Word, like wind, cuts through you / Withers all but true you
It’s what makes a heart to steal away
Deep into the darknesses you find
There beneath the layers where they play,
Demons find a way to trick your mind.
Don’t give up on what you feel inside
Beating ‘gainst a chest that has no worth
If the sound of every beat has died,
Time to give another beat its birth.
All that matters is what you think of
Him who thinks of you just all the time,
Even when you think you’ve had enough
Of that thought you ever thought a crime.
This poem is to honor our physician and all those in the medical field who strive to do the one thing that really matters – care.
Who hears the patient out,
Who listens very close,
And wisely sacrifices doubt
For what the patient knows;
Who thinks beyond the need
To make you smile, instead
Exerts all knowledge well to heed
The longer mile ahead.
Who knows disease is war
That’s waged with no decrease
In helping that which battles for
The maintenance of peace.
Who answers every call
From agitated voices
Believing ER isn’t always
From the wisest choices.
Who knows that every soul
Loves dignity in breath,
And reconciles it as one whole
With dignity in death.
We’re blessed that while alive
We have among us such
Whose wisdom may help us surive
Death’s first and only touch.
It’s them we address now:
Thank you very much.
And fifty cents more if you build without malice;
Its walls crispy brownie, its window frames cream,
The couches are fondant in layers that gleam
With marshmallow cushions of various shapes;
And don’t forget drapes cut from strawberry crepes,
And when I have run out of candy to eat,
Returns it the favor with practiced deceit,
As each of my organs it slowly consumes;
I am now its palace with hundreds of rooms.
A dollar and fifty has bought me disease,
And now I’ll pay thousands in hospital fees.
When you’re sad now, just remember it’s alright
There’s a reason that you’re feeling sad this way
Someone’s drawing your attention at this time
And is working now to help you turn away
From each smell each taste each touch each sight and sound
That fills every space and moment of your day
Shut it out and turn you with your heart around
To where all that ever matters goes to play
And then look into that face you cannot see
Listen close now to that voice you cannot hear
As your heart pumps out a name in every beat
It is how a sweet remembrance draws you near
There is nothing else that matters now my dear
My seed is desire and poison, my fruit,
And when my desire begins to take root,
It grows like a fire that makes it’s way higher
To burn all in sight of the eye of desire.
He heard the good word, then took off his sandals
And silently stood there in awe
Of how came the order to throw down his staff;
And marveled to see what he saw:
What once was his staff now crawled in the dirt,
A serpent forbidding and frightful;
He turned on his heels and started to flee
For reasons immensely insightful.
Then came the command unexpected, it was
To stay and toward it draw near
To grasp it; he thrust down his hand in its jaws
Without any semblance of fear.
You know it behooves inquisitive minds
To ponder the reason just why
One settles to flee from peril, yet finds
Repose in instruction from high.
I hear it’s the wisdom of prophets to hold
Respect for the nature of things,
While knowing that nature obeys what it’s told
From where all of destiny springs.
“What is, is just not; what is not, then, is;”
Is everything this story brings.
Inspired by what I heard on November 23, 2014 at Darul Qasim’s weekly exegesis of the Quran by Shaykh Mohammed Amin Khowladia (Surah Al-Qasas, Session 5).
A chest without a heart can’t love;
I’m on my way towards my destiny,
And chance upon a verdant wooded land
With trees and lakes and endless shrubbery
That I must pass to reach to somewhere grand.
Each tree, each lake and every shrub within
Does bear a sign divine, or so inspired;
I’d gladly follow each but can’t begin,
For knowledge to divine them is required.
And then I come upon a glade from where
Four paths diverge, each splendid and well-trod,
And each takes from the wilderness its share
Of what is willed within the Will of God.
And while each path may help me ford a stream
Or get around a stubborn hill or two,
Each runs a course directed to redeem
The one who treads upon it soft and true.
Will I display my arrogance and shun
The labors those before me had begun,
Or will I choose to humbly choose a path
And stay upon it till my journey’s done?
The means are many, but the end is one.
Survives to be heard even as executed
To echo the voice of a soul that is muted.
Old Ebenezer can be quite distressing:
You take off his cloak, his coat and his shirts
And offer a tear to find it depressing
That Eb is more hidden with every undressing.