Word, like wind, cuts through you / Withers all but true you
Some great news. Two of my poems were published in the Fall issue of the Prairie Light Review.
Morning Chai won me the Budilovsky Literary Award. They asked me to recite the winning poem at the PLR release event on December 15.
Sometimes Like that weightless moment Of first light Splitting day and night A memory returns Spellbinding Rewinding Revealing though blinding A sign you want to ignore But end up finding Because you can’t afford Another lapse
What sort of servant you khalid Receiving your Master’s command With a “why” on your mind That is burning to find Out His reasons that you understand Your lordly submission is flat Just what sort of servant is that
Success is strange Sometimes it lies A quiet creature Unasleep You see it less With passing hours But there it is Still unasleep You mourn your mountain Losses with No clue it’s lying Unasleep There lies a lesson Unacknowledged Underrated Unasleep Be you in awe Of little wins That help you vanquish Little sins Be you in awe Of little creatures Unintruding Unasleep
It is a matter of intelligence in the end gleaned from a cosmic celestial blend an interconnectedness sent on a heart free of freedoms that speaks from a Word and a Will inhibiting senses intending ill It is in the end just so for he walks past them but they do not see him go
Before you wander off with plans To listen to your heart Be sure to know its voices so You can tell them apart A lifetime of learning Before you’re discerning
Sometimes a fleeting memory Stops by to freeze the stream of time A baby perched upon a knee A racing urchin striped with grime The crunch of traffic unabated Held back by a passing train That forces every weary eye To softly blink and heed the rain
Allah for the love of the love You place In the heart of a man doing all he can To keep his wife and children well Provided for within Your plan For the lines on his face The gray in his beard The sleepless nights And smiles through tears For the love of that love Forgive my sins
If it’s one of those days you reach for a clothes hanger and it breaks as you fetch it and you think to yourself: “I didn’t do anything” Banish it with a thought heeding it as a sign maybe it’s one of those days when you break a thing though you don’t mean to
Look to the trembling baby bird afraid though freshly fledged that when the twig gives under it relies on foot and wing and wit to get back up again