صباح الفل والياسمين

Somewhere around dimension eleven

Climbing up past the first seven

Lit above Paradise’s heaven

Where the first book contains no word or thought of malice

Drunk from a class of drink which has yet to fit it’s chalice

Outshining diamonds and sapphires encrusting the sheen of gold

Who is she?

A tip of the spear, the base of my heart and soul

A warm gale of dawn embracing the night’s cold

Measures of wealth from her

Can never be sold

Who is she? More than a divine abode

Pure air to my spirit, oxygen in my lung

Dancing in the rain

Where a new thought hung

Sparking synapses in the brain

As every song of destiny strung

Dripping dewdrops of honey

Over fields you are sung

It’s from الله