The Second Third

I’m all a lie, I tell myself,
When I am all alone,
The second third’s upon me
And my heart is still a stone;

The truths I told were only
To make myself seem good
Surrounded by them, lonely
Inside my hellish wood;

My mouth is parched, my head is
A cloud of hunger and
A host of deprivations
Depriving me as planned;

Then somewhere in the corner
Of my transgressing mind
I find that patient warner
Won’t let me stay behind;

Now him, I know I love,
And him, I long to see
That him I’ll find beside me where
The kauthar waters free

A slave from his own fancy
Through sips of truth and light,
I long to touch my quencher,
I long to find that night;

Forgive this hapless seeker,
O Lord, forgive your slave,
So weak, he can’t be weaker
Than when he’s in his grave.

Allah, forgive your slave.

Post Categories: Poetry

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