أَعُوذُ بِٱللَّهِ مِنَ ٱلشَّيۡطَٰنِ ٱلرَّجِيمِ، بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

 

 

something of being Gifted

 

when all she scratches is the surface, and when the nafs is all that answers, what is the rest of me projecting, if not this life like a desert, the oases so far apart, from when i come to find them? wish i had a map, know how the journey will bend, where the pitfalls are hiding, have not culture or language or childhood as barriers to create distance when next to me she's standing. 

why has the ocean been so silent? surely not the consequence of past denials and rejections, moments of my humanity pouring forth that found at the time no vessel? no way to tell, which way this Gift swings, like a state undecided, both a Gift to try me with and, sometimes it seems, be itself as blessing. the only waves these days i seem to find, of absences or my own mistakes, apparent as the second they were made. 

forgive me, ya Rabb. time teaches me yet, how i am so far beneath my aim.