A Blissful Moment

It was a blissful moment. 

That touch of yours was pregnant 

with extraordinary triplets of "I love you." 

Far less than nine months in the making,

didn't need no C-Section to give birth,

from two sparkling first-timers. 

It was sweet music to the ears, 

both hearts beating to the same rhythm, 

following, passionately, a harmonious orchestra, 

whose members have mastered beating the keys of love. 

An everlasting moment it was,

externalizing long-buried passions, 

sharing top secrets of perfection in a human imagination. 

The Mrs. and the Mr., they later became,

and the sharing continued, only differently, 

under one roof of unbroken vows.

Hamza Yusuf -- The Middle Path

هل سرك في بئر | الشيخ وسيم يوسف

The Three Conditionals!

Overwhelming is happiness, if the three work harmoniously,

governing our accidental emotions:

The "when", the "where", and the "how."

So curious you must be, asking about the "when,"

because it sets foot for eternity in its simplest and, alas, most complicated forms.

It holds time accountable, snoozes the clock, and freezes the seconds,

In desperate hopes to let love survive.

Yet curiosity raises eyebrows with the "where, incapable of calculating it,

embodying it, or even defining it.

For how in the world do two poor souls defy the circumstances,

when all the odds collaborate, spy, and ferociously seek,

to destroy existential realities?

Still the "how" is the most arduous of all.

For it blends two opponent certainties into one exhausting ambiguity,

leading to a climax of its own.

Thus is the story of fiction in its most exciting plot.

Adam & Eve

Adam:
I am not a perfect imagination,
nor am I the steed-riding knight.
I am mere human, attempting to rise above
the grave fingerprints marked so graciously at night.
For though the traces still lurk behind closed doors
wired connections, and turned-off lights,
the naïve heart is still pumping blood at your lovely sight.
But still, that’s how naïve it is,
and “tough” indeed it should be,

along the passing minutes and forgotten seconds,
of attempting toughness, and sought-after “might”.

Eve:
You know of weakness I am built,
seeking emotions amidst an unstable world.
You left me speechless, and speechless you had been,
following a mouthful nature, an unforgettable road.
And now you blame me, forever haunting me,
but off my shoulders, I brushed out the load.

Narrator:
Memories we build, and errors we need,
to fix it all, and grow on the seed.
A tip I shall give, a wise one indeed:
“never give in, or else a hurt dignity you will bleed.”

The "she" is Nested

The “she” is nested,

deeply rooted, mirrored with beauty,

and reflected in an innocent smile.

The once lost “she” has been restored,

passing through gradual evolution,

eliminating what was once a shadow of evil,

and cleansing remnants of muddy wreckage.

Thy “she” ignites a diminished inner passion,

it lingers within and without,

calling outrageously: “forgive and forget.”

It pushes, violently, for a peaceful self-reclamation,

congregating bizarre odds in thyself.

Words of Deformed Love

Words fly me away to the unknown,
where the stars sing alone,
where planets dance in empty space,
chanting to the greatness of the universe.
Indeed, a much better world it is,
where innocence is wearing immaculate white,
unviolated by the dirt of humanity,
but kept in its childish form,
for which Wordsworth sang, super-heartedly.
Love had been a childish word,

innocently carved in the core of our existence,
meaningful only to the mindful, and the heartful alike…
but thou have been tarnished,
displaced of your immaculate form,
and deformed to the utmost of deformation.