When will you learn, dear heart?
The world around you
is not what it pretends to be.
Reality is uncovered for you, one day at a time
utterly indifferent to what you have in mind.
Blessed are those with certainty about outcomes
You are cursed with doubts for all aphorisms
Why, oh why, dear heart
do you elongate the past?
Can you not just forget
that you stumbled into the present?
Every station in life has a future.
Look far enough and nothing else will matter.
Will you ever learn, dear Heart?
Written by my friend and fellow poet and remarkable author of fine books, Rashid Osmani
Find his Publications at Amazon:
“In the Footsteps of Rumi” ISBN 978145258232
“Word Posse” ISBN 9781477661963
“Are Muslims Savages?” ISBN 9781481853347
You are meant to fly,
to light on branches
of lush trees, to fill the
air with your song.
If I caught you in my hand
your tiny wings would beat in time
pressing for freedom against closed fingers.
Your soul is meant for flight but it is a cruel
place you have come
filled with creatures bigger than you.
Worst of all is man who glorifies death.
In the forest his cries of joy
ring out at the slaughter of a deer.
The world needs your song and
the beat of your heart.
We must open our hand.
art borrowed from Pinterest
David Bowie – Young Americans
I want to fly but fall like
a silent prayer.
My limbs are an anchor
as I slip beneath the surface.
Opened mouthed my lungs expand,
my once struggling palms lie flat
as gentle waves of the river rock me.
Strands of weed mingle with my breath,
my only thing of value.
Everything beautiful is here,
all that was lost.
Birds chorus to the ancient stones.
A thousand warriors rest in an
estuary of flowers,
I can hear their mournful lament.
Celtic Woman…art by Woad
The sun has lost its domain,
snow birds shroud its light.
A handful of starlings quiver
on bare branches tiny in fixed feathers
they could fit in the palm of a hand.
Their fragile song suspended in frozen breath
sings for the reach of an outstretched hand
clinging to a red-tailed kite above fields
of sunflower faces or wildflowers in full bloom.
Along the banks
river sand pulls away
from a glistening shore,
dusky gemstones caught in the current.
Minute ecosystems inhabit
tiny tide pools in the wet sand.
Sometimes I stroll the embankment alone
indulging the realms of lovers
where there is no logic but
a crushing ache I hold close
to my breast.
A carapace between a heart and the
mountains where I left you.
Grant me the freedom to come undone
beneath the tender weight of hands
My sigh is a gentle quake upon your
Allow me to drown in the river of
your impossible eyes where there
is no threat of war, hard silence,
or the burden of forgiveness.
Art by Steve Hanks/ Maher Art Gallery