what winding road will find us,
what rusty iron gate?
The winds blow fast above us,
an urgency we can’t ignore.
I feel I am always fearing some
but in truth I miss my doors and walls,
and the people i’ve always known.
Is it illness within me,
to want only what my memories are made of?
I feel I stand in a receding tide,
the water takes all, even my footprints beneath me.
Rushing out towards an infinite loss,
the particles of me, dispersing over thousands
of ever-changing miles, never reuniting.
Am I so inherently weak
Am I so frightened of a world that
is destined to either make me
or break me?
How much anguish have I already put upon myself
that i have lost the balance of my heart?
Can a home be a mother and father
sisters and brothers
walls and doors?
Can a home be a husband
love and children
ceilings and floors?
Nay, the heart is my only home.
The light within can be the only stability!
everything else is only support
and everything is transient
Except the humility of a heart
chained to Allah.
The future is frightening and unsure,
but so is the tip of an angel’s wing,
and the wells of mercy are found in
just two cupped hands.