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
Peace, one and all…
Here are some of my recent poetic reflections. The broad subject here is that of life’s stresses and strains. I wrote these a couple days ago, in response to recent stress. Al hamdu lillahi ala kulli hal.
May Allah bless them and all who pass by.
Malevolent Attractions
I used to think that pleasure the only addiction,
but now I see that pain holds its own malevolent attractions.
Thus, I find myself addicted to these stresses and strains;
when one has been removed,
I erect another in its place.
I am like Sisyphus, forever rolling his rock uphill
or a weary builder of idols.
These idols of pain cause me grief
and carve deep scars into the soul’s flesh,
yet still I wear this garment of separation.
‘Seek within’, whispers the Beloved Friend,
into the very root of my soul.
O Love of mine,
the time when that dark coverlet falls away approaches swiftly,
and though I fear to gaze in its direction,
I must become an Ali of courage
to succeed on this path.
Hammer and Anvil
Beloved, there is a blessing in all things,
no matter how hard it may be
to always seem them with clarity.
So here, in this grey and passing sadness,
let me find the hidden baraka of this moment.
Let the stresses and strains of life burn like a forge,
and lt the hammer of Love
beat out a new man upon Your anvil.
As long as we are together,
I can withstand anything.
Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman
Peace, one and all…
Knowledge is a Needle
O Soul, you have wandered this world seeking knowlege,
as if merely to fill your small cup,
as you would any holder of things
mundane and ordinary.
But, the purpose of knowledge is not storage,
and your spirit is no mere warehouse.
Rather, knowledge is a needle
designed to pierce the paper-thin vanity of cups,
letting all that is held therein
flow through into nothingness.
So let knowledge make you a needle
and let every vain ego
be pricked by Love’s piercing edge,
till all thought of storage is washed away
and Love’s knowledge
becomes a great reaching forth,
of hands tender and merciful.
Just Decide
Leave all that sorrow behind you,
and become a maker of beauty.
Leave all that angry defensiveness,
and become that maker of beauty.
Stretch forth your hand and behold
the Sun dancing upon your open palm.
Lift the weary veil
and the moon will shine forth from your two eyes.
It’s all there for you, ready and waiting:
heart’s desire and soul’s ease are close now,
not far off.
Just decide you want it,
and it’s yours.
Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman
Peace, one and all…
Here are my latest poetic reflections. I wrote them this morning, as I was sitting in my father-in-law’s house. Enjoy, and may the Beloved accept them in Love.
Stealing Love Glances
Let my eyes gaze out
into all the beauties of this world
and let the sound of birdsong at dawn
caress my ears.
Let eye and ear be as thieves,
stealing Love-glances from You,
storing them within the deep recesses
of this cave of me.
The, upon a night of pale moon glow,
let hand and pen bring them forth once more.
And, with the coming Love’s rose-coloured dawn,
transform me utterly into a surging threnody of longing.
Beyond the Last Hill
Above the highest mountain and beyond the last hill,
a company of light awaits us,
where all those chosen and sanctified by Love
rest in great peace.
There waits my Beloved,
calling out to me,
with passionate voice
and shining Face.
I have but to leap beyond the walls
of my workaday self,
and I too will arrive there,
happy in the midst of that blessed company.
But, Beloved, since leaping beyond
takes greater strength and trust
than I, as yet, possess
here I must stay
Separated from You for a time,
till heart and lungs,
till hands and feet too,
have at last been sanctified
Purified in Love’s cleansing flame.
Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman
Peace, one and all…
Here are some more of my most recent poetic reflections. Enjoy and may the Beloved make them of use.
A Moment of Soft Repose
Weather changing,
heat cooling,
mellowing into a moment
of soft repose.
Reflecting on this tiny fragment,
I’m thinking of You.
Each passing mood of weather
boils me fiercely
or cooks me slowly.
This world is the flame,
and these train journeys the pot;
may the fire of Your Love be ever beneath me,
that I might become naught
but a tasty morsel in Love’s great feast.
This Performance of Me
The trees fall silent as we pass by,
as though this train were an orchestra
and my soul the opening notes of a symphony.
The beating of my heart
drives this performance of me forward,
into all the wide spaces of the world,
and beyond.
My eyes’ glance becomes the conductor,
shaping each rising and falling moment,
as trees move like violins at play
and clouds come together as the ringing of cymbals.
While it lasts, Beloved, let this concert of me
issue forth from all that I am in Love,
and let the silent expectation of my ending
lie solely with You.
I Fear To Die
Sometimes, when I speak through my frightened narrowness,
I fear this coming of beauty
as I would fear the fiery power of the Sun.
At such times, that narrow half turns its face away,
seeking solace in all the passing distractions of life.
But, I know I must at last peer deeply
into that hidden pool of me, Beloved.
And, in all truth,
Love’s urgent assurance comes swiftly to me:
‘Let go, O Soul, let go.
Leap bravely into the still water.
I am waiting for you there’.
Troubadour
When some encounter the world’s breath-taking diversity,
they place hands over the eyes and ears of their souls,
and let their mouths pour forth
every anxious fear.
I have had my fill of such a life, Beloved,
I truly have.
Now that I have at last learned to look more clearly,
I would rather become that troubadour of heart and soul,
writing Love poetry in praise of You ever more.
Love’s Demands
What does Love demand, my friend?
