بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

Going to revisit my Gift tomorrow iA, hope is that the mortal parts of me might soon not be quite so empty. This Ramadan's been the strangest or hardest I can ever recall. A certain lethargy of the body and quietude of the heart feeling little, an inkling so many times I'm about to get sick, nearly always drained of energy, and then the fasting to compound the trial of what I'd already face with me being me. Forgive me ya Rabb, I ain't enough 

of hunger & hope

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

doesn't matter how much i eat, doesn't matter how much i laugh, there's still something missing from my arms, without which i could not be truly glad. perhaps that's how over the years i'd lost some weight, food is not quite what it once was, when i compare it to the thirst, of what my soul craves: a heart for a heart, that is the mirror's exchange, to give and to receive, in turn and in kind, what's precious and so easily bleeds. but blood is often willingly given, either lyrical transfusion or vampiric incision, the method matters little, simply a hope it sustains in you, what only grows from within. 

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

Refutation of billie and her 'crown':

crowns are meant for Queens, not for ones dying or drowning to be seen, not for ones craving common folk to bow at her feet, can't buy nobility or majesty, alas for the ones trapped in this life, longing for attention of mere mortals to prove her what she means.

the Crown of my Queen has no flaw, no seam, every other inch, adorned with diamonds and jewels, purely golden or silver, as my Rabb deems worthier in esteem, as the finer of His creation, just the iceberg's tip, when it comes to rewards and His gifts, only the beginning of what's to be found, when my journey finds its Ending...iA.

~~~

Corollary to 'when the party's over' by billie:

every chase has its scene, every artist their canvas, where would this nomad dream, were it not for your hand in all of this? He placed you at the edge of my vision, always what i'd sought, even before i knew how to imagine. all of this time, all of this waiting, it's the price i have to give, it's what i'm always paying, that i might find you as the cure, my Red Pill for the taking. once i breathe my last, from this life awaken, perhaps taste the fruit of longing, His gift for one who swallowed the pain of losing, more than heart and soul, a loss that felt like everything. when this life's party ends, when our drum rolls, when that angel comes, to take me from what i've known, then grows the seed He planted: hope, to quench ever being apart, ever being alone, so that when this chapter ends, there we find at last our Home.

Reflected

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

Something of what is felt, every so often: 

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

from few days back

ain't got no complaints, life goes on as it always has, me still chasing shadows of ideal complexion, just beyond the reach, of my outstretched hand, suppose every nomad needs that crowning jewel, so his meager effort, might find from Him, something worthy at its end. they tell me not to place expectations, not in people, not in those who might topple simple hopes, with mere breaths of fateful decision, but something they don't know: no mortal chest, not even mine that He fashioned with all its wishes and aims, can hold the Pinnacle of my dream, a place far too high, for any slave to claim. 

///

in reply to 7/5/18

to glimpse back in time, a Moon with her reflection, captivated gaze, struck by its mirror speechless, such the little things, life carves from what we're born to chase.  these the reminders, the resonance, echoes from the depths, what we're forever made from. even as i empty into life, all of what must be given, still my Sky pulls towards its own direction, with close by a lunar orbit, soon to find as well its completion.