On the Tongue of Seekers

They advised the seeker
who is inclined to love love
to seek it, no matter the cost.

That the pain of searching
is itself joy and that anything else
is fake, saccharine.

They said that love is known 
through the sharpness of its entrance 
as it punctures into the heart.

That the proof of its reality 
is the dizzying high of blood rushing 
from the heart onto the tongue.

They said the drip, drip dripping 
of it from tongues onto bloodied lips
and soiled chins is the praise of joy. 

That Heathcliff's obsession
and Juliet's dagger are the honour
of the walking wounded.

Walking, wounded the seeker stumbles
now inclined to seek refuge
like love before.

Others give naseeha to search
for the vastness of fitra that unveils 
what wounded hearts cannot feel.

The rib cage becomes a gate
to discovery, replacing the old stitching 
that held together a false sweetness.

They advised that in place of the punture,
love should be immersed in, lived;
The Most Loving sees all.

The stumbling then becomes firm strides
away from the love of dysfunction
and love as dysfunction towards ayat, ubiquitous.

They used to speak to me about
Heathcliffs and Juliets, but I ask
have you heard of our masters Fatima and Ali?

The owners of smiles like light
that spill joy from pure hearts
onto blessed lips.


----------------

Letting Go


Walking this path, 
I have found that thorns 
force me to tread carefully.
So clothing, like the heart,
is kept close.

And on this path,
I come upon you,
your tilted stem and flowers
covered in the dust
of what I stumbled from.

I find you resting, restive 
on your side but with roots 
reaching deep into the earth.
Is there a word for your type of flower?

So intricately beautiful,
the distraction of what covers you
does not mask the pure scent of fitra.

You present yourself, a distraction
when I have only started living, love.

I cannot say what storms you've endured,
or what rain has washed away 
the foundation that should sustain you
or what wind has sharpened your thorns
and bruised the petals that should adorn you.

The time is short,
and my provisions are few
and the journey is long.
I cannot stay to know those answers.
   
I have been advised to avoid thorns
that will puncture a heart 
so it bleeds praise
that should be sung 
for the Most High. 


Follow Fareedah on her blog "Noes of a Traveler" 
http://www.notesofatraveler.wordpress.com/