Martin Luther King Jr.

once said, 'In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.' Sometimes this very silence remains the bitter-sweet residue that never gets resolved, even at the end of the grandest fairytales. The ending is happy and in general, we all live happily ever after. Certainly, as sure as the protagonist and all who prevail are happy, there are antagonists who remain defeated and justly or even perhaps unjustly doomed. Though in general, a select few will have made sacrifice or suffered a major or minor blow but will be left neglected and ultimately forgotten. This fairytale is my reminder of the tragedy of deafening silence. The awkward pauses when voices, words and ultimately good, is sacrificed. In my case, this was a sacrifice to the gods of Rome. Once upon a time there was a dream much like Rome. It played out in a kingdom, more like Camelot, but built upon the steely foundations of the empire of Rome itself and sealed in the blood sweat and tears of those who would be enjoined 'in'. At the helm was a dictator who ruled with an iron fist and was so black and white about everything, people in the middle suffered from confounded bipolar dissonance. His children seemed to only live a contented life under the care and love of their patient mother, ever dedicated to providing a pillow of comfort in the thorn-strewn bed that was made for their sleeping. They grew close under this reign and bound each other, some say with blood, to a decree that would bond them and their progeny to resolve never having to live in the way that they did growing up. This bond would be the constitution that would define a new kingdom, ruled by them collectively. It was the culmination of all the harsh lessons learnt growing up. Treacherous events upon, saddening, heart-breaking, disparaging, destructive event. Hurt upon hurt. Vow upon vow. Through all of it, they grew together, learned together, celebrated together, sacrificed together and raised each other to the esteemed standards they claim today. Never would these siblings and their wives or husbands and their progeny be hurt or separated by the trials and tribulations faced growing up. It was a bond that would prove solid and inspiring to onlookers. It set the foundation for jointly achieving tremendous goals. Sadly, it came at a price too, mostly to those who didnt understand the bond. Who didnt grow up, survive and understand the alternatives. Who didnt know what Rome was protecting its people from. Who were not, of this Rome. Who were not like their treasured us. I married into this dream. All these years later, I look back somewhat sad about those early times. Their daughter 19 and I barely 21, were married at the punitive ruling of her father. All his children were volunteered into marriage the moment they brought home the suggestion of a relationship. He applied a standard, which was to give the couple three months and then it was marriage or disparage. By the time we married, her siblings had all been married, had children and were building upon their individual and collective kingdoms. Rome was thriving. All their efforts were in the advancement of that dream. If it wasnt, it didnt matter. If you werent ready or equipped, it didnt matter. I married the youngest daughter. I, also the youngest from my family, was instantly elevated to their peer. I didnt know it at first, but just as quickly as that elevation came, so too did the harsh reality of living up to that standard. I, the eternal romantic, would write or play music in a kingdom that was growing on the back of builders. I didnt add value. My interests were foamy, dreamy bubbles that didnt add value. If they could, the timing was off and the moment inappropriate. You couldnt step back and marvel at its grandeur and the automatic greatness that it obviously bestowed on the builder and by that virtue, the great importance and happiness it equated to to the family altogether. This was the right stuff.

