I wanted... You Heard

I wanted to tell You my deepest fears;
but I could find no words to describe what I meant.
I wanted to tell You the source of my tears,
but just as I began, they dried up,
silent.


I wanted to explain why I had lost hope,
but I was too ashamed,
so I hoped my silence would speak.
I wanted to cry my heart out to You,
again and again,
but my eloquence failed even in tears.


I wanted to leave all others,
and turn only to You,
but I was too weak,
thus I hopped back and forth.
I wanted to be certain,
unshakeable, firm as a rock,
but I wavered in my convictions,
and lost my right of audience.


I wanted to be enveloped,
protected and sheltered in Your care,
but it was I who moved away,
then bemoaned my state.


I wanted to tell one who would hear,
before I said a word,
I wanted one who would comfort,
before I shed a tear,
I wanted one who would come to my aid,
despite my neglect in asking,
and my impatience in seeking.
I wanted one who would not condemn me,
and turn me away for my constant slips.
I wanted so much,
so much more than I could find the words to say.


I wanted too much,
but You heard,
and You gave me so much more.

Too Precious

I wanted to capture a snowflake

Whose perfect symmetry entranced me;

It’s six sides twirling prettily,

A thousand colours bouncing off its surface.

I thought of stretching out my hand to hold it,

and make it mine,

So I could cherish it,

When I remembered how it floated into my hand.

But I thought of my scorching touch,

Against its delicate crystal beauty,

And I let the moment pass,

To experience it again,

And value it as much.

I had captured it where it matters the most.

All Mine!

Fenced in, floodlights and cameras,

Protecting the perimeters.

Sentries on guard, every yard;

And the years wear their mark,

Upon a notice with the solemn warning:

‘Private Property: No Trespassers!’

Protecting the land from the most dangerous kind:

Those who will appreciate the natural beauty,

And peace of mind.

Concrete monstrosities,

Standing out against the landscape.

Architectured obscenities,

Where artificial fountains gush forth,

From a bubbling brook whose course was changed,

From East to North.

Perfectly manicured lawns, and terracotta tiles,

Where moss grew on rocks,

and daffodils bloomed for miles.

The master of the land -

on holiday after a decade -

gazes out of his window, and smiles.

A piece of heaven, all mine,

for a week.

Will I Ever See You Again?

In a shawl woven with love, a tiny baby is wrapped,
Then the tenderest of kisses cover him,
The moment is heartbreaking, but it cannot be delayed,
As his parched lips part again and again,
Seeking to be quenched.
The mother whispers as he leaves;
'Will I see you again O Ali Asghar?
Will you return to me alive?'

After the thundering hooves of beasts have gone,
And the clouds of dust settle down,
I see burning tents;
Distraught women and children running about.
One calls out:
'Uncle Abbaas! Where are you?
Do you see what they are doing?'
Only the roaring Euphrates murmurs a reply,
'Abbaas can only witness... can only witness with tears'
Ya Abbaas... will we see you again?

In Shaam the time has come to part,
This 'freedom' comes at a price:
Sweet Sakinah will not come along
Her fragrant body will remain in the dungeons,
The darkness where she spent her last moments,
whispering,
'Father, when will I see you again?
Ali Asghar, when will I see you again?'
Sakinah.. when will we see you again?

At the rushing shores of the Euphrates,
Where loyalty and submission was epitomized,
The tears flow freely, with no shame
and the hearts bleed as they hear a whisper:
'Brother! Will I see you again?
Answer me, will I see you again?'

Baynul Haramayn, looking to the right
then to the left,
Torn between two brothers,
Between master and slave,
Madinah beckons, and the sad tidings must be borne
Yet you cannot answer my call any more,
'Masters, will you come visit me?
May I visit you again?
When will I see you again?'

S.A

Perfectly Paired

Perfectly paired, ... in synchrony,
This odd pair floats to the Beloved.
In the tweeting song of the robin,
The nightingale finds his charted course.
She unfurls her wings in praise, 
As he is lifted and soars.
In the sorrowful hum of the nightingale,
The robin hears the whispers of love:
Souls paired by flight more than feather,
In a picture painted by a loving hand:
The manifestation of a wondrous Master.


*  *  *


The manifestation of a wondrous Master,
In a picture painted by a loving hand:
Souls paired by flight more than feather.
The robin hears the whispers of love,
In the sorrowful hum of the nightingale.
As he is lifted and soars,
She unfurls her wings in praise.
The nightingale finds his charted path
In the tweeting song of the robin.
This odd pair floats to the Beloved:
Perfectly paired, ... in synchrony.




S.A