Beauty’s Mathematics

May 19, 2007 in Poems of Love, Poems of Travel, The Poet's Eyes, The Poet's Tongue...

Peace, one and all…

Here are my latest poetic reflections.  I wrote these recently, during the past week.  Enjoy and may the Beloved guide us all home once more.

Beauty, Not Ego

Beauty, not ego.
Love, not pretence.
These things I crave,
and not the momentary fascinations of flesh and eye.

In the field of dreams I walk slowly
beneath trees ancient and lovely,
their every branch a hymn
suspended upon the wind’s very breath.

And yet, for a time,
here I remain
in this place of test and trial,
weal and woe.

Beloved, I can almost taste
Your voice on the breeze,
and see Your hand resting in stillness
upon each gentle leaf.

Beloved, right here, in the living heart
of this sacred moment
I offer You my heart,
to do with as You will

Simple Mathematics 

The heart goes up,
the heart comes down.
The simple mathematics
of what it means to be human.

This path consists of fractures,
as the tectonic plates of my ego
shift and rumble and crack,
sliding upon the Self’s slow fire.

Beloved, great forces are at work within us,
as You reshape
heart and body and soul
into vessels fit for Your Love.

I Am An Orange

I am an orange
and life a juicing machine.

Sliced in half by Love,
the birthing-stress of this world
squeezes juice
from the very core of me.

O Beloved, let this juicing of me
pour forth a liquid
pure and sweet,
nourishment for all who pass by.

If I Could Leap

If I could leap
from my mouth into your ear,
I would draw colourful Love-shapes
on the canvas of your heart.

If we could clasp hands,
perhaps we might swim together
in Oceans of Mercy
till all thought of us had slipped away into the water.

If we could see, eye to eye
and feel, hand to face,
speech would be unnecessary
for our hearts would have ground to dust
all the weary spaces that stand between us

That’s All I Know

Shapes, colours and the warmth of sunlight,
that’s all my eyes reveal
of this world’s hidden truths.

Sounds, vibrations and the freshness of air,
that’s all my ears know
of this world and its secrets.

Holding, letting go and earth between my fingers,
that’s all my hands touch
of this world and its strange beauty.

Hagiography

As I travel upon this train,
the eye of my heart recalls
all those blessed moments of inspiration,
as though my soul wrote hagiography,
its own sacred history amidst the slow journeyings of life.

Beloved, the hands of my spirit
have brushed gently
against  the faces of these mountains,
caressing them as they have lifted me.

If this be hagiography, Beloved,
then may my soul wander onwards,
carrying my heart but lightly
as it dances through this Love-pilgrimage of life

The Forever of Your Possibilities

We divide, when we should make whole.
We split asunder, when we should join together.

We separate, when we should unite.
We give way, when we should stand firm.

Planting seeds, all out of season,
we rush blindly from cradle to grave

Resting only when death lays
a solemn hand upon our weary shoulders.

But, lest you think me morose,
there is a way out.

A secret path, from the now of your existence,
into the forever of your possibilities.

Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman