Happy and content
in this garden of delight,
yet curiously alone.
Am I one of a kind?
On the verge of sleep
as the sun slips under its blanket.
After the butterflies,
after the somnolent dream,
I was bestirred
by what first seemed a chimera.
The grace and splendor
of a remarkable creation,
and there she stood
making doe eyes,
a twinkle of a smile
curling about her lips.

At once I was besotted,
God had bequeathed to me
His crowning achievement,
and into my care she was placed.
So much to impart,
so much to share.
Together now as united residents,
one flesh,
she will complete me,
and I will dote on her.
A gift to always cherish
as we walk hand in hand.

Her task each new day
is strolling about paradise
in search of nourishment,
to feed us from the fruitage therein,
lest one tree’s offering.
And yet this morning,
another voice summons to be heard,
the rasped utterances
of the cunning,
with tales of his own kingdom coming,
one nibble to freedom, she was assured.
How I wish she’d taken her leave.

She proved too inquisitive,
it took root,
this germination,
and there she lingered.
Eyes caught, unblinking,
her open heart
heavy with wanton hunger.
Who whispered unto you, my darling?

Standing before me
I surrendered to her,
an ill-fated collusion,
co-conspirators to sin.
We ate in the shadow of a silver birch
and awakened to our nakedness.
Eyes wide open!

Discomfited, we struggled
to conceal our shame
What has happened to us, dearest?
Avowal and discord.
Trouble and strife.

"It was the woman you gave me!"
"It was the serpent," she countered.
A betrayal to our God
neither of us wished to confess.
Dust had been thrown in her eyes,
my transgressions were clear-sighted.
Together now as
evicted tenants,
flawed, imperfect flesh,
she will pine for me,
and I will reign over her.

Oh, how I vanquished this gift,
this blessed union.
What tragedy,
what irony:
As I take her hand,
I also fully understand
she is now eternally,
irrevocably,
lost to me...

This is the story of a box
and a girl.
And this box –
and this box
was like no other box – No,
like no other box that owned its existence.
Eons of history lived on its walls – I mean, moved on its walls,
I mean, carvings of history played out on the walls
Waves smashed their own heads onto ocean floor dunes,
The lightning swung fierce on the clouds into squalls,
The engravings – the caves shook with war, the volcanoes,
They spat and they hissed, and the nymphs in their watery mists
Danced with haloes on graves of the fallen.
The lifeblood, it pulsed through the veins of this box,
Through the veins of my palm as I held it, the carvings,
They danced with their raw, starving ardors, their bloods and their stardust
And lifeblood, it seeped, lotus droplets, it leaped onto grooves of my skin
Splashed as sparks on my skin and spilled into my palms,
Till my body was filled with the life of this box, with the thrums of this box, with the force of this box
Till the sweet little voice called my name through this box
Whispered, “Open the lid and release me. This box
Is my prison. I’ve risen through hellfire and sunlight and war-blood,
And isn’t it time for the earth to revere me? I am Hope,
I am weary; I am tired of Death and Despair huddled near me
I yearn for the taste of the earth and the Furies
Release me, my vassal, unchain me, release me.”
This is the story of a box
and a girl,
and a thrum, and a voice, and a palm, and a life -
and a war, and a choice, and a hope, and a price,
and a voice that implored me to open the lid
through the trembling, quivering walls,
and I did.

When grief knocks sheepishly but persistently
When anger kicks at my ear drums
When fear hugs me closely, a little too tightly
When I talk to those who formed my inner voices
When thoughts crowd out my breathing
When souls weep over their losses
When sleep backs down after it's fight with stress

When delicate petals and sprouts brave the weather valiantly
When big blue eyes smile back up at me
When rains soak and nourish and my bed beckons
When innocent discussions bond hearts
When he holds my hand while half asleep
When the blissful aroma and taste of hot tea fills my senses
When the cleansing ocean spray makes my skin come alive
When soft music puts my tired mind to sleep like a baby

Stuck
Slithering on the ground,
Confined to Earth’s grip.

God’s hand took from me
My freedom,
my will,
my legs.

It is not my fault.
It is human curiosity,
And now I pay for it.

It is not my fault.
It was the devil inside me,
And now my children pay for it.

Salvation is not meant for serpents,
And so I am trapped.
Slinking and sneaking,
Stuck in this legless body.

Do you recall being stardust?
I don’t.
But, that’s what they say.
Elements forged in fusion’s crucible;
atoms born in the hearts of stars.
Do you recall being a comet’s tail?
Do you recall a time in space?
I don’t,
but then, it’s been a while.
Do you recall the lakes and streams;
swimming as fish,
or being water?
Do you recall the plains
when we roamed as beasts,
great and small?
Were you an antelope, a butterfly, a bird?
Were you a flower?
Were you Cleopatra?
Was I…Anthony, or just
some tea in Cleopatra’s cup?
(Did Cleopatra even drink tea?
I don’t know.)
Do you recall when you said
you loved me?
I do.
They told me,
“don’t fall in love with stardust.”
But then, what choice did I have?

Eid Al Adha;
Eid of Sacrifices
and the celebratory end of Hajj.

Purity abides around their heart
as souls are blessed with the
sown seeds of joy.

Allah hu Akbar;
takbir echoes
as devotees congregate in
every mosque nearby.

They wear embellished clothes,
extending their hearts to one another
and capturing the ecstasy
in every single encounter.

Sentiments are reciprocated,
and gratitude is manifested
on such an occasion
as we recall the origins of the
reason we sacrifice;
and that is to follow the order of Allah,
as Prophet Ibrahim did.