I -- a whole next word duration twixt each tongue-lip config
and some repeats due to ram slips

He got it out, said he had to tell you (me) to remember,
All things work together.

Incredulous me, I ask, really,  you called to tell me that?
No,
he said
you said you would call, from time to time,
so I figured you forgot. The mission is to live true.

No lie, I replied.

My mother taught me to count each of my prayers on my fingers, so here we go...

The first time I fell in love with you was on a spring day. I was lying on the grass and you were lying on the back of my mind.

The second time I fell in love with you was last summer. Your deserted skin glistened a dune in the sunlight, and your hair danced to a breeze that was not yet quite there.

The third time I fell in love with you was this autumn. I unfolded piles and piles of myself trying to connect the weight of the word that is me to this season; each fall I fall for you.

The fourth time I fell in love with you was a couple of winters ago. The snow gave me cold feet, and was up to my frozen tongue; but each time I would look into your eyes I would feel a burn in my chest.

My grandfather thought that we get clarity from the dew of dawn but I have always found my prophecies in my Isha prayers; The fifth time I fall in love with you will be on a spring day. I will be lying on the grass, and you will lie on the back of my mind...

Fajr passed by as I slept on
Zuhr was lost in a day's work
Asr got skipped as I sipped my tea
Maghrib flew by as I photographed the sunset
Isha was added to the forgotten list
And there I lay at night tossing and turning
Wondering why peace escapes me?

The event, perhaps
advent, first ever any thing,
where nothing had  been, not a thought.

I think.
Then, when nothing was over
and everything we know now,
began, light
was not the first thing, the idea was.
Be for
Yes.
Word one. Hmmmmm or um or am
it may have been, I heard from
a transcribbled  myth
or a legend as old as any
meme-level memory mortals have
made-up from remaining
tidbits taught to any next gen thing.
Look.
Assume light is as fast as the expansion,
couple of Planksecs,
and it is at the edge of ever,
never before,
never busting beyond the bubble we be in,
dead center,
the physical middle of ever,
continuous now,
nothing to stop us imagining we,

disagree, now, after all's been said and done,
and things run on,
de iffing chaos as the live evil force itself,
ever teaching any mind co-operation
in time… swirling beauty in bands of invisible
galaxies, barely seen even now, we
see what we are told we see,
enhanced
and expanded to
original intent, at the scale of precision, which
now requires
of those who wish
to know truth init's entirety,
faith in the wits who invented the lenses
we imagine we see through into-ity ever
………..
This day began this way. Everything already,
readable, as it were, once, with us,
before our story folded,
stapled and refolded and bent to allow
the data-based
mass enlightenment I deal with now,
mere data,
knowledge, knowns known more
than I may think or ask,
available on our distant viewing apparatchik
network of nova sensorium's newest equations
that balance at perfectly predictable
infinity… or do not work.
Pop. Bubble after bubble falling
through the quantum foam.
Come on home.
Live and learn, do the math.
Or wait to see
somethings never mattered
up to now, and now, you know,
you did, some how. That's good.

------------------

here we are, after all.
On course, of course;
here has more spectrums to be on.
here has more curves to miss,
here has
turns that twist us back to
now,
sudden- seeming
now, still
wow
is near the only value add
we ever hope to hear.
Cold or hot or just
right, fine
sifted patterns from the echo, wa wa wa

did we get so serious we lost the place
we held
positive on a negative pole,
an aberrant position
erring ever from
the straight point to point pattern
of pro gression to non
aggressive agreement in the we we were
- per haps, as babies we were thought
coyotes, little devils of trickery wu,
so we were swaddled in goat' wool,
to provoke this itching and pre
vent this whole idea, you
thinking wild,
unpacked
unglossed abnormal canine thought…

like a dog, dreaming of the chase.

------------

----------------------
Only chase real rabbits, that's
Greyhound wisdom.

Pookas are always worth the chase,
real or otherwise, if you see one,
chase it.
--------------------------
On the bus,
or off, Cassidy was a character,
sure as any in literature,
an archetypical untamed man,
crazy,
by most accounts, possessed
with a wish to die young,
and be famous for ever having been
a penniless drunkard's form of a man,
an unnatural scion of lost and beaten men.
------------
So, that spirit lingered… in my past that
ran to catch me here
today, in the pattern recognizant

aha, I know
this voice… I knew that spirit,
merry prankster splashing in Burro Creek,
before the bridge existed,
oblivious to quick sand my mother
warned me to be aware of,
as she had learned the hard way,
…remember
there is solid rock below the mud,
hold your breath.
--- a new me --
Burro Creek, survivor of the crossing,
since ever was.
------------------------

Survival is always good news.
Mission accomplished, it is finished, fini.
Peace on earth, good will
to ward men {wombed and un}.
That is a message, an angel, judge it.
They call that
The gospel, in my realm.
It is finished is considered grace.
The truth makes free, grace makes useful.
Infinite grace, with a bit of funny math
for making nextifiy tests, t'
keep the kids sharp.
-- slow lane -- this is…

The good spell, I tell my self I know.
News,
from nearer than we can imagine
possible, posited
in a place called here, at that
point, nearer than we
thought, here
where I exist, the ego me, floating
on that same old ocean of opinions,
lapping at my shore.