I guess I never did do the important stuff, the stuff that mattered. The kind of stuff that the man of the house should do. Like build a house and rooms and furniture and install stuff and make every last little piece that goes into it. This was the way of this Camelot and the strings of this dream were starting to attach themselves to my existence. Perhaps with a nudge here and a shove there, I could have started and learned some valuable skills and built up my dues. It wasn't that easy. Never actually. I married into this kingdom of doers, but couldn't, of all the important things to survive in this world, 'do'. Everything that could be done, they would attempt with some basic knowledge and money and with great effort; learning and I guess eventually-some conceding. I wasn't born or raised that way. As the youngest of my lot I was at best the gopher guy. Being younger than the new lot, I had no actual peers to learn the ropes with and was expected to know a lot more from a life I didnt live. I had landed a job in a lucrative industry and earned a better living, but this was not going to enrich all of Camelot and was therefore uselessly irrelevant. So I was exposed for my unhandiness in a land where this was soon to become democratically unacceptable and unspeakably unmanly. Now for all the manly doing, no-one could really inspire me to learn. Infact, no-one could actually teach me either. The thought was seldom there, or the faith in me or perhaps the patience for teaching. Often it appeared that the notion was by default preceded by mocking, as this was appropriate for the rank outsider. A knight would at the slightest agitation 'teach' you an impromptu verbal lesson. Those lessons were short and to the point - but the point would only be so they could tell other knights about the lesson they taught you. They were mostly short because they either came at an inappropriate moment, or the real lesson was being 'told' to the wrong person. Mostly those lessons served the needs of the one doing the teaching. This was the way of this Camelot. I soon learned to put on my smile-and-pour-tea face at the thousands of sentences that started with, 'Come I tell you something....'. Follow that by the typical classroom nod and class dismissed. I admit however, I had been fore-warned, "When in Rome, do as the Romans would." Quoteunquote. This was the fine print in the contract declared out loud and I signed it in borrowed and burning courage. Courage that would be bled from me as I lived up to dealing with the reality of that warning. At every turn was this gruesome reality. Yet, I had only eyes for the lady I had married thinking this was my life and I was young and cowboy and bent on ignoring the warnings. It was in this way that the carnivorous chickens started coming to roost. I was young, nave, unskilled and in most ways the misfit. What followed would blind-side me. From head on. In the early days I grew trusted in some quarters, particularly of the younger siblings and their spouses. Fortunately, these groups offered friendship and amicable company and these were folks I could get along with. Others, well I tippy-toed around them like the helpers dirty child in the company of elders. They reciprocated with the hardened smugness of the typical evil step sisters. I was but an extension of resources at my wife's disposal, and eventually became indispensable. All that we were, all that we had would come under scrutiny. If they fancied it, it was hers. If it was inadequate it was mine and utterly and disgracefully short of what everyone deserved. Yet 'it' could be the exact same thing, on a different day, to a different knight, in a different mood. I was awaking to the reality of my non-conformism and my rightful place was watering away. I knew with certainty that my place was not at their Round Table. I simply didn't qualify and that empty gap stirred angst in the kingdom. This ultimately proved an insult to all others and their greatness and the greater good of their greatness in that great kingdom. I guess their patience wore thin. I guess that out of self-preservation or possibly for the sake of all of humankind that seat had to be filled. So it was decided and so it was done for verily these were doers. I imagine the decree to have been so well thought and articulated and at such a high authority that most of us, the mere hoi polloi, were not privy to the decision at all. Sadly from my pavement view, I can only describe the entire facade as a "bum on seat" campaign. Provided it wasn't mine. Rumor has it, all that was required for the vacancy was that this person was useful and secondly that this individual has to be an ' acquaintance' of their angel sister.

Apparently the order of those conditions did not matter. The invite was quite simple, bring some use to the table and steal a heart and you were in. It must have been that advertising the vacancy had proved fruitless, unless there was an underhanded incentive to err on the side of nepotism. Either way, enter his royal knightliness, a man who remains and to me will eternally remain lacking and starved of the honor and the respect of the prophet of the people of whose name he carries, but a disgrace to the ways of the very prophet whose name he only taints. I suppose in his interview, he managed to be more or less everything I wasn't in the age old tradition of 'being a man'. Or, maybe, being a friend of the family the old tradition of rather the devil you know applied. With great persistence, insider aid and cunning, he won over the hearts of all the ones of Camelot who mattered. Who cares that he