Bismillah! The buds now burst into hues unimaginable;
Flowery nerves fattening up by the blessing of our Lord
Wondrous things to perform…not on stage, not on stand
But in nooks of cooler sand…the plant now whorls
Into our worlds, waltzing to the poet’s carts – Shakespeare carts –
We’re all poets at the heart…lug them up the dusty path
The clouds must hold our pain till we’ve reached home…
To the sun’s veil we cling slipping to the evening again
Bismillah! What better rhyme can I offer than this?
In all things of nature, Allah’s signs are seen…
In dark, in murky, in light, in grace…in every space
That you hold to yourself from me and the rest
But we dwell together in this Earth as brothers and sisters
Here’s a rose for the sweetest, the pious and mildest
That sprang from the soil of a poet’s heart –
I might as well repeat the round: we’re all poets at the heart…
Bismillah! Come child, sit with me and pray
For your mother, father, brother, sister and friend
Who love you more than you hope they do…
They kneel in humility and pray for you
Everyday when you step into the impulsive world
Raise that head that springs from you and look –
Look at all those things around, and roll your eyes round and round
At sky, at sea, at grass, at bee (don’t go very near the bee!)
Bismillah! What better rhyme can you offer than this?
I believe Shakespeare will simply shake his head
It’s that thing that shapes your spirit…
To the north, the south, the west and the east –
It stretches farther than your eyes can see
And they said that spirit is a sad thing
That floats o’er your desk when you quietly cry
Will you remember what you learned today?
Bismillah! It is sweeter than any sound…
It’s in every silence, every speech of the creation
When the cascade falls in the tranquil pool
It’s a miracle indeed…by the Hand
That rocks the cradle of universal design
When the lamb moans for its mother
Beneath the canopy of the moon and stars
What decides its future isn’t just its tongue
Bismillah! It creeps out from the soul’s burrows
Like the most beautiful composition of music
Enchanting and slaying the inner devils
Who thought they could rest beneath Allah’s flowers
Unseen…but Hope didn’t walk with them
Hand in hand down the softest path
As soft as a mother’s palm…and they fled
Leaving us clung peacefully to Allah’s ways
Last update : 25-09-2005 10:49
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