Magic of the Eye

It’s all about the eyes.

It’s neither the color, nor the neighboring lashes.

It’s, rather, your own reflection

mirrored through dancing pupils,

which are live testimonies to a timeless attraction.

Needless of words,

they communicate profound meanings of love,

only fathomed by the experienced and first-timers alike.

Just like clocks, ticking sincere passion by the second,

they also alarm you to decisive moments,

dispatching commas and full stops,

to finally announce: “The End.”

Dancing Shadows

It is dark and silent. 

Candle lights swinging in awe,

in respect to two dancing shadows. 

They represent an everlasting sensation, 

covered with lustful legitimacy,

and an endless thirst for a revolution against moderation. 

They speak an unspoken language,

only known to their special coexistence.

The touches, breaths, and whispers,

dominate the brutal conversation,

perfumed with a passionate aroma. 

They both enlighten the night,

with owl-like sparks,

which further electrify the passing seconds.

It is brutality in its most passionate forms, 

indifferent to its sadistic moments

because of one convincing reason:

"unconditional love."

An Honest Call

The soul is calling for You. 

Thy compassion and generous hands,

have filled an inner voidness, longing for a final repentance. 

They incessantly bestow unstoppable gifts,

shaming such a mortified face,

insisting, constantly, to bid farewell to righteousness.

Calmness

Calmness. 

It’s the dream that does it all.

It’s an aspiration, a well-grounded sensitivity,

towards the fearful unknown.

It used to spring from without;

now it’s the sourceful within. 

It used to connect to long-lasting touches;

but now it’s interiorized. 

A self-fulfilling prophecy, 

this which summarizes one’s conflicts in an eye-contact. 

Such contact communicates both bitterness and sweetness,

in an unmatched chemical reaction, 

blending each soul; flying them upwards. 

It used to be calmness.

Now, it’s unstoppable rage, 

inexplicable, but controllable.    

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

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