had in the wake of his application three children and a wife, left behind to the mercy of the world? This was a knight more than suitable for the begging seat at the round table and the collateral damage would never be an issue for Rome to resolve, so why would Camelot care. It is often rumored that a she-wolf pulling strings in the background, twisted and turned the hymn sheets to ensure his passage. Since she was his original entry point into the family friendship circle, there is trifling evidence of this accounting for him being head-hunted. This plot gave convenience to the relationship during work hours of the day, time that I could be kept furthest from my wife, from the plot and from the truth of what would be an affair to rival the duration of my marriage. Even more agreeably convenient, I the husband, whose name was spat upon at the mention of it, was found to be a competent royal jester. The kids seemed to like me. A study of these years certainly suggests that what mattered least was the rightfulness of that acquaintance and subsequent relationship under the scrutiny of any God fearing institution. There might yet be the day, for reckoning of those who endorsed what would become the most apparently unnoticed affair never witnessed. Here began the deafening silence whose consent would pave the way to my ultimate demise. I often lamented the fact that with no proof at all, I found myself growing a particular disdain for those who appeared to encourage that relationship. This pungent reality was worsened by my dislike of the falsehood I therefore felt in their company. Of all the malignant things put on my path, surely this will cause the cancer that mortally wounds me everyday a little more. Of all my worldly tests, this would be the one to scrutinize to the most intimate degree, the essence of who I am. Being Abdul-Kareem, is being the servant of the One who is most Benevolent. It is therefore in my core to forgive, particularly when in a position to rebuke. In this case, the reality was I couldn't prove what I so hated. Yet the reality was it was true beyond any need for proof, except for the silent witnesses who bear testament only to their higher order. I sat pondering this impasse often. Pondering. Probing. Praying. I questioned who would I need to forgive, and what for? More than this, why was forgiveness mine to ponder when I am not the divine Owner of forgiveness. So to God I prayed for the wisdom of forgiving. I guess in His wisdom I learnt start with myself first. All along I showed no self-worth and was far from blameless for my lot and for the ordeal altogether. But alas, even as I could forgive, it was and may always be impossible to forget. As I found my voice, I began speaking up about the disorder in this system and the consequences against what was lawfully mine. I was silenced by the threat of banishment, thereby losing not only my 'used-to-be wife' but also my two sons. I was perceived to be heard noisily crying unfair, pitifully and utterly inappropriately. This ended in being cautioned for wanting to take measures to stand up for my rights against the greater order and legitimacy of Rome. I am told were it not for my sons, I will have been hung or executed in some other way for my vehement objections and outspoken sentiments. So I guess, the progression from 'useless freeloading brother-in-law' to 'jealoushusband useless freeloading brother-in-law' was hardly going to be one giant leap for mankind. Indeed so it was, before long. For all the things I lament, it would be the genetic inference branding my father as a jealous husband that would sadden me most. Yet this sentiment inadvertently proved the first sign that even Rome would seek to find a mortal excuse for its actions. Perhaps the

need to place blame elsewhere, was the admission, that the very fibre of its existence was flawed and in many ways, exactly the end result it was intended to avoid. For me the sign was growing ever clear and my path was starting to wind to a breaking blackening doom. Until upon my journey through dark, thorny thickets, I found my soul and myself. I, always amicable and complying, then removed my allegiance to the kingdom and thrust into the ground my sword and my honour. I vowed never to be crossed by her knightly lover whilst our marriage was still recognized and binding under God's law. Without the thunder raging in my voice, or a shattering tremor in my actions, I firmly presented my ultimatum. Unlike any previous threats, here was a man, worthy of this stature, not just challenging all of Camelot, but stamping an authority worthy of a goddess, for the hand and heart of a mere lady. Sadly, this might not have been sufficient to unbind the ties she had. I often thought that she felt her family bond to be undone only by death but her pursuits were proved to indicate more devious ends. By this time, the cunning behind her manipulating prowess had already outgrown my meager threats and she brushed them aside with the promise of loyalty, trust and commitment. Three cups of pure essence Ive yearned to drink from. Years later, having built upon and invested heavily into our life, never looking back with distrust I found a new confidence in this new us. I recently learned about the treacherous deception she has fostered for so long. I wasnt being positive, growing, striving. I was hiding my head in the sand sucking on dust and stones. Sadly, those three cups of promises have left my dry scratchy thirst unquenched for more years. No longer denied, since I've apparently manned up to deserve the truth. My auspicious arriving that seems