This must be that sea, they think
is where all eventualities
congregate to wait
for everything
to finish the pattern, to the nick
in the stick that told us when
to begin, this
once, once more.

I was convinced.
I was never invincible, to my defense,
I built the wall that hides my best
from pride's envaluing scheme,
best of the lot,
without spot or blemish,
make this the one we take,
leave the ring-straked, spotted and speckled.

Holy is pure. Pure is white.
Uh-oh.
This is where we find the stragglers,
carrying the cross of Jesus,
while marching,
as to war.

We sang that song in public school,
when music was a given need
each allegiant took to heart,
Onward Christian Soldiers,
-- mind wanders
----------------------------
7  trombones, and 10 clarinets
led the big parade, with one bass drum
marching as to war,
to destroy what Jesus did not finish,
followed by the lesser corps,
of boy scouts,
with only fife and snare.

Then came the grand equestrians,
all who owned a silver saddle,
passed as knights from when
our fathers stole this land.

My family had the contract to follow up
with shovels and barrows on wheels.
We were the signal for
next phase, of hell's a-poppin-days…

the Burro Barbecue in Bullhead City.

Long ago, there was one red light across the river,
a porch light on a trailer, behind Laughlin's first bar.

---------- Faux Nostalgian
algia alegian re alegian  pain of-
pain felt,
fear of-
fear felt,
---------------------------

Great line in the movie, Boss Level…

geek says "Childless by choice."
Hero replies, "whose choice?"

--- Badfinger - half of them chose death over survival.
--- if it matters when you know
--- I skipped the 70's … so the soundtrack's new…
I heard about you…

looking back in time on a line I never walked,
as it were,
on first pass through the realm of ever afters
flashing
past lights shone, blinking,
settings seeming chaotic in tri-colored quarks
insisting
it all works out.
Rock 'n'roll f'ever, a post-pubescent poets dream.

First, learn the game,
then learn the rule it rode in on. Who is teaching
whom
the next best
move. Ai do believe my loop expanded now
you are here with me
in the mix
confused as reason for knowing quarks come in colors.
Love comes in colors, too.
Could be coincidence.

--- Old Osiris, man, he hard t'****.
Ham 'n' Evans, not so hard. They lost the will to live.
The seventies ate many couldabins.
Freewill or fate, knowing was a factor.
Money had a finger init right, bad, the whole unbitten apple
idea attempting to tweak the future
from the past…

how long did those trips last? Radioman,
can you imagine,
all along its been this one song
?

Taste, and see. know you know.

sapient (adj.)"wise," late 15c.
(early 15c. as a surname)- {eh, a family name?},
from Latin sapere "to taste, have taste, be wise,"
from PIE root *sep- (1)
"to taste, perceive"
(source also of
Old Saxon an-sebban 
"to perceive, remark,"
Old High German antseffen,
Old English sefa 
"mind, understanding, insight").

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=sapient>

Nothing eastern in the idea. Makes me think
what if,
long ago, knowing was a given, not a taken thing?

Isha, you may call her Eve,
or Mito-mom;
she's our most recent common ancestor,
after her,
as a species, we
came to be namers who knew, sapient sapient,
the dominant multicellular life force
on earth. We are her mitochondrial line,
there are no others.
Users of new knowns,
conscience guided
**** Sapien squared, that's us,
tuned to a thought that better
is never worse,
try… learning to talk with no one to talk to.
Imagine that.
… back in garden after the trick,
she knew…
--- C'mon, taste, you've no idea what death is.
She persuaded him to taste.
And there the story verges from the one you know.

from [redacted]. to [redacted]. to [redacted].

1.
first impressions have always failed us.
i'm sorry.
sweet and shy quickly burned into a numb saccharine.
i apologize for the unpleasantries.
for i know that i may appear gentle but i do bite
and i merely wanted to show you my teeth.

2.
you're beautiful.
i could never tell you so up close
but since we've met, i've counted every lash on your lower lid and chased strays across your cheeks behind my eyes every night before i sleep.

3.
i loved you a stomach's full.
when i got home i rewinded your every word slowly like a vhs tape
dissected and digested each sound steadily
hid every syllable under my tongue to feast upon later
and let the fricatives kiss the front of my teeth.
i let the rolling, darkness of your timbre shiver down my spine and up again.
baby boy, your accent is guttural
yet your tongue never clips.
you give it to me straight,
sweet legato flowing from your lips.
your words are movements
and our conversations symphonic
it hurts most of all that to have earned your silence

4.
would you mind if we just talked some things out?
if you forgot every time i disappointed you
and viewed me as a woman
again.
i don't ask that you forgive me,
but know that i'm sorry.

5.
you made me angry.
a hell of a lot.
teeth shattering
lung seizing
6/8 time signature heart beating
seeing and tasting copper
dog mad
******
and all for reasons i can't admit.

6.
i've loved you a night's full
past the brim of isha
to the lips of salatul duha.
i prayed istikhara in the last third of the night
when God descended to the stars
as if to proclaim my love to Him and the billions of celestial witnesses

7.
i greedily want it all
all of you
to taste every smile
true or for show
to wipe away your tears
and lay your head on my chest
to coax out the little boy inside you're afraid to share with everyone else.
to have your trust and make you feel like a man all the same.
can i be that for you?