Poetry

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.

If every single mother’s love
From Hawwa to the one
Who walks the sands of motherhood
Before this verse is done

Were all combined into one love
A drop is all there’d be
Upon a wave that rolls across
A love that’s like the sea

So send, my Lord, your rahmah on
Our sinful hearts afire
And let your mercy enter in
Extinguishing desire

That when the midnight darkness falls
Upon a silent town
You find a heart that weeps and calls
For Your love to come down.

Sung to the tune of Scarborough Fair (of course)

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Are you ready for Trump’s Muslim camps
Blanket, soap, toothpaste and shampoo
I hear that they will honor food stamps
And American Express too.

Make me a gallon of cardamom tea
Blanket, soap, toothpaste and shampoo
And bring me a slice of your creamiest brie
Soft-ripened and served on a croute.

Tell her to gather some brown paper bags
Blanket, soap, toothpaste and shampoo
And make me a kufi that matches my rags
Dyed in hues of red, white and blue.

Hack me some bandwidth to skype with my fam
Blanket, soap, toothpaste and shampoo
I’ll trade in my access to Amazon Prime
All setup to auto-renew.

Are you ready for Trump’s Muslim camps
Blanket, soap, toothpaste and shampoo
I hear that they will honor food stamps
And American Express too.

It all begins up in the mountains as one gigantic mass of ice. An epic journey spanning an aeon begins with one drop.

Soon, there’s a trickle, abandoning inertia, favoring movement over stillness.

Movement.

A river goes through a lot.

It lets itself go.

You may think it doesn’t know where it’s going. But it’s running, onward flowing, never looking back, never turning back, never stopping. It picks up a little something from everything it touches.

Because a river knows that everything matters.

A river welcomes other streams. That’s right, it never turns them away, because that is how it grows. And that’s how it flows, gushing down mountains, roaring, crashing, bending, breaking, and falling in its forward-rushing dance.

A river is constant, It stays the course. And its constancy pays off because, in due time, it will cut through the hardest rock. It will slice into the oldest mountain, and it will carve a path for itself.

All in due time.

Onward flowing, only slowing its mad advance when it hits the plains.

A river goes through a lot.

And no matter how many times it crashes and bends and breaks and falls, it does not cease in its flow.

A river just lets itself go.

There are no tears in the life of a river. And that’s by definition.

There is no place for regrets, for second tries, for going back. And that’s by definition.

And all that hard work makes a river thirsty. That’s right, rivers get thirsty too. But it’s a thirst that can only be quenched by something bigger, deeper, wider, something more powerful, more magnificent; something it can consume and be consumed by, at the same time.

And that… is also by definition.

Despite all the crashing, bending, breaking,and falling, a river never stops.

Onward flowing, only slowing down for a meaningful exchange with everything it passes over, crashes into, meanders around, and ultimately drains.

A river nourishes and enriches. And if it takes anything, it does so only that it may give.

Yes, a river gives. That’s how it lives.

And it never stops.

A river moves things, moves people even as it moves itself. It moves ideas, it moves minds.

But there will always be one thing a river can never do.

There is always one thing a river will never do.

A river cannot and will not stop.

And that is by definition.

Now, don’t ever think a river doesn’t know where it’s headed.

It knows exactly where it’s going, and it knows exactly how to get there, because everything that moves is destined for something bigger, deeper, wider, something more powerful, more magnificent.

And that is also in the nature of things that move.

So, are you prepared to move?

Are you ready to meet the ocean that you really are?

Get moving.

The world is still spinning
Despite all the sinning
Because there are eyes
That we never see
Which know how to weep
And weep to be free,
While hearts steeped in love
Awake in their sleep;
And cordial neighbors
Extend through their labors
Of care and assistance
Across every distance;
Intelligent servants
Who sacrifice winning
To give peace a chance
And keep the world spinning.