Stretching out on the golden diminutive granules, Opening the eyes resisting the sun's blazing beam, Barefoot and toes dancing through the cold breeze, Holding a 'bottled letter' on the right hand; relaxing. Dozing then waking from a toddler's joyous laugh, Sitting up still grasping the poorly shaped letter, Finding it rather attractive but it spoke of tomorrow, Days of reconciliation from the bitter yesterday. The author named "I"; the date not far from today, From an indefinite location but a language I speak, Written from right-to-left starting with اللهم لك الحمد, Saddened by the beauty of tears, yet, optimistic. "I" spoke of the ancestral origins of the humans, Of the morals and values shared by the individuals, Of the pin-pointed differences referred by organs, And of the true path sought for a better tomorrow. There the calligraphy ended before a tiny full-stop, Folding the 'bottled letter' in halves and once again
Speak voices of thunder to scar your lips, Shout deafening silences across horizons, Let prudent persons of life pay attention, Allow the ears to accept earth whisperers, Repeat the words for your heart’s content, Cause an eruption to the mindless beasts, Pray for yourself and for the less fortunate, Letters of sword stab the eyes to shed tears, Wound the tongue to mutter less and more, Ordain the brain to serenity and prostrate, Redeem your life from this imprisonment, Demean yourself to the One the Only One. Tuesday, 15th of February 2011
Is it an enormous tree or a humble man I see? Purity draining into the dusty autumn leaves, Or an exhausted elderly limping on his third leg? It is source and extended cables both required for a life, The two are none but a blurry vision I have foreseen, Incessant distorted images infiltrating a lot of memories. I accepted the existence of the truth and its spatial loci, Others still consider me too naïve to seek such an element, Thus, the dust, from this path to my face, kept its promise.
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