You know my heart
Tattered and torn
Mend me, My Lord
I’m only worn
From all of me
Dying to live
Oh Greatest forgiver
You love to forgive
So forgive me
Thirsty
Look at the water
Look at it fall
Follow its onward
journey and all
Watch how it tumbles
Faithfully on
Washing and quenching
Going, then gone
Never turns back, yet
Ever returns
Gives till it reaches
The ocean it earns
Look at the water
Look at it flow
Follow the sign to
Where you must go
Fresh as the morning
Sweet as a dream
If you are thirsty
Become the stream
On My Attempt to Open a Bottle of Chocolate Milk
This came about while watching my son as we waited at the airport a couple days ago.
My life is like this chocolate milk delight
So complicated just to open up
The seal won’t break: the cap is screwed on tight
I wish they served it in a paper cup
I ask my dad to help but he says no
So here I am determined and committed
To part this bottle from its cap and so
I carefully examine how it’s fitted
I slide a nail into where seal may give
It does and I repeat this little move
Till seal descends into a plastic cliff
My digits work a counterclockwise groove
Till cap comes loose at last – now gentle sips
That eulogize this cocoa off my lips
Warworn
Truth and lies
Shine upon
Water droplets
In the dawn
Tilt the leaf
Drink the dew
Be the human
Side of you
Read the news
Shed a tear
Do whatever
Seems sincere
Write a burn
Tweet a storm
Find a seat by
Where it’s warm
Skies on fire
Far away
Icy latte
Starts your day
Stir your splenda
Empathy
Well into your
Cup of tea
You’re so tired
Of this stuff
Drain your cup now
That’s enough
Gone
I’m driving my imagination
In control and out of patience
Overdrive in space and braking time
The billboards on the highway glow
With colors that would melt the snow
I’m lost within myself but that’s all fine
I hear the city drunk with glee
Its song is like a memory
Of golden beach and salt upon the breeze
I search for something more within
But all I’ve got is drenched in sin
I’m slave to everything I own and lease
I wish that all the world and in it
For the span of one whole minute
Streaked across my windscreen in a drop
That I might turn my wipers on
And see the world and myself gone
On Missing Your Khutbah
I know I’m not where you are
Though you know I’d rather be
Doesn’t matter that you’re far
All that matters is you see
I have things that I must do
That are keeping me from you
Hurts me I won’t hear the words
That you’ll utter when you do
Say it as you say it best
For the ears that hear you speak
May your audience be blest
And the blessing reach who seek
Friday comes and Friday goes
As it burns away my woes
May the sweetest sermon free
Me from all my vanity.
Twelfth of March
There, in the western sky, is a cloud
Now it’s hiding the sun, now it shows it again;
Up above is another and it’s crying out loud:
Just some powdered snow and the rest is rain.
It’s the story of life that we breathe everyday,
Breaking hearts every minute by the words that we say;
As the nation gets dunked in the madness of March,
I’ll just sit here waiting for the flowers of May.
There, to the west, where the sun climbs high
There’s a cloud in the east that’s about to cry:
Just some powdered snow and the rest is rain
To a sap like me who feels my pain.
On Humility
The circle of humility is small
And only those who cannot see it, enter,
For such an entry makes the humble fall
Into a spot where circle is as center.
You cannot then become it overnight,
Or over weeks, or even over months
Like mirror that reflects a mirror sight
And on, till all reflections come at once.
To mock and shun the virtue is a vice;
To give it up an even greater flaw;
Embrace it till you make it your device
And practice like you want to make it law.
We’ll be upon this journey till we see
There is no circle of humility.
Busy
Good is all I feel
I don’t think I’ll die
Do what I desire
As the days go by
Say whatever words
See whatever sights
Hear whatever tales
Tasting all delights
How I love to dance
To the tune of joy
Mirth is my religion
Passion is my toy
Seconds roll to minute
Minutes roll to hour
Hours to the day
Until I climb the tower
Lonely up above
Here upon my bed
Satin feels like bramble
Tearing through my head
Every blink’s a year
Every breath’s a storm
Every burning tear
Fails to keep me warm
Busy, busy, busy
That’s all I was to me
Busy, busy, busy
Is all I’ll ever be
Longing
How pure the object of my love
That makes my hapless self envy
A mist of floating cloud above
And down in meadow swaying tree.
How sweet the object of my praise
That makes my wretched self envy
A spider in its webby maze
And pigeon nested peacefully.
How blest the object of my song
That makes my sorry self envy
A frazzled rug that runs along
That patch of Garden eye can’t see.