Daily Times

A blessing.

A curse.

Squeaking and squawking

all day

Short of breath

And patience.

With the trips to the doctors

And restroom

The high bills for medicines.

As if nature is

Hinting

It is time to go.

You begin to wonder

Maybe Mother Nature knows best.

But in the grey dullness of the day

There are Proustian moments

When dozing in the afternoon

The past invades the present

Vivid images alive and clear

Bathed in a golden glow

Come glittering

Seeping through.

At those moments

My mind is then crystal clear

and my limbs supple again.

Fragmented memories

from my school days in the hills

of north Pakistan

of the laughter of class fellows

after a successful prank

or creating an awkward moment for a teacher

the physical exuberance

after a hard game of tennis

the joy of hitting a boundary

or scoring top marks.

The world was young

and the future limitless.

The beautiful face of my bride,

The radiance of my children,

The undulations of a long life

Are with me.

But now

I am confused

am I seventeen again

or over seventy?

I am no longer sure.

Which one is reality

and which one illusion?

And does it matter?

Those images from the past

Float about me

And as they evaporate

They leave me faintly smiling

With moistness

Around the edges of my eyes.

And I hear the distant voices

of my grandchildren

asking is gran’pa alright?

(and when did I suddenly become gran’pa?)

He hasn’t moved for a while?

He couldn’t be …?

And somewhere

Suspended between 17 and 75

I chuckle gently

With compassion and love

And say to myself.

You too my dears

Will be exactly

In my position

When the cycle of life

Picks you up.

They say

Those golden moments

Will never return.

They are wrong.

Those moments have never left.

And I can say

“I’ve seen things

You people wouldn’t believe.”

And do I have any lessons for you?

Only this: You must live your lives

With compassion, commitment and integrity.

In the end

Nothing else matters

Money,lands and properties

Will be left behind

But savor the passing moments

For they will return

Unexpectedly and blissfully

To be your companions,

Not “lost in time,

Like tears in rain,”

As you prepare to sleep.

The writer is the Ibn Khaldun Chair of Islamic Studies, School of International Service, American University, Washington, DC