How could this unworthy narrowness
ever hope to fill the space between us
with an answer, O beloved soul?
Does Love demand freedom from burning,
or entrance into the playgrounds of eternity,
as requital for all those long years
of quiet, aching yearning?
Does Love demand gratification and if so,
is Love merely the brief passage of endorphins
through heart and brain?
Beloved, how could I ever hope to define Love,
and thereby lay claim to its essence,
like some stolen land?
Here is a guess.
Reckon it a child’s first steps towards the light:
Love is just being with You,
and in this sacred moment,
I know I am happy to wait.
Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman
Here are some more of my most recent poetic reflections. Enjoy and may the Beloved make them beneficial.
Mother’s Milk
There is beauty here.
Heart-pounding,
breath-taking
beauty.
And the more beauty I see,
the more it shapes my every waking moment,
my every living breath.
So I become a sponge,
soaking up each drop of Love’s liquid grace,
till it flows forth from every pore of me.
It’s mother’s milk that I drink here in sunlight
and like a new born child at the breast,
all I can do is feed in delight.
Two Roads
Of what use is a vessel that is empty of Love?
Of what useis a tree with wood cancerous and rotten?
This life of ours offers two roads to walk,
two fields of vision to see.
So let your road begin with mercy
and your vision see naught but Love.
Let your vessel fill with the pure wine of hope
and make firm your every root and branch
with loving kindness.
Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman
Peace, one and all…
Welcome to The Corner Reloaded, Abdur Rahman’s very own poetry blog. This blog is a dumping ground for the poems I write on my way to and from work. Enjoy, and may the Beloved make them beneficial.
Creatures of Sun and Moon
We are creatures of sun’s light and moon’s glow
and the radiance of both
leaves its imprint upon our living souls.
When the sun comes and chases
those clouds of rain and murk away,
our hearts lift,
rising into the very arms of morning.
And, when we walk amidst the moonlit depths of night,
our innermost selves are quickened
by Layla’s secret majesty.
We are creatures of sun’s light and moon’s glow,
connected to each moment by Love,
the strongest of all fibres
and the surest of all handholds.
So rest here awhile in stillness
and let moon’s glow and sun’s light
wash over you.
Sacred Ground
Take off your shoes my friend,
for the world in which you walk
is sacred ground.
Soft morning light upon leaves
green and growing,
grass moving gently in the breeze.
These things too are sacred,
for sacredness,
like Love and laughter,
is infectious,
contagious.
So open your lungs
and fill your Self with it all.
Go out into this living world
and take as much as you can.
The sacred cannot be diminished
by repetition or over-use.
O Beloved, let us all walk slowly
amidst the great infinity of all that is holy
The Mute Truth of Stone
Sunshine falling in great waves of light,
brushing the dust from my eyes.
Trees shimmering with beauty,
leaves gently swaying in the breeze.
Birds gliding softly overhead,
moving in effortless grace through the sky.
The mute truth of stone lies sleeping beneath my feet,
holding the earth in stillness with its great heart of adamant.
Beloved, my soul drinks deeply
amidst all these quiet spaces.
For The Sight of You
My friend, how my eyes have hungered
for the sight of you,
and how my ears have thirsted
for the familiar caress of your voice.
And now, my friend, you are here.
So let my eyes ease their hunger
and my ears slake their thirst.
Long nights have I thought of you,
till anticipation almost became sight itself.
And now you are here.
So, before this fleeting moment passes,
and you leave once more,
let us renew these bonds of friendship,
these bonds of Love.
Ishk olsun, my friend,
Ishk olsun.
Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman
Peace, one and all…
Just Be in Love
Forget all that cleverness,
just be in Love.
Forget all those pretences,
just be in Love.
Let your Self open slowly into this sunlit field
and the forests will stand to attention before you.
Receive each new gift in stillness and remembrance.
Let all that weary narrowness fall away
When you reach forth into Love,
even admonitions arrive sealed with a kiss.
Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman
Peace, one and all…
Here’s another little ditty for your reading pleasure. Enjoy and may the Beloved accept it in Love.
I Am The Drum
Hand meets drum
and thus a sound is born.
Drum meets hand
and communion begins.
I am the drum.
Played for a day and then laid to rest.
I am the drum.
So let each beat resound joyfully.
I am the drum.
What else could join the Beloved’s dance?
We are the drum.
And when endings come at last,
let us fall together in grateful silence.
Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman
Peace, one and all…
I wrote this poem on this bus home this evening. It’s a good thing that you can’t see my notebook. Riding buses around the hills of Merthyr does not make for very straigth lines!
At any rate, enjoy and may the Beloved make it beneficial.
Own Your Own Reponses
Since this Way is advice,
let us speak of such things awhile.
O beloved soul, own your own responses
and never look to others for your own human shortcomings.
As you walk along the paths of this world
blame not another for the work of your own hands.
Realise, my friend, that a beautiful woman
did not cause those seeds of attraction to grow within you.
She is merely herself and neither a vessel
to hold the doleful wine of your lust,
nor a safe in which to store away
all those complexities of your honour.
Remember, my friend, that in the Beloved’s wide realms
love of truth and beauty are the only currency.
So take yourself to task when you do wrong
and be honest enough to claim the deeds you have wrought.
Ma’as salama,
Abdur Rahman
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