Paradise Beneath Your Feet

Mother, Mother
Not even Marvin could sing your worth
No poetic flourish, no Wordsworth
No prose could be so perfect
No writer so competent
No painter so skilled
Why am I still writing?

The arms of a mother
Irreplaceable by the charms of another
No Shakespeare could create a fitting ode
To depict that heavenly abode
Resting beneath your exhausted feet
That earn you a warrior’s reward
For a warrior’s resolve

Pray I feed you one day like I was once fed
And keep me in your prayers
So I walk untouched through the forest of naysayers
Pray I never break away from the warm clasp of your hand
Meditation, the deepest contemplation, I will never understand...
Your worth.

Nano

Still seated
Hand clasps wrist
And that beautiful face
Calm, collected
Although pain may brew
In every vein
It even shows at times
Even as light beams reflect
Off the gold rimmed frames
And glowing skin
Glistening juxta-
Posed to a beneath
That silently screams sorrow
To the avid listener
Myself, this time.

Lessons

I want to know myself

Exegesis of the scholarly work mapped out by my chosen step

Whether they be footsteps or hand prints

Words, conversations; I want to know

To listen attentively to the echoes,

To reap what I can from the sewn seeds of behaviour

Undoing the knots, not possible as such

But to sit, embarrassed being taught by wrongdoing,

Is a lesson I hope I can sit through

High Piano Note

Love
The word alone
I have so much to give
But not one place to target
So I should aim it at everything
At everyone
Let it bleed from me
Cry from me
Drip from me
Let it slip from me
Let it overcome me

Find it between the lines
Of hateful prose
And remember how close
Are the thorn and the rose
Both as real as the other
But only one
Resides near
To hearts
And feelings of love
That rest in hands
And upon lips
Of the fortunate many
Who carry heavy hearts
In their absence
But can walk lightly
In their presence

Those feelings
That may dance
At the sound
Of that high piano note

Veil

I live in the shadow
Of peace
How it seems at least
Some truths
Remain veiled
In the confines
I may find
The mirror to my state
A shared fate

Is anyone free?
From the constant questions
Constant pressures
Two, three and four and more fold
Listening to what the core told
Or are they doing their best?
To suppress that test
And have done their best
For so long,
That I’m writing this now...?

Peace Be Upon Him

Humble,
Great,
Cried for my fate,
Friend,
Father,
Husband,
Leader,
Judge,
Exemplar,
Helper,
Teacher.
Orphaned and illiterate
At once magnificent
Reformed an environment where
Decadence was prevalent
Ever seeking betterment
Journey anything but effortless
For over a millennium
Steeped in reverence
Embodiment of scripture and his life was the evidence

The Wandering

My wish;
To be lost in my hands
Joined,
Lost in this prayer
Without return
To the place in which
I need to be found
To travel from field to field
In Rumi’s meeting place
And just as I went deeper
The light from the bulb
In my passage
Breaks through a gap
In my hands
That play host to horizon
The rising sun of reality
The truth of wandering
Through right and wrong
Wrong and right
Day and night
Until I raise the hosts
Once more
In the faith
That this wandering becomes easier to take...