Still In My Way

The less of you that stands between
Your Lord and what you pray,
The more expanse of fertile green;
For every word you say

Shall root itself in timeless soil
That timeless waters flush,
For all remembrance comes with toil
That tends your garden lush;

Your wretched self need step aside
And let your heart reflect
The Light that ever shines to guide
The lost it may detect.

That all the words of praise that share
Your tear-moistened lips,
Sprout trees of wonder foliage where
The dew of nectar drips.

And when the angels span your spread
One thousand years or more,
They'll marvel at the words you said
That such a wonder bore,

Then rush to splash as waves of light
Upon your heart intent,
Inspiring your inward sight
With some of what you sent;

And thus the intellect of those
Who went before was blest,
For from their nothingness arose
A movement in their breast,

To soar up high on angel wings
And flourish in the land;
It comes with what remembrance brings
With its prophetic brand.

The less of you that stands between
Your Lord and what you pray,
The more expanse of fertile green
For every word you say.

But I'm still in my way.

Inspired by what I heard at a recent reading from Mishkaat Al-Masabih by Shaykh Amin.