The leaves that we turn
And the bridges we burn
Remind us of places
Where we may return
If the turning and burning
Do little for learning.
Archives for January 2016
Diving Into Your Love
I’ll live to tomorrow
If I die first tonight:
Just send me your love
On the tail of a swallow
Forgotten in flight.
For one look from my habib on the day it will matter the most. Ya Muqallib al-Qulub…
Forge Ahead
Chairs can help to remind you
The support you need is behind you.
The world may not know it’s got your back.
Get Moving
The shortest route
from here to there
Still needs me to
get off my chair.
New Poetry Series on Channillo
If you’re on Chanillo, do check out my recently launched poetry series here:
http://channillo.com/series/sand-in-my-parfait/
It is set up for weekly updates. I added my second poem just this morning.
Masterpiece
Let NOW be your canvas,
Your breath be your brush:
Let no words upon it
To slash, burn or crush.
Live your masterpiece.
Yunus The Grocer
This grocery rhyme in honor of our local grocer.
Yunus the grocer sold his samosas
At two-dollars-fifty a pound:
A savory treat of taters and meat
So very exquisitely ground,
And wrapped in a layer of dough,
All packaged and ready to go.
The Need Of The Hour
All the children we orphan,
All the children we kill:
We can deck every coffin,
But we can’t check our will.
All our tears are fire,
All our mourning is play,
When we look in the mirror
And we must turn away.
Thirty seconds of sorrow
To be ready to preach,
No, the fire burns deeper
Than the heat of our speech.
Take a moment to wonder:
If the tables were turned,
Would we run to hide under
All our family burned.
Time to strangle injustice
With sincerity’s rope;
Time to drown every challenge
In a puddle of hope.
But we’re lost to the darkness
If we’re led by the blind,
And the seeing, all silent,
Simply follow behind.
Fighting fire with fire
Maybe needed sometimes,
But the need of the hour
Is for wide open minds.
Wide. Open. Minds.
Lies
The lies we speak,
And the lies we spread:
One kills our souls,
The other keeps them dead.
Get Your Bearings
The amity of land repels
A sea beset by rancor,
Yet there it is to come alive
Upon the stab of anchor.