On Sonnets

To forge a sonnet is an art supreme;
It begs a certain clarity of thought
To court a shy yet unrelenting theme
And groom it in apparel that is brought
By aptitude and skill with written word;
To gaze into suspended space and time
And trap a flight of fancy in a bird
That preens its wings to alternating rhyme:
Three quatrains, then a couplet at the end
To tenderly and mercifully wean
You from the shady branches that extend
A dozen roses from the fertile green
Imagination of a sonneteer,
More captivating than the subject here.

Tree of Time

The yellow and gold,
Like drops of the sun,
Do glow in the days
Before they are done;

The orange and red,
And purple and black
Appear instead
To temper the lack

Of green on the scene,
For what isn't green
Is rather begotten
By hues in between;

This tall tree of time
Forever believes
To bear generations
Of leaves upon leaves.

Now do we not bloom
In spring, to be green
In summer? Come fall,
Are hues in between;

That when we are old
Like drops of the sun,
Are yellow and gold
Before we are done

In winter's embrace,
So this tree may bear
Our children by grace
When spring's in the air.

A Change of Heart

The blood on her cheek,
The steel in her eye,
No, she wasn't weak,
Was his turn to cry;

He wanted to read
The words he had heard,
She told him he'd need
Ablution; concurred

And sat down to read
From parchment upon
Were written the words,
Majestic Quran.

The beauty that shined
In His heart through his eye
Expanded his mind
As wide as the sky;

It spoke to his heart
With nothing between
And washed every part
Of it till it was clean.

And all he had wrought:
The cries of the slave,
The innocent coos
Of the child in her grave,

All fell from his eyes
And streamed down his face
To signal the rise
Of another in grace;

He made for the house
Of al-Arqam with haste,
No doubt in his mind,
Not a moment to waste,

And when he arrived,
He knocked on the door
And waited what felt
Like some moments before

It opened and there
Before him did stand
The prophet; at once
Extended his hand,

Then grabbing Umar
By his belt, drew him near
And asked him to make
His intentions all clear;

And Umar did so 
In reverent tone,
At which did the prophet
Praise Allah alone;

The house of al-Arqam
Rejoiced when they heard
The son of al-Khattab
Had uttered the Word.

Song For The Lonely Old Man

Old man, lonely,
Lives every day with his only
Companion: the soft memories of his wife
That warm up his winter of withering life.

His people stop by to see
How he's doing through kettles of tea,
As the evening sun yawns and goes down
On the old man in his old town.

Some day he'll wake up to a dawn
And find all his weariness gone,
To walk with his love on meadows of green,
United together in laughter serene.

Old man, lonely,
Lives every day with his only
Companion: the soft memories of his wife
That warm up his winter of withering life.

Plains of Arafah

The doors of heaven open wide
Unto the plains of Arafah,
For all who raise their hands and cry
Upon the plains of Arafah,

For all the tears that they spill
Into the plains of Arafah
Beseech the Lord of Mercy till
Forgiveness rains on Arafah.

It makes the devil rub his head
With dust he gathers from the earth,
To see the sea of children spread
From dust he deemed of little worth.

Cabbage Wisdom

Brown bird of prey swoops down from sky,
Gray rabbit sits with wary eye,
Grandfather kneels by cabbage young
That dozes in the morning sun
Eclipsed a mite by eagle flash
As cabbage scent makes rabbit dash
Whose rustle turns the gray, sage head
Away from cozy cabbage bed
To rabbit darting into fern;
Makes eagle to the sky return.

How, wonders cabbage with the sun,
A head so grand could spoil the fun.

Picnic

I sit on the concrete, on spirals of sand,
Just dangling my feet as I hold in my hand

A half-eaten apple, a gift from my son,
And watch the light dapple the sight of him run

Away from the waters, a smile on his face,
Toward me the thought on his tongue and he race,

His cousins are splashing about with their dads,
The sounds of their laughter and happiness adds

To all of the pleasure their grandfathers feel
While grandmothers, measuring sand on their heels,

Surrender their words of advice to the breeze;
And here is my son now, his hands on my knees.

The picnic is over, the mothers all smile,
For happy is mother if happy is child.

Loved

How do I know who loves me,

How would I know who does,

I wish I had a way to say

Who loves me now because

There's times when I get lonely,

And no one seems to care

When standing at the door before

My tears is despair;

But I will never let in

This visitor that stole

So near with a blade that's made

To cleave my very soul.

I've learned my Lord is nearer

Than I am to my brain,

So crush my body, grind my mind,

My soul will still remain.

It's all that matters, matter 

Does not matter at all;

What is, is not; what is not, is

What makes me stand up tall.

Winter Submission

Float, little snowflake,
Come, rest on my hand,
Soft as the mercy
That sends you to land;

Tree, tall and mighty,
Surrender your leaf,
Bare all your branches
To frosty relief;

Meadow and hill, spread
Your carpet of white,
River, shine diamonds
In silver moonlight;

My heart is silent,
Asleep with the grass,
Patient submission
Till spring comes to pass;

Wake me to sunshine,
Eternal and sweet,
Winter is over,
My spring is complete.