Wind from within

أَعُوذُ بِٱللَّهِ مِنَ ٱلشَّيۡطَٰنِ ٱلرَّجِيمِ، بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

 

 

my soul is telling me so,

things gotta change,

gotta always be ready to grow,

this, my soul is telling me so,

 

wouldn't let go of your hand, 

knowing your touch is part of my plan,

the moment i walked into our Garden

you'd be the nectar i start with,

a fountain for the bees, 

thirsty for loving as pure as 

a midnight summer's breeze, 

standing on tips of toes with 

Eskimo kisses for our noses,

you being part of my fabric helps to 

keep me forward going.

 

gotta be more than i have been,

apply for places to work 

and build for this life at least

something, as protection and solace for my

Mia, that never worry or fear  can overcome

her, neither for second or hour, 

but rather 

part of me surrounds her:

every inch of skin, 

every facet of emotion,

for her no drought, only rain up until the point

that she can stand to bathe in.

 

like so, a need for Then and a need for Now, 

walking hand in hand, 

i am incomplete, yet perfectly complemented,

Fruition is a pinnacle, 

i seek from Him strength to keep chasing after with, 

iA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a pattern of the cloth

أَعُوذُ بِٱللَّهِ مِنَ ٱلشَّيۡطَٰنِ ٱلرَّجِيمِ، بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

 

 

let me take a moment, relate to one who might visit, share what it is He composed me of, before life tries taking it from memory, thought and lyric as fading wisps into the night air, a hive of turbulent emotion but its surface emblematic of serenity. all i am is a series of holes, like the paths bullets might take, shot into a shirt, or if stars were rockets diving down on my earth from the skies, that is the pattern of my cloth, the substance He composes me from, all the pieces of worth and joy and hope, never really settled into being from my own atoms, but instead they came from the ones He brought me to know and fall in love with, whether as brothers or the purest of lovers, they are who i'm stitched of, but then He unwound me from so many of them, often a thread at a time, He made it appear as if time were the thief, but i know it was Him, my Creator, Who brought them to this slave and then vanished them as if they were ether, i would shed tears for each of them who He's kept distant, or silent, or veiled from knowing i seek them, but most of me is desert, at present my sole oasis is the Gift He gave and somehow kept tied to my existing. oh mortal beloved of mine, brothers and lovers and kindred, i will find you all again, one day iA, whether on this plane or the Next, i would glow brighter as soon as i beheld each of your presence, but for much of this road, i have only this small lament, that my cloth is holed and unfilled, potential tasted and perused but untouched and not fully known. this life thinks to bleed me dry, ah the irony, has it not seen the garments my soul is clothed in?

Momented

أَعُوذُ بِٱللَّهِ مِنَ ٱلشَّيۡطَٰنِ ٱلرَّجِيمِ، بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

 

 

alhamdulillah for the blessings, maybe even more so for the vision, trial as it is, it's where He's kept you simmering, a broth for the chill or a breeze for the summer, sometimes when i fade...vision is the only place where any part of me remains. my evolutions are coming, mutuality achieved (alh) with the Mia that He sought fit to bloom as my Vined Rose, no longer virtual the touch or taste, though not perpetual the dip as my nature is wont to dive in over and over. that's alright, this life is merely the beginning, an iceberg's tip barely touched the skin of a finger, so much more to be melted - at the top of that list, you, laid out amongst sweets and clotted creams, a scene befitting the Cookie Monster and her endless scones and treats. i don't know how long i will last, how He will try me further, whether He would choose to dissipate my chase of Forever inside the swamp of this life's trials that seem to me perpetually tethered...but i know for as long as in me a drop of sanity remains, a drop of remembrance, a few breaths after i remember my Maker, is thought of our union, your Balcony, carved out of my dreams and into your Garden's palaces, the gift for a slave who stayed true to who she was when all this life wanted to do was take it away, iA

Echo

أَعُوذُ بِٱللَّهِ مِنَ ٱلشَّيۡطَٰنِ ٱلرَّجِيمِ، بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

 

 

some days words come to mind, waiting to be written, but there's no pen at hand, no keys near to be typed on, so they whisper to the wind, whisper to their Rabb, of matters wish i fully understood, but incompletion is like the permafrost of life, even when it's melting, even with the warming globe, some wisdoms remain hidden from us, even when obvious is how matters seem to unfold. have to restrain the nafs, find contentment in the wait, between periods of sufficiency, sandwiching moments that seem as frail and frozen lakes. i know He holds all my vision, encompasses its every shade, from joy to madness unrestrained, all held firmly in place, so i teeter not on that brink, walk not close to an edge, try to realize the limits, and keep back my limbs from not listening, though parts do scream, painting landscapes and scenes, sometimes everywhere in the mind, then taunting me with their captured unrelease, so then my blood flows but has no outlet, no brush to manifest the canvas, and i am real but it seems made of something not able to savor worldly substance. i know, even if ever something i said or did, didn't make sense to you, you'd still understand, still grasp it, because you grasp me, and to be held and beholden, not as slave but lover so bespoken, that is our treasured aim, our rarefied wish, to find company in that cloud, when this life is so grounding, at times so devoid of joy and mirthless; company of the Muse with her Spark: this, the apex of what it means to be as human.