Blank Pages

May 27, 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 most recent poetic reflections.  I’ve collected them together here for your viewing pleasure.  So, with God’s permission, enjoy…

Blank Page

Book open, pen ready,
as though the blank page were a tongue
waiting for the coming of speech.

Heart needing, eyes lifting,
as though the blank page were a magic carpet
and I, a traveller in need of flight.

Become the pen, Beloved
and write your Name quickly
upon the weary tablet of my heart,

lest I fall unshriven
into the swirling, beguiling
narrowness of me.

Have Mercy 

Have mercy upon your ego, my friend,
and lead it but gently towards the light.

Take pity on that outer shell of you,
for all it knows of this life is separation and woe.

When it offers you all the passing infatuations of the world,
offer it selfless Love in return.

When it thrusts the cold blade of fear into your heart,
offer it instead, steadfastness and hope.

It is only the frightened husk of you that feels this way,
sick and weary of troubles.

It is only half of your face
that stands obscured amidst the gloom.

But, soon my friend, the moon will rise in glory
and you shall be comforted by the argent flame of its Love

Merely A Moment

This me that stands before you,
this collection of patterns,
is just a moment,
for I am merely life seeking understanding
of itself.

I am only a brief place,
a location passing and transient,
into which, for a time,
the Beloved has poured this Love.

In truth, my friend,
I do not even exist.

I am merely a moment,
seeking the wide realms of eternity.

The Song of Evening

The song of evening rings through these green vales,
and the sound of approaching twilight fills the air
with the excited anticipation
of Layla’s heart-rending beauty.

The sunlight turns to golden fire upon the tree tops,
as the world savours the last moments of day,
like a thirsty man thrown into the abundance
of an unexpected oasis.

The sky becomes a shining lake of gold and silver,
almost translucent in its ethereal beauty.
There is magic here, a moving eldritch power:
life in all its dizzying rawness.

And though, Beloved, I do not speak this tongue
of evening grace,
let this coming forth of me be in Love
and let the song of evening fill my heart evermore.

Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman