Walking Along

In a silk web of passionate desire I was caught

Enveloped by blessings of gifts I never even bought

Unlike a sparrow complaining from the branch of every tree

I am the moth in the fire who fiercely burns - doing so silently

So I stay quiet, elevated and sunk in deep remise

Awaiting to speak, the price of truth is on the rise

To delve into religious debate I really do not care

Liking to keep a few brain cells I still have to spare

My heart is beyond majnun, praying from it I confess

Love’s sovereignty, whatever faith you may profess

“Nothing will ease this pain, whatever you might do-

Wine, it’s pourer, the glass and drinker, all must be you”

How many files complain against him in the scrolls of supposed crime

Akbar continues to take the name of God in this present age and time

One of the things I love about the many purposes of art is its cognitive function: art as a means to the acquisition of truth. An avenue to some of the highest knowledge available to humankind, a jewel bringing forth gems of knowledge nearly impossible to attain and profess by any other means.

It’s from الله