Word, like wind, cuts through you / Withers all but true you
If time were in your hands, you’d have the power
To alter destinies, and if you sought,
You’d travel a millennium or hour,
Accelerating at the speed of thought.
Consider now the placing of the sun
In one hand, while the other takes the moon;
It’s one way lordship over time is spun:
Balāghah serving waḥy on a spoon.
The silence of the night is loudest when
The sounds of sleep and timber creak are one;
To rise as rebels, wont to fall again
As if their song of rise and fall were done,
For silence is a failure of the mind
To hear what it refuses to let in:
A creature that by nature is defined
In terms of what is absent though met in
The captivating charms of solitude
That free the soul unto the forest lush
With sapling thoughts that spring from soil imbued
With nourishment endowed in waters’ gush.
The silence of the night is soft and mild
When chanced upon the breath of sleeping child.
Sometimes it takes a simple sprain
To reconnect the heart and brain
I make the journey every week
To sit under this tree
That shades me from the burning heat
Of ignorance; I’m free
To breathe the air its leaves exhale,
To hear the rustle sound
That makes its fragrant blossoms sail
In silence to the ground.
Hope is a call
That springs from within
It’s voiced by the faith
Of a soul that is in
A struggle for freedom
From falling in sin
It’s okay to fall
But best heed the call
And rise up again
strength is a function
of patience
but when it is not
it morphs into what
may be the destruction
of nations