All That I Am?

August 31, 2007 in Poems of Love, Poems of Travel, The Poet's Eyes, The Poet's Tongue...

Peace, one and all…

I’ve not posted anything here for a while, despite writing and posting poetry elsewhere.  Lack of time eh!

Enjoy and may Allah make these poems beneficial.

All That I Am?

Is all that I am
merely a collection of memories,
a brief gathering of perspectives
before the long fade into night?

Is Love merely
the recollection of moments rare and sacred,
made ever more holy
by time’s continuing reflection?

Would I be more than I am
if I could hold this treasury of me intact?
Would I Love more completely
if my life entire became a moment of silent intimacy?

The Sword of My Life 

I will take the sword of my life
and enter into this battle of me

I will enter this temple
and put off my shoes upon its sacred ground

I will walk boldly into the morning of my hopes
and return at peace, in the evening of my humanity 

I will go forth unafraid,
certain of victory in the hand of Your Love.

I will ride swiftly into the bosom of Your embrace,
fearing naught, loving all.

A Land Where Voices Fade

Words are like flying carpets,
the stuff of legend,
wrought so as to carry us forth
to the Gardens of Truth.

Words are like lightning,
bringing revelation from beyond,
scorching this
weary earth of me.

Words are symbols,
life’s code
written in the sky,
inscribed upon the heart.

Beloved, let these words
carry me forth
into a land where voices fade
and hearts become One.

Who Could Refuse?

Sometimes my Beloved is hidden from me
and the poignant beauty
of absence
fills me with longing.

Sometimes my Beloved draws aside a veil
and flowers emerge
like secret lingerie,
enticing and intoxicating.

Who could refuse the gift of such sights?
For even the briefest moment of intimacy
is to be treasured,
deep within this needy heart of me.

A Riderless Horse

Breath in my lungs,
sunlight upon my face.
O Beloved!  These are gifts fine and beautiful.

Let me then breathe gratitude,
speak gratitude,
become gratitude.

I am a riderless horse.
Let my every breath be
‘Welcome, Rider, I am glad You have come’

Apple Tree in Summer

Apple tree in summer,
life unfolding,
thinking of Muhammad.

When the Night Ends

There is a sadness
when the night ends
and a moment of separation
when the dawn comes.

With the light of day
life’s flood washes against my door,
its great tide forcing me
along all the narrow channels of my heart.

With the coming of night,
sight becomes sharper,
distances fade into the gathering dark,
soft reflections of Your Love upon moonlit water.

The night speaks a veiled promise,
a dark and comely shroud of longing,
whispering of intimacies yet to come,
as rivers speak the promises of the Sea.

Your-Story

History has already happened.
The events of yesterday remain there,
forever locked away
in some strange and distant land.

But his-story and her-story
and your-story
remain ever fresh before the eyes,
gaining taste and flavour with each telling.

The events mean little by themselves.
It is the meanings we assign
that give them wings,
that they might fly into forever.

So make your own story,
O Soul.
Are you not Adam’s son,
who named all things?

Where Are You?

Where are You, Beloved
that I mightly race swiftly into Your arms?

Are You out there,
laughing amidst the hills?

Or are You in here,
smiling beneath the last layer of me?

In truth, Beloved Friend,
I care not.

Wherever You are,
let me be also.

Wherever You are,
let me be also.

Sometimes I Remember You

Sometimes I remember You.
Sometimes I do not,
rushing blindly
into all the foolish recesses of my heart.

My desire,
beyond all my desires,
is to ever enfolded
in the embrace of Your Love.

My hope,
beyond all my hopes,
is that
You feel the same.

Words Interpreted

Words interpreted
are merely words interpreted.
All meanings are provisional
until the heart’s truth speaks.

Readings assigned
are merely readings chosen,
and the choices we make
reflect the truths of our intent.

Thus, sitting here,
amidst the quiet passing of dawn,
let all my readings
become silent before the truth of eternity.

Reaching

Reaching into life,
hoping that You
will reach into me.

Speaking into the world,
wanting You
to speak into me.

Leaping into my heart,
needing You
to gather me into wholeness.

Tell Me Again

Tell me again my Love.
Speak into my ear once more,
for I am needy
and slow to follow.

Lend me Your Hand for a moment my Love,
and let me walk beside You,
for I am weak
and draw strength from Your presence.

Sit here beside me my Love
and ease my journey,
for in Your gentle company
this harvest of me is as easy as the evening Sun.

Perchance

I can’t speak,
if you’re not ready to hear.
I can’t give,
if you’re not ready to receive.

And I am not perfect,
so maybe you feel the same.
Perchance we are both
speaking past each other?

So, then, let me sit beside you
and learn
the language of your mouth
and the knowing fire of your eyes.

In the Beloved’s Wide Theatre

This life is a drama,
sometimes a tragedy
and sometimes a comedy,
a performance played out upon the earth’s green stage.

I am an actor
and I will play this role of me,
until the curtain falls
and I hand back the last of my props.

I play an assigned part
in the Beloved’s wide theatre,
for a time set and measured,
the script of life falling into my hands page by page.

A day will come when the last page arrives
and the script of my life is completed,
a book of human joys and human sorrows,
for the Beloved’s tender gaze.

Walking in a Beautiful Garden

Remembering Habibullah
is like walking in a beautiful garden,
where each blade of grass is a sigh of love
and each flower marks the heart opening into starlight.

My soul aches to return swiftly
to the verdant grove
of Shafiullah’s blessed name,
hoping always for the gift of presence.

Hasten O Day of Meeting
and come quickly to me!
The garden is close now and not far off.
O Abdu, hold fast!

Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman