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deep story....SubhanAllah
ABD
01/24/02 at 14:09:28
[slm] My mom forwarded this story to me and SubhanAllah it's really deep. Good story to reflect upon Insha'Allah. The Room > >Author: Unknown > >In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in a room. > >There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with > >small indexcard files. They were like the ones in libraries that list > >titles > >by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which > >stretched > >from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very > >different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my > >attention was one that read "People I Have Liked." I opened it and began > >flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I > >recognized the names written on each one. > >And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. > >This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my > >life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a > >detail my memory could not match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled > >with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and > >exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a > >sense > >of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if > >anyone was watching. > >A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed." > >The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have > >Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I Have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed > >At." > >Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled at My > >Brothers." > >Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger," "Things I > >Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be > >surprised > >by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. > >Sometimes > >fewer than I hoped. > >I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be > >possible that I had the time in my 30 years to write each of these > >thousands > >or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was > >written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature. > >When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I realized > >the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, > >and > >yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut > >it, > >shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of > >time I knew that file represented. > >When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through > >my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, > >and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to > >think that such a moment had been recorded. > >An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one > >must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to > >destroy > >them!" > >In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I > >had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began > >pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became > >desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I > >tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its > >slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying > >sigh. > >And then I saw it. > >The title bore "People that I Have Taught About Allah". The handle was > >brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle > >and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could > >count the cards it contained on one hand. > >And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt > >started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the over-whelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. [wlm] Betul Btw, there's another story but it's in Turkish, insha'Allah i'll translate it and post later.

Re: deep story....SubhanAllah
Barraa
01/25/02 at 15:05:25
that was awesome you know! i read that poem and saved it. then i deleted it and now? i have it again, thanx alot for the post
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