There’s a wind that bites on the coldest nights In the frozen lap of December, And it leaves its marks of depressing truth Everywhere that it blows. Remember All the lonesome old, and the suffering youth And the desperate cries of a mother As she scrapes what once had graced her womb From the street in the wake of another Downpour of fire; every home’s a tomb With its epitaph on the faces Of the drenched who dried everything they had In the rain, of all the places. As a village dines on a morsel, glad For the fact that their meal was bigger, Don’t forget blood spilled, all of it unwilled By that tot enticed by a trigger. But we all rejoice for the time we killed In our hot pursuit of pleasure, Just don’t be ashamed of the tears you shed They might be our only treasure. (Take it down just a notch for the dead.) There’s a wind that bites on the coldest nights In the frozen lap of December, And it leaves its marks of depressing truth Everywhere that it blows. Remember. Happy New Year!
I stole this candid shot of my son at the mall. I don’t know why I’m here at the mall, It’s so painful, but I’m biding my time While my sisters, and my mother of all Are deliberating some fashion crime. Dad reminds me I’ll get used to the wait, But I know I need a miracle prayer That, until I learn to welcome my fate, Can dissolve all of this time in the air.
A year had passed, but not a drop Of rain had fallen down upon The land of Makkah, and its crop Did suffer. And its men were drawn Toward their kind and noble chief, Abu Talib, the Hashimi, Whose charge it was to bring relief To his ailing community. He sat upon the dusty ground, And listened till their tales were done, Then gathered all the children ’round; And when he saw his brother’s son, Abu Talib let out a cry Of pure, uninhibited joy, To see the apple of his eye: Abdullah’s one and only boy. He held the child close to his breast Then stood him ‘gainst the Kaaba wall And gently proffered his request To pray to God for rain to fall. Muhammad raised his handsome face And as he closed his blessed eyes, He supplicated God with grace, His heart beyond the cloudless skies. Then in that moment, Mikail Released the long-withheld decree, And angel crowds rushed down to feel The light of higher company. A drop upon Muhammad’s cheek, Then silence, as the heavens turned, To rain upon a people weak The mercy that their son had earned. And thus the much awaited rains Revived the Makkan hearts and crop. I’d equal all the rains with tears For something of that foremost drop.
Inside the belly of a whale, Within the belly of the sea, Is where the man from Nineveh, Eventually came to be. And now, recovered from his shock, He lay against the dismal grime, And thought about his Ninenveh For what might be the final time. There, with his keen prophetic eye, He plumbed the depths of honest thought, Of what upon poor Nineveh, His gross abandonment had brought. And in a moment of such depth, The Truth descended on the heart Of our good man from Nineveh. Who sat up with a sudden start; He’d left his people in the dark, And here he was in darkness cold, But Nineveh, his Nineveh, Ought not to feel this loss untold. He’d set without his Lord’s command, Upon a quest for solitude (Away from needy Nineveh), And now with such was he imbued. His fears turned to love, he wept, Beseeched his Lord with moistened eyes. O Yunus, best of Nineveh, Upon you peace the day you rise.
It’s what makes a heart to steal away Deep into the darknesses you find There beneath the layers where they play, Demons find a way to trick your mind. Don’t give up on what you feel inside Beating ‘gainst a chest that has no worth If the sound of every beat has died, Time to give another beat its birth. All that matters is what you think of Him who thinks of you just all the time, Even when you think you’ve had enough Of that thought you ever thought a crime.
This poem is to honor our physician and all those in the medical field who strive to do the one thing that really matters – care. Who hears the patient out, Who listens very close, And wisely sacrifices doubt For what the patient knows; Who thinks beyond the need To make you smile, instead Exerts all knowledge well to heed The longer mile ahead. Who knows disease is war That’s waged with no decrease In helping that which battles for The maintenance of peace. Who answers every call From agitated voices Believing ER isn’t always From the wisest choices. Who knows that every soul Loves dignity in breath, And reconciles it as one whole With dignity in death. We’re blessed that while alive We have among us such Whose wisdom may help us surive Death’s first and only touch. It’s them we address now: Thank you very much.
I’ll pay you a dollar to build me a palace, And fifty cents more if you build without malice; Its walls crispy brownie, its window frames cream, The couches are fondant in layers that gleam With marshmallow cushions of various shapes; And don’t forget drapes cut from strawberry crepes, And when I have run out of candy to eat, Returns it the favor with practiced deceit, As each of my organs it slowly consumes; I am now its palace with hundreds of rooms. A dollar and fifty has bought me disease, And now I’ll pay thousands in hospital fees.
When you’re sad, just remember it’s alright, There’s a reason that you’re feeling sad this way, Someone’s drawing your attention at this time And is working now to help you turn away From each smell, each taste, each touch, each sight and sound That fills every space and moment of your day; Shut it out and turn you with your heart around To where all that ever matters goes to play, And then look into that face you cannot see, Listen close now to that voice you cannot hear, As your heart pumps out a name in every beat, It is how a sweet remembrance draws you near. There is nothing else that matters now, my dear.