a daylight dream

disappear as much as you’d like—  from my gaze to your wandering eyes.. I find that no matter how much these words of love are silenced, and no matter how long our eyes are closed by the shutters of distance— we find home. ever so effortlessly, we tiptoe back in, open doors, wide windows and adoring skies. and home begs to be more than a metaphor. and it chose me. once it has received its one loving dweller, how can its light dim? it chose me, despite feeling so far away from home. so far from hearing those footsteps settling in. this heart foresees a garden, but has forgotten how to seed. how to thread pieces of embroidery. how to simmer fragments of sweet memories. and my lilting melodies unmoored, I move forward to my healing climb. at least till this heart learns to choose this body and call it what always longed to be called— home. a haven. a temple. a paradise. an avid listener of poetic, romantic rhymes. an ode of blessings running through its sky. my home is gratitude. deep...

when your heart smiles, where does home take you? in that eye-to-eye stillness, hands held intimately, a stream of forgiveness. a budding leaf springs anew, meeting the sun. meeting the vastness of isness. the connectedness of the timeless  be—  and falling in love. when you remember dying and all returns to an intention lived from within. your cloud hums like a fresh drizzle of rain on thirsty fields. how I dream of this garden of love.. the vastness of what grows when we break apart. the gaze lighting up a million forsaken sparks. the wholeness of being seen, not for our fragmented parts.. and the glimpse of remembering that it’s His adoring love the fields between our hearts. melting into the truth of it, wide eyed, breaths deeply eased.. how so vast..

your brightest star needs this callous sky, this eluding climb high and universes in between. your brightest star needs the connectedness blooming from being a part of everything, the momentary nourishing stream of surrendered being.  the intimate detail. the infinite touch. an otherworldly embrace with the light in all aliveness abound. your brightest star asks you to feel it. to feel it slow, to dig the hollow vessel in which through all can flow.  your brightest star asks you to revere pain and love alike. one cannot transmute toward the other without you being there, a loving conduit of truth. your brightest star asks you to  be — do not fear yourself. do not fear your truth. trust that feeling it wholly is  right .  your brightest star asks you to be one.. and not fear.

  interbeing . I keep falling in love with this word, this notion, deeply diving into it, till I become it. is there a separate self that exists outside of what becomes? could we even force ourselves into life without being what we are forcing?  I feel at times that I forget this. sometimes I go back home lost for what to do the next day, forcing ideas in my head to make them happen. I don’t notice that each time I go with force and fear, I become them myself. I notice the rigid pain in my gut, a recurring pain enclosed in a thick shell of impermeability. a swollen vessel hardened with rust. I, too, have become it, somehow. I’ve ignored it for too long until it has metastasised to a pain my body cannot bear without suffering.  you’re so afraid, sometimes. you’re afraid of failing. you’re afraid you’re not giving it your all. you’re afraid of all the expectations you have for yourself— the ever-fluid creativity, the poetry at your fingertips that you’ve somehow lost and al...

of course I am lost, but it does not mean i am forsaken. free falling into this uncertainty of having a purpose beyond myself, I feel the subtlety of being held, enveloped by the ceasing of never ending worries.. of course I am lost in forsaking all my words, and never finding time long enough to reach a silence so deep, welling a boundless bouquet of more.. I’m lost in separation and found in oneness. I’m lost in myself and found in everything. in the minuscule drop that contains me, I have lost my essence finding it in the mirror.. is it true that this is no longer about me? that it’s no longer what these words and hands can do? is it true now that freefalling into the precious now is all there is to be alive for? then I am lost..  I am lost . a heart never ceases being reminded of you, dear one. there is a mind in all of this instructing it to keep it away.. in the silence of it, the sacredness remains.

first came the bout of cold, passing through it as fast as i could. somehow, speed was necessary this week. time was perceived unmercifully, and despite the longer bus rides, i was not able to truly linger in restfulness. even the early, springtime walks were rather unlively, occasionally adorned by a few tears— the tears of feeling out of place. i’ve been wondering lately if i’m in the right place. often, i feel that my daily doings are erratically unpurposeful, feeding an unconscious stream of doing that does not see the light. this kind of feeling drains me to the point of exhaustion, to the point where it was arduous to wake in the morning. it’s my first time to take a day off work. i've been waking in tears of fatigue this week, my whole body aching, my heart almost dead. it’s my first time in so long not to feel the passion oozing in my veins to meet the new day, and it hurts. i am still unsure what i’ve done to create this aching soulful fatigue. it’s the afternoon and i’ve ...

do you still read the poetry of spring in your eyes, love? are you still a maddened lover in sleepless worlds, longing your dance, a flame burning air alive? how it hurts me when you forget your truth.. how it hurts my heart when you forsake our heavenly dream of eternal bliss.. a lover knows a lover’s heart, reckons it at once.. the childlike innocence weeping for a sweeter solitude of two souls loved as one.. have you forgotten the child in you that embraced my heart amid the garden of fruit blossoms, dear? oh, don’t tell me you did.. the bliss of love, the sacred gift. and I’m mad, I’m not saying I’m not. I’m mad in my longing, my undoubtful faith, and saying yes to losing everything for you, my love.  my love.. sink in the sweetness, it hurts less than the bitter taste of forgetfulness of of your one faithful servant..

  صاح قلبي هائجاً.. هل نسيتي؟ هل نسيتي حبك الأبدي؟ و عهد كرم حياتك وهباً لخدمة قدسية حرم الإيمان؟ هل تري ضوء فنون الحب؟ صمت لدني و الأنا يغني في مسرح الحياة.. هل تراني حقاً و ليس ذاك صوتي؟ و لا ذاك عملي؟ و لا ذاك عفوي و لا ظني.. خلعت الأشياء لحضرتك.. ذابت الأسباب لحضورك.. تلاشت الطرق منك و إليك.. فيك.. قبلة حبستها في خيالي و لا تبالي شعلتها.. فقد أحرقت نيران الوداع و أراض الأوقات.. بقيت بتسبيح ضوئها و انغمست في وديان أشواقي.. لا تبالي.. لا تبالي..

  I’m sorry for speaking of the secret when I do not know its magnitude, for speaking of the gift without seeing You first,    that my gaze was not in its right place. It’s oftentimes so hard to see You midst all of this: the paradox and its oneness, the dissolution and becoming, till I don’t know which is which. so broken in this love. infinitely heartbroken waiting for my beloved. to my innermost silence I return till no one finds me but You. till all the echoes of this world die down and I can hear the peaceful silence of your undying stream.  I’m sorry, even if I don’t know why. should you fare far from me, meet me in your heart, my love, even when you feel that death is near. a while of remembrance is the sweetest lifetime. a glimpse of truth shines your sky and breaks you if you’ve sailed too far from those little ripples leading you home.. oh, home..  an airplane has taken off once more and a heart is in midair, unsettled in transition. the landing was fl...

  remembering how it was like last Ramadan, i fall helpless being reminded of what i was being taught. it felt like everything being weighing down on me all at once: a restless home touched by sadness, an insecurity in not knowing how to manage, a loss of will and knowing and possibilities fading into a shifting life. i was used to having a structure for my world. an outline of dreams flowering out of intentions. i intended to have a blissful Ramadan at home, to find ease in sadness, to manage feeling weighed down by not wanting to follow habit, to push away the clouds of loneliness being the only one awake, not knowing what to do fix things.. Ramadan is always a difficult time at home. waves of sadness come in clouds, and i always wanted to be the one resisting their winds. now that it’s almost here, this heart beckons with a reassuring whisper—  surrender . what would it be like not to even wish for having things better? what would it be like to trust that even this hardship...