to suspiciously co-incide with his resignation from their place of work and strangely apparent, also his absence from Camelot altogether for the last while. I might be harsh in this suspicious assessment, but Id rather be labeled a cynic at this point for the apparent acceptance of me by all of Rome as the prodigal son. So I find myself again pondering our future. The last few years have been the best of our marriage. It now feels like it is so because she was at her best as far as maintaining that facade goes. She fooled me. Twice. His absence brings me no solace or confidence in investing trust again. He will be back as sure as past behavior gives to future action. In the same way, I trust in this cycle accepting his sabbatical for what it is. I must not be fooled, everyone else can. Quite possibly she fooled her family too; I know for certain she manipulated them. Probably matters none to them, either way, convenient ignorance has served them well. Many years later, I seem to be somewhat more palatable to them, although by no means anyone's cup of tea. My house isn't enough, it can fit inside their bedrooms and its actually suffocating to them. Since I do nothing at all to feed their interest, the suffocation is only relieved by bursts of stale air from oxygen that is probably too diluted by my boring inadequacy. But they have diminished in importance in my life, and their kingdom and its rule binds me no more than the face-value of their bond to my family, my kingdom. It is after all only their sister that I have married. But her double life has meant we now have a third, newly born in the wake of what is now my departure point. My sanity and self-respect requires that I leave. This will be a difficult journey but I believe her knight will keep her happy when he gets back, probably more than ever I could, and its probably a matter of fact that he'd be here in a minute, the song keeps me honest to this. Weve been seeing a counselor in an attempt to help make sense of the great divide and somehow use the pure, meaningful, untainted essence we have to build a bridge. So far she has helped me own my part of the problem, a bitter pill I have to regurgitate and swallow yet again. Nasreen still believes that I communicate with force and aggression and therefore she recedes into that battle shell. She admits that Im trying and even admits that my expectation of her disregarding my counsel adds strain to my efforts to communicate differently. Yet she still blames me for failing. Ive had brilliant suggestions, all lost to the notion that Im not good enough to convey them.

So I miss her for the love she made me learn to give and I miss my three boys for the love I will only give as their daddy and not their father. Perhaps even that is a nave notion on my part and I will yet love and be loved with full rights. Truth be told they don't deserve this. Truth be told I didn't deserve her. Truth be told I didn't deserve this. Truth be told I won't deserve the hatred coming - but this depends on the hope I have that at my trial, only the truth will be told. Truth be told if I raged across her path upon a tsunami, at the height of its crest I will still fall at her feet, not in worship, but in respect and for the memory of what was once a beautiful relationship. Truth be told this dark wood I've been dragged into has changed me yet again. I am not afraid of the wood, and the pain, and the loving goodbye of a passion that once consumed me. Truth be told the sun won't rise until the wood brings to the fore this new me, in the sweet embrace of my aloneness, waiting for my new soul mate to take her place within its clasp. Truth be told, the night is growing short, and surprisingly warm. My path feels less ridden with debris from this shattered marriage. The slippery slopes, the rocky roads, the prickly paths are giving way to the path travelled in the hearts of those who truly love and will forever more love me. My silence is giving way to a humming tune that warms my voice. Truth be told I have in exchange for my marriage and the bitterness shackled to it, the relinquishing of the weight of forgiveness of all involved. The curtain closes and opens to a new opportunity. Different eyes from a journey of inner enlightenment, more radiant than the coming sun, arguably the source of the breaking of the dawn.

She. Wildly tempted by his eager guidance Eagerly guided by his wild temptations She sold the dream that was our destiny Flew first class to his dreamy destinations Spun a wicked web around our world Kept wide awake in parallel dreams She spilt my half of our cup of life Then diluted her essence with his sparkling schemes On a brilliant white steed he entered Where I had left ajar a door. She begged it open and pleaded trust Then let that trust bleed - I lost the war Now she, queen to her plutonic knight May set off to their kingdom in deserved bliss I concede her happiness to the better man Made her heart race striking notes id miss Stupid was I to play Mister Man Swayed to marriage by that paternal beast I sat cold in the ally, leashed to a dream Inside she danced to her knight's feast I once scribed upon her name a thousand words Dripping bloody ink til my heart rendered numb My youth greyed quickly as her marrionette When all but my soul did succumb Flooding ink, bloody tears, misplaced essence Just stains on a dream she and I Must give to this dying promise spilt And let wilt as its memory runs dry For certain I'm left no more wondering, Wandering, suspicious, weary, uncertain I cut off my head to remove the leash The strings must drop to this final curtain