-in the name of Allah-


Though a part of me runs away from even wanting to think of you because of the pain it might bring, a part of me will always be running, maybe in circles, to be closer to you because its the only home in a human's heart I've ever known. I don't know what lies in tomorrow the sheathed sword or sheathed wound, it could be I find my way around again to a place and a time not too soon. My biggest fault is impatience and sometimes I fear it might set me to rigidity in lacking diligence, but the back yard in my mind steadily knows Allah is there and I have a purpose, a purpose unfulfilled yet prominent. The skies can be gray or clear, the weather cloudy or shining, it seems the moments my mind is aware are to be treasured, a meaning and end for the searching and finding. I escape many times and and don't seem to be about them distressed, it's because apathy is a lonely widowed mother, who cares for any child regardless of whether that care will either help or harm beget. It's ironic to me how I should have my thoughts trail back to you, at some time, for some reason, in some way, and this should make me presently aware of the state of my life; in another time I would have thought that nothing short of my wants could be enough to keep hope and meaning in sight. Of course, such a nothing exists as something, a something in the being of you, you who remind me of my God, my one and only Allah on whose earth I trod and whose body I have borrowed only to give it back some day tomorrow. My soul is a strained creature, seeking light it begs to be in shade of shadow to run from fame and the shallow, but in return for this apparent virtue it binds itself to nothing, and cares naught for any's due. I have dwiddled and daddled with all these words a picture shaping to be a little blurred, but let me explain to refrain from becoming absurd. Should you ever thirst for peace or water or comfort or want or fate or life or solace or relief, and I am capable of hearing or seeing or thinking or moving or breathing or being, I'll send you a paper plane with my soul engraved perhaps and perchance helping you be free and happy and content and fulfilled and with serenity instilled. They say paper planes are weak, fragile, subject to winds and other elements affecting the meek, but I disagree, for when and if that paper airplane can carry your soul, if not along with body and whole, then at least partially in dreams to a place where truth and justice evenly unfold.