In honor of the blessed Shuyukh who preoccupy themselves with our worries and help us to bring order into our lives. May our ends be good, and our means accepted. Credit for the theme that inspired this poem goes to my dear brother Muhammad who volunteers with the Naqa organization in Leeds, U.K. I’m weary of this jungle now, Deceit is in the air: I rest my hand upon a bough To find a serpent lair; I reach out to a rose and feel The prick of bramble thorn; I see how beauty everywhere Can danger well adorn. But on must I go till I reach The garden that I seek, Eternal in its peace of which A mortal cannot speak, And as I walk along the way, I come across a man Who, standing on a dusty path, Is holding out his hand. Although I don’t know why I’m drawn To him, I will attest That standing here I sense the dawn Of purpose in my breast. I look into his kindly face And take his hand, as he Bestows on me the sweetest grace A smile could ever be. And through the wilds he leads me on This path he knows so well, And teaches me a word that helps All kinds of harm repel. He warns against the bramble rose And snare of mossy bough, But tells me of the leaf that blows, Yet on its way somehow. And when we stop to rest a while He […]

Before It's Too Late

The thing about apologies: Can make them anytime, It’s easy to say sorry for Just any sort of crime; The only time apologies Are wasted on your breath Is when the one they’re meant for has Already tasted death. So shed the weight of arrogance, And swallow all your pride, You’ll wish you had when someone has Eventually died. And know: it’s not for everyone. To see a matter through Is not a thing for children, it’s What men and women do.