Be Close

May 13, 2007 in Poems of Love, Poems of Travel, The Poet's Eyes, The Poet's Tongue...

Peace, one and all…

Here are some of my more recent poetic reflections.  Whimsical documents of my unfolding humanity!  Or, just poems, if I’m being less pretentious!

Enjoy and may the Beloved lead me back to Him.

Be Close, Beloved

When life narrows and all things wail of test and trial,
be close, Beloved, be close.

When hands open into sunlight and ease chases hardship away,
be close, Beloved, be close.

When this selfishness of me breaks forth into the world,
be close, Beloved, be close.

In all things, my Beloved, be close
and let naught come between us.

The Maker of All Cloth

If this world is a marketplace,
then take care
when you enter
the spirit’s bazaar,

for though you will find
wares both colourful and exotic,
bright colour and foreign fragrance
are not guarantees of authenticity.

My friend, you must fashion
the cloth you buy there
into Love-garments
of your own design.

Many will offer to help you
and claim to work for naught,
but be on your guard, O beloved soul,
lest their cloth becomes a straightjacket to trap you.

But be not downcast,
for tailors of goodness and skill,
of honest blood and bone,
exist in all places.

And, beyond them
stands the Maker of All Cloth,
who will fashion all your longings
into never-ending brocades of Love.

The Love Affair of Pen and Paper

The pen I hold in my hand sparkles in the morning sun,
waiting in eager anticipation for the blessed moment
when it can once more caress
the word-pulp flesh of its paper Lover.

When separated from his heart’s desire
the pen waits in silent remembrance,
recalling every smooth contour
of his Beloved’s face.

The paper too awaits her Lover’s return,
for without the pen’s quickening grace,
she cannot become the holder of secrets
that she was meant to be.

Beloved, am I the pen
and You the paper?
Are You the field in which I sow
these Love-seeds?

Or am I the paper
and You the pen?
Am I the scroll of musical score,
upon which You write these symphonies of Love?

Truly, Beloved, I know not the difference
and I do not care,
for the blessed entirety of life is but the merest metaphor
and meanings, right and true, lie only at Your door.

Field of Dreams

I walk the field of dreams
as I walk the fields of this world,
searching always for that
rose garden of my heart.

In my dreams, Beloved,
I have entered many realms,
but none as dear to me as the Prophet’s garden<
that silent place of shining beauty.

Let any who can lead me thither be blessed,
for therein lies the only cure
for a heart tired
of this life of weary separation.

I Am Not

I am not a Sufi,
but I yearn to be.
Not in arrogance, but in humility.
Not in narrowness, but in heart-rending breadth.

I am not a dervish,
though I long to be.
Not in name, but in deed.
Not in forgetfulness, but in remembrance blessed and eternal.

I am not a salik,
though I burn with the desire to travel.
Not in selfishness, but in Love.
Not in me, but in You.

If You Close Your Ears

If you close your ears,
you may never hear that word of power,
which unlocks the myteries of life
and grants access to the Beloved’s wide gardens.

If you close your eyes,
you may never see that small deed of tender beauty,
that moment of selfless giving,
as life reaches out towards life.

If you close your hands,
you may never know
the joy of holding,
or the joy of letting go.

Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman