Here’s the 3rd poem.  Enjoy.

Aria

I have traveled far
Among the planets and the stars
Just looking for You.
Eons I have searched for Thee
Not knowing You were here with me
Waiting for me to find You.
And now I know there’s no where else to go;
Just go within and let You love me.
Just go within and fall into Your arms;
Just go within and let You love me.
In many lives I’ve sought for Thee.
I’ve strived, I’ve cried, I’ve fought for Thee
To learn to know You.
Darkness had it’s way with me
And Maya had it’s sway with me
And still Your love was true.
And now I know there’s one thing left to do;
Just go inside and let You love me.
Lifetimes spent thinking of Thee,
Yearning, learning to be free
And give my love to You.
Loving You was all I knew;
To feel You and to be with You
Is all I longed for.
And now I see Your love was waiting there for me;
Waiting for me to let You love me.

Heart with sweet devotion filled;
On highest tracts I soared, I thrilled -
So deeply loving You.
Yet I stumbled and I strayed,
I made mistakes, I looked away,
And still Your love was there.
And then I knew that I must fall into Your arms;
Fall in Your arms and let You love me.
You whispered soft, unheard, denied
“My child, I’m here with you; I’m by your side;
Now, won’t you trust Me?”
“There’s nothing for you to lose.
There’s nothing more for you to prove.
Just let Me love you.”
“Nothing to fear: no shame, no blame – just fall into My arms.
No need to hide; just come inside and let Me love you.”
Grace descended and I knew
Surrender was the way to You;
Trusting to let You love me.
Holy Grail of Trust I quaft.
Surrendered now, I’ve come at last
To give my all to You.
The time has come for me to fall into Your arms.
The time has come to let You love me.
Come show me how to fall into Your arms;
Come show me how to let You love me.
Come show me now, come show me how
To fall into Your arms; fall in Your arms and let You love me.
Come show me how to let You love me.

Saranya
http://www.soulcalls.org

Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman

Here’s the 2nd poem.  Enjoy

Homing to the Given

I am moving into old time.
Fire embraces my shadow,
absorbs darkness into heat.
Friends linger, huddle under
our circular warmth. Ten thou-
sand years melt away in current
climate shift. There goes snow.
Too late for consolation, too late
to rewind the trend toward entropy.
Decades, centuries speed past
future possibles into the past as
currencies of passable presents.
How to turn this tendency around.
Rapidly, rapidly. Restraint is not
enough. Constraint does not serve.
That’s not the story. I’m drifting.
The ceremony commenced while
attention was off in is own helium.
I am standing before the entrance
of deep cave, a cave I recognize
only by the dark its shadow casts.
Fire gleams. Fire climbs the walls.
Shapes dance into consistent form.
Some felt sense emerges in over three
dimensions. Though there’s no one there
this shape becomes my own now, becomes
my contour– a new comfort great enough
to roam back, large enough to call home.

Penn Kemp
www.myspace.com/pennkemp

Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman

As part of this year’s Sufi Poetry Carnival, here’s a beautiful poem that I have been asked to post (as part of the administration process).

Testament

I always return
to see how God has been coming through me.
Here, he is a dream of arrows;
there, he is the slingshot and the giant.
I am always waiting for the one to come
with the ring:
the reminder of why I’ve been sitting so long,
the reassurance that we will be reunited.
His Name is the thing that makes rocks float.
He says it isn’t his power, we are the magicians
traveling his galaxies.
He watches in awe while we pray
and learn to walk across the water.

Margaret James

Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman

I’ve not posted anything here for a while.  Most of my poetry has been posted at my main blog, as life has been busy in the last few months.  Al hamdu lillah, in every condition and state.

At any rate, I hope you enjoy this latest batch.

The Hand That Opens

The hand that opens in sunlight
is better than the hand
clasped shut in fear.

The eyes that open into night’s beauty
are better than the eyes
that see only darkness.

The heart that opens without remorse
is better than the heart
struck dumb by meanness.

O Beloved, open my hands,
open my eyes,
open my heart.

Speak to Me

Speak to me of love,
my Beloved,
and ease this trial of waiting.

Speak to me of meetings,
my Beloved,
that my separation might grow less.

Speak to me of nearness,
my Beloved,
that the distance between us might fall away.

You

You are the light of stars in my eyes,
and You are the breath of life in my lungs.

You are my tears of sorrow and sadness
and You are my laughter upon a bright morn.

You are sunlight and fresh water
and You are the moon of my soul at peace.

You are a tall tree offering shade and refuge,
and You are the ocean with depths that none can know.

You are my heart
and You are my soul.

You are my going forth,
and You are my coming to rest.

You are all these things and more, Beloved,
so keep me not from Your door.

How I Delight

How I delight in times of travel,
when I might be alone
with my thoughts
and with You.

How I delight in all the small spaces,
where I might leave
my self behind
and find You waiting.

How I delight in these times of companionship,
when my restless soul
speaks its urgent need
into Your ready ear.

The World Outside

The world outside passes swiftly by,
as I sit here in idleness,
thinking of You.

Autumn leaves decorate the ground
with a carpet of red and gold,
beauty rich and vibrant.

The world breathes and moves,
always falling into Your embrace,
a clasp of love around our hearts.

Let the world outside pass beyond us,
let autumn fade to winter
and winter to spring.

Our hearts turn,
just as the world does,
I will be here thinking of You.

The Shirt of Yusuf

Like Zuleikha reaching for the shirt of Yusuf,
I run after You,
chasing Your coat-tails
across the dawn sky.

And like Yusuf in the dungeon,
You have come forth
into my private darkness
to rescue me from me.

O Yusuf of my heart!
O Beautiful Rose-garden of my soul!
You are the shining star of love
in this silent void of me.

Beloved, How You Come to Me Today!

O Beloved, open the door for me,
that I might enter
the rosegarden of Your presence.

O Beloved, cast aside the veil
for even the merest moment,
that I might bask in the Sun of Your face.

O Beloved, let me leap headlong
into the water of Your grace,
that I might be utterly washed away.

Clean light, fresh water
and the fragrance of roses,
Beloved, how you come to me today!

Presence

My Beloved walks amongst the hills,
laughing in the breeze,
smiling in the sun.

The hawk of morning
lifts gracefully into the sky
as trees bow low in greeting.

A wonderful presence stands behind life,
filling this world with a sacred fragrance
of some other realm.

Life’s Sacred Temple

To take but a single breath
is to enter into life’s sacred temple,
to partake of life’s great feast.

To step beyond our door each morning
is to set forth upon life’s adventure,
to join life’s ever-unfolding pilgrimage.

To speak, one to another,
is to pass through the temple gates
and enter life’s blessed courtyards.

The whole of life is sacred,
a process of becoming,
a growing closer to love’s beating heart.

This is Not Your Way

I wish these train journeys would last forever,
that I might spill forth
this heart of mine
onto Eternity’s waiting page.

I wish these nights of ours would never end,
that we might always
be alone, together,
and that naught might come between us.

But, this is not Your way.
You send me forth into day,
and bring me home into night,
so that I might grow to love’s true estate.

Tender Meetings

Moonlight caresses the swaying branches,
like a lover returned,
and made eager
by long separation.

Trees perfume themselves,
reaching forth into the night,
with hands
slender and beautiful.

This is love,
the tender night-enfolded meetings
of lover
and loved one.

You Are Not

You are not a thing
I could hold
and You are not a place
I could reach.

You are not a time
that I could pass
and You are not an absence
that I could fill.

You are the shining moon
in a vale of darkness,
and You are the gift of rain
in life’s burning desert.

You are the Source
and there is no other.
You are my Beloved,
and my heart is lost in You.

O Wine Giver!

Amidst all my tears,
give me more to drink*.

Amidst all my failures,
give me more to drink.

Amidst all my sorrows,
give me more to drink.

Amidst all my sadnesses,
give me more to drink.

O Wine Giver!
Keep pouring, and do not stop!

O Wine Giver!
May Your giving never end!

With each drop,
this drunken ego moves towards sobriety.

With each drop,
this heart of mine readies itself for flight.

Sometimes 

Sometimes it comes upon me so strongly,
that I am swept off of my feet
and I find myself rushing
headlong into life.

Sometimes I can almost taste it,
and I feel as though light
will burst forth
from my mouth.

Sometimes I feel myself longing,
so that my heart sheds tears of blood,
and all else but You
is as ash upon the tongue

This Is How Lovers Are

Sunlight leaping through the trees,
birds dancing in the sky,
winter berries bursting forth into exuberance,
this is how lovers are.

Each moment of life
should enliven us,
each fleeting miracle
should lead us to our quickening.

Otherwise, what purpose does life serve?
Beloved, I see a truth:
a life that is not lived
is merely a death slow and lingering.

I Am Done

I am done with earthly wine,
all I crave,
love of my heart,
is the wine of Your presence.

Earthly wine brings naught
but morning regrets;
the wine of the spirit
brings naught but joy.

Earthly wine is a passing illusion,
bringing ruin in its wake;
a single drop of Your wine, Beloved,
keeps the sun ablaze and the moon aglow.

Will You Not 

Beloved, I have come to Your fountain,
will You not fill me?

Beloved, I have come to Your door,
will You not bid me enter?

Beloved, I have come to Your table,
will You not give me to eat?

Beloved, I have come seeking Your face,
will You not draw aside the veil?

All I know is need,
so lead me, Beloved, beyond the threshold of me.

The Heart’s Peace

The heart’s peace
is the only peace;
all else is illusion,
a cheap trick of smoke and mirrors.

The heart’s truth
is the only truth;
all else is error,
the ephemeral delusions of ego.

The heart’s love
is the only love;
all else is but play and diversion,
and Beloved, I have time for neither.

I Will Not Speak

I will not speak
the politics of fear.

I will not utter
the darkness of hatred.

And because my eyes are open,
I will extend my hand in peace.

And though the world around me should crumble,
I will not surrender my humanity.

The World Yearns

The blue sky urges me to poetry,
as the warm sun
bids me put pen to paper.

The world yearns for our response,
desiring the gentle caress of our eyes
in all the passing moments of life.

Great beauty should not remain unspoken,
as great love
should not remain undeclared.

Break the seal upon my lips, Beloved,
and let this fleeting realm
hear the sigh of my heart.

Leave Your Self Behind 

Rise into the sky
upon wings of light,
this is how the birds
launch themselves into forever.

Leap into the ocean
in joyous abandon,
this is how the fishes
disappear into eternity.

Vanish into love’s hand
and leave your self behind,
this is how lovers
find the One they love.

Speak Beautifully*

When darkness closes in
and words fail,
’speak beautifully to people’.

When the sun rises
and spring returns,
’speak beautifully to people’.

When human frailty
becomes as heavy as iron,
’speak beautifully to people’.

When love’s embrace
lifts us towards the sky,
’speak beautifully to people’.

Beauty lies within the heart,
truth within the soul
and joy within the ears that hear.

The One They Seek

O Beloved, this heart of mine
will keep beating
till You unveil
the beauty of Your Face.

O Beloved, this tongue of mine
will keep on sighing for You,
till You quench this thirst
or leave me be.

O Beloved, these hands of mine
will keep reaching forth
till they caress the Face
of the One they seek.

By My Side

I regret each moment of separation,
as though it were
an entire lifetime of woe.

I regret each fall into narrowness,
as though it were
a descent into my grave.

I have died these small deaths a million times,
and yet, there You are
giving this heart life once more.

Travelling through this dark forest of ‘I’,
with naught but You by my side,
one day, we shall stride forth into sunlight.

When I Stumble

When I stumble
You are the gentle hand
that lifts me onto my feet. 

 When I am alone
You are the words of a Friend,
reaching into my forlorn solitude.

When I am in pain
You are the soothing balm of solace
that restores hope.

When I am afraid
You are the breath of courage in my lungs
that brings me to my senses.

When I know joy
You are the smile in my eyes
and the laughter in my heart.

When I see Love
You are the sigh of my innermost self
and the light upon my face.

In all things You are with me.
I am never alone,
for Your Love enfolds me still.

The Sun of Your New Self

The sun of your new self
is rising beyond the next horizon.

Arise then and stride forth
into the dawn of your new day.

Throw off the dark coverlet
of yesterday’s failures.

Regret your mistakes, yes,
but let not old night spoil new morn.

Arise then into the light
of your hopes and your dreams.

And never feel ashamed
for being human

Pilgrimage 

Life is an unfolding pilgrimage,
a journey towards the sacred centre of the heart,
that place beyond place,
where all is still and bathed in morning light.

If life is a pilgrimage,
it must be lived as a pilgrim,
in the clear sight of holiness
and with the sanctity of gentle intent.

Come, O Soul, the Beloved is waiting
in the sacred precincts of the heart’s Ka’ba,
where birds of Love forever circle,
and a swift sun rises into eternity.

Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman

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

I’ve not posted anything here for quite a while now, even though I’ve been posting poetry on my main blog.  Subhan Allah!  The pressures of life, eh!

Here are some of my most recent poems.  Enjoy and may the Beloved make them useful.

The Only Way To Win This Love

Relationships take time,
like a pearl formed
through long years
upon the Sea’s hidden floor.

Remember, O Soul, the Beloved you seek
does not unveil Her tresses,
except to one known
and accepted.

The only way to win Her Love
is to search out Her door,
at each dawn’s break,
at each night’s fall.

You Are The Hawk

Today I saw a hawk from my window,
a creature of beauty and grace,
effortless on the wing,
silent and deadly.

Its sharp gaze sweeps the ground,
earnestly seeking out its prey.
Longing for the kill,
fierce in its desire.

When I am open, Beloved,
You are the Hawk
and I,
the prey.

Seize me in Your Talons
and tear me away
from this narrow
heart of mine.

This Secret Game of Ours

Beloved, You are the Hunter
and I, the frightened prey.

Wherever I flee,
there You are lying in wait.

When I run towards the sun,
I find Your Face shining brightly.

When I scatter myself into darkness and woe,
the moonbeams of Your Glance strike my heart.

Walking gently amidst the hills,
I find You in wait amongst the trees.

Flying in delirium through the night sky,
the Light of Your Eyes radiates through the stars.

Beloved, I run to escape You
and the arrows of Your Love.

Or, perhaps,
I run so that You will give chase.

Either way, Thief of my heart,
let this secret game of ours never end.

Value Your Regrets

Before I had tasted this life,
in all its strangeness,
I used to say
‘I have no regrets’.

Before I had tasted this
bitter-sweet humanity
my heart would murmur
‘why waste time looking back?’

But now that I have tasted.
But now that this bitter-sweet life
has filtered into the very heart of me,
my views have changed.

I value my regrets,
as though they were living gold,
hidden within this world
as things rare and precious.

To regret is to hear
the inner voice of conscience,
saying
‘living in narrowness, you have wrought deeds of woe’.

Listen but a little further
and you will hear
your heart whisper
another secret.

‘If you do not accept and love
your own faulty humanity,
how will you ever come to know
the Vastness of Infinity?’

These Things Remain True

Things shift and change,
and all that once seemed certain
has gone from us,
departing upon an evening wind.

We run hither and yon,
looking for ground,
solid and sure,
upon which to walk.

Amidst all these
anxious uncertainties,
peace and safety
remain hidden and elusive

My friend, though times change,
as does the weather,
your truth remains within you,
in the slient beauty of your heart’s centre.

To speak a kind and gentle word,
to give aid on a day of distress,
to help and be helped in turn:
these things remain true.

Remember, my friend,
weather belongs to the external world.
Calmness, strength and nobility of purpose
to the pearl of your innermost self.

Is This The Path?

Is this the path?
Is it sorrow and joy?
Is it hope and despair?

Within the passing eternity of each moment,
these paradoxes crash like waves
against this hither shore of me.

I am buffeted
like a ship lost
amidst the Sea’s raging torrent.

Rolling, undulating.
I experience each rise like heaven,
each fall like the abyss.

But, the Sun of my Self
will drive away these storms
only once I accept life into the very heart of me.

Chivalry 

Of what good am I,
in this narrow prison of me,
if I do no good for others?

Of what use am I,
in this lonely space of me,
if I am not used to serve others?

I do not know,
Beloved.
That is for You to judge.

Let me race swiftly
to the side of those downcast
and oppressed.

Remember, O Soul,
you are not freed from your duty to help the weak
merely because your own heart is bleeding and diseased.

Aid those in distress.
This is the path of chivalry,
this and nothing else.

Bow to your Humanity

Bow to your humanity
and reverence it
deeply.

It is the only thing you have, my friend,
your only lasting possession
amidst the changing fortunes of the world.

Value your fragile soul
and honour your blessed
weakness.

Your ability to fail and fall,
and to rise again,
is a gift but rarely bestowed.

Treasure your limitations,
and all your brave attempts to
surpass them.

Here is the truth of it, my friend,
laid bare,
as far as I am able.

If your humanity were a thing despised,
you could not hang your head in sorrow,
or lift it again in hope.

If you were other than human,
what need would you have of relationship,
what desire would you feel for Love?

Woman

You were there at the beginning,
on the day I came
into this world of strange possibilities,
and you have been with me ever since.

And, though you have worn many faces,
and spoken words of meaning
in many tongues,
it is still your eyes I see.

So let me speak now a word of gratitude.
Let me take this moment
and shape it
into a thought of enduring thankfulness.

Woman, I have loved you my whole life.

Hornets

Sometimes we all need
the sweet gift of honey,
else life becomes stale
and its wholesome vigour lost.

But, seek it out too often
and we are held firmly
within its sugary prison,
a jail of our own choosing.

And, should we stay too long,
the fruitful bees of life’s sweetness
become hornets of vicious desire,
stinging and scratching and biting.

As I walk through
these flower-laden meadows, Beloved,
let me take only what I need,
lest I am stung by the hornets of my darker half.

Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman

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

Another fine example…

Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman

Here’s a really cool poem from George Clinton, of Parliament-Funkadelic fame, called ‘Dope Dogs’.

Dope Dogs…

Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman

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