Fear.

Fear.
It gnaws at my throat, gripping, grabbing, ripping and clenching.
Tightening my wind pipes, squeezing my breath, I look round hoping it won’t come to collect.
Collecting my hopes, my dreams, my love for you; it never left, it’s residue lingering on the fringes of my faith, I cry in anxiety, calling out to God. Free me, hold me, keep me close, don’t let him take me and don’t let him collect.
The dark place.
That place where the soul lingers, gasping for light, seeking its might.

Don’t let it collect; remaining fragments of love, hope and years of ache, the small pieces of glass, broken, some mended, always cracked.
Don’t collect.
Fear, how real a transformation of the abstract.

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Beyond Faults

Love beyond all faults, My friend.
Who knows which one of your faults, may turn the Beloveds face away from you?

So remember, to Love beyond all faults,
for only Love can teach and Mercy can rectify.

Live in His spirit,
Love beyond all faults.
My friend,
you were once lost too.

Tree of Life – SHE

SHE.

She, looked at her familiar surroundings, sighed and sat down, cross legged, tired limbs, puffy eyes, ragged skin.
No. This can’t be it.

She, picking up her pen and deep rooted notebook, sighed and starting writing; fragmented thoughts, disjointed puzzles, unanswered questions.
No. This can’t be it.

She, torn between half smiles and those half frozen tears; laughs.
No. This can’t be it.

The tree has deep rooted veins, the golden veins bulge on the cover, a backdrop of long brown winters.

The tree, has branches and leafs.
They begin to fall, scattering the brown earth like stars in the dark sky.
Her golden feathers crumble to the ground.

No. This can’t be it.

She, sits staring at her leafless tree, sighs and puts the pen down.

No. This can’t be it…

The roots don’t budge,
but
The branches still grow,
Seasons change,
Life once more takes ITs form.

She, sitting cross legged, tired to the bone; rejoices and quietly cries.
See, this is IT….

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Seeking

Seeking alone is not enough,

One must search through his yearning –

For the Beloved is shy,

Like the wind you feel but cannot see.

 

Rumi: Come, Come…

I-know-youre-tired-but

“Come, Come,

Whoever you are,

Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving.

It doesn’t matter,

Ours is not a caravan of despair.

Come. Even if you have broken your vows a thousand times.

Come, yet again, Come, Come.” – Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

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