If my hijab is no service to you, let mine eyes: Lend an eye oh beckon forth a silly tone, Grease a sorrow so breathe a light yet asound, Sing alight a bird flew hard yet sully way, Mute the lark that casts its tone, Breathe it hard, the flaps ere conjured way; Mine art so sunken stone - 'tis magma broke, My soup is thought. Grill my words, heart dismay, Breathe a sigh and sing more the ages past, My words conjured few, bring pill on table near, Tabled near, whilst weavers and smithers hack, Could not hear words that ought be lack, But, showing you stories these are much thought, I share a wonder, the brightest pearl on smallest shell, The brightest moon on the darkest black, How soon I watch you sleep till Earth around Is my glory come till mounted steed in poles along, The snow and moon so white and cold, Give me leave my stories bridge ye come afar, Spare my life here, near to heaven I bestow thee, I am no gypsy preyed, nor a Muslim prayed I am sung of no mystery come, no sinners bought, The art I muster and thrice I thought God in thee, Then that might pole slapped itself upon my cheek Gave more proof my story ought to lay, So enter me the gates of tale, breathe the arch of hearth, These are the stories more I tell, In Earth and moon they watch, so too I watch an eye, This I bring to you, More I come this ought to be.
My day is measured as thus:
Twelve hours of awakening,
Four hours then of enlightening,
Eight hours reflecting (slumber),
But hope has it a goat appear,
And deliver solemn words aghast:
These angels past, the devils fart,
And so my word is mute on flute,
And were it not my song so loud,
Then the tale of God can never pass,
Within sanctum of my being,
The second of my beating,
Lays a wreath adorned by thorns,
In every thought pricks the heart.
That sanctum is my religion;
That being is my philosophy.
As a man, I sought this control over myself. Now, I finally have it.
Thus the men and women gathered in circles,
So give it time to assemble under sphere,
Reel by reel, rope on rope and flesh bis flesh,
Creek and toe, mute and sulk, a joy withheld,
Sing the way, a Shahadah, nor spell a name cast,
A wound in veil is but wound in thousands more,
Let this saken pruning my art so fine and dare,
A light is cooled by freezing teeth on snow dread’,
Breathe. Thine eyes closed. Now, I breathe again,
A stone bleeds with moss from the gaps between,
And though it sinks through air and the rain here
It does not temper the rock and mountain fall,
I walk as though I walk again for a first in while,
The sands brush against me, whilst snow dares to part,
And all the while my touch is frozen by God himself.
I choose a path that no other man would never dare,
So once I’m at the close of the circle, a semi appears,
Then square it, half the corners, round them; choose:
Amidst each figure, bring them forth, in fire, through dark,
Walk round, and choose, so that none may be chosen,
Then breathe. All is done, now kiss an air so cold well,
Drink, a bird in paradise descends and I shall feud,
I forgot it all. I’m in religion as memory perfect,
In reason fought, now thought as I is given brought,
Entrusted on me is a companion of these of two,
Once I fall, so shall the others fall with me.
Don’t let it get to you, dear;
It is but only fear;
Let the past swim by you fair
These memories gone to taste,
Soon shall fade into the dark.
Hold your breath,
In the midst of life,
Amidst all the crisis,
No matter where you are,
Count till veins burst,
Walk the Earth and Stars,
Blackest night your light,
God shall always remain.
Then God plants the forbidden tree,
And thus lays bare the fruit that be,
Dares all but none to eat from this,
Lest foul His foe does froward hiss.
At moon hours His folk come at bay,
Spite erst word had not sought to stay,
When arrive their urge to desist,
So too did they cease to exist.
In spite of this I come so near,
In meagre ways I am all to fear,
Mine honour so wry can wrung so high,
Though listen with care my words to fly;
For I am no God here nor there to spire,
Nor am I the Christian nor Muslim aspire,
If not my angst but my sin becomes human,
If not so human then more am I to conman,
Now beseech me here that I cannot spell,
This art I form with religion ought he fell,
So when my God arrives to take this God from me
So shall I know from Him that God in thee
Was ought but gone from hence to far,
Nor my hands so warm all heart to bar,
I am not the God you pray I am to be;
I am the mortal who built the church to be,
Now let me rest for a poor old man is nought,
If you believe me now, then my task is brought.
Nor did he not sing from whence he were.
Nor did he climb so high to fall so well.
Nor did he walk through hills and cried.
Nor did he sign his heart to greater foe.
Nor did he look towards the Sun in awe.
Nor did he breathe the evening air so smooth.
Nor did he take himself to still and utter light.
Nor did he not pain himself to greater pleasure.
Nor did he write his purpose etched on heart.
Nor did he seal his bonds to the stars at night.
Nor did he say never shall he try again.
Beneath the ethereal sky her eyes met,
Under cluster of stars her so eyes wet,
From when times of old should never bear,
But held him high from ground with hands so bare;
For his legs would fall under bitter crease,
His arms so stretched to ground with length increase,
So that the Earth shall root her feet in touch,
So that the water shall ripple for such
A beauty no jaw could never deceive,
Nor his head held high as much to perceive,
His nipples shall be one with bosom known,
The wind shall part the Earth in better throne,
Or ere in the midst of thought both ne clothed,
Nor water trickling down all parts be loathed,
And if it were not thy clay to mould me here,
Shall it not be my soul to cumber here,
Ere the horns or burgundy to rapture far,
Mine art so few but ill esteem,
Thine heart murmurs with every word too ill
That no sober mind could never erase,
Whomever called, was but whisper to glide.
A lonely star in the mist of lonely dark,
Simple fair and simple told shine so high,