Deliberative Contemplation

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Emma Florence Harrison ( 1877–1955)

Pride is her sin

Bless the revolutionary road

The youthful dreams churning within

Haunted by ghostish whispers

In a fictional world of her own creation

Had she mastered the bliss of humbleness

Conquest of wisdom would have been her daily ritual

A free spirit she is

Pushed the freedom button, lit crimson ambition onto her records

Diven into the jaw of the monstrous sea

Sailed away on a lonely journey towards one of the coldest wests

What easted east and wested west

One man lied to geography and so history followed

Music is her wine

Dancing in the flames of endless joy and pain of choices, and the in-betweens

Oh, how painful are the in-betweens

Misguided in the realm of endless doubt

Between right and wrong lies an eternal drought of faith

Bound by fate …. an untiable bond

A fateful obligation to utter submission to …. fate

Who can escape their fate

Fate or destiny or God, can we differentiate, before the end draws near,

Can we negotiate what would our fate become, before clean slates are definitely erased

A mountain of deeds hides underneath her troubled conscience

Good or bad, even when intentions are resolute, actions deviate

The good, the bad and the ugly reside in every particle of human race

Are choices predetermined or free-willed, our thoughts tirelessly race

Pride is a sin among many others

The old man said: “unsheathe your sword in the face of temptation”

“Against your heart, ignite a revolution”

“Remember, repentance remains the man’s sole road to salvation”

Whether atonement for wrongdoing is a predetermination or choice

Forgetfulness stays a curse and a solace

There’s an insatiable curiosity about the purpose of man’s existence

As men fall for their causes – soon she’d fall too

Perfectionism is a myth when death hour strikes too soon

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Losing My Ithaca/Ethica

The Original Ithaca by Constantine P. Cavafy

Once upon a time I stumbled upon an Ithaca

Like butterflies, I flew in the air searching for a temptous nectar

I set out on a land where Ithaca was far and near like a shooting star

Cut the miles, trooped its length and width, till I reached

God knows how hard I shook it, till all doors had flung open before me

I felt the rush of the Atlantic had sworn to off the face of the earth wipe my existence

Even though I was forced by the mighty gravity to the deepest depth of the blue

I miraculously surfaced my glooms

Bitter taste of victory whirled in my world like a dizzying dance of a whirling dervish

I crumbled in my own temple of Ithacas

Woke up to a festival of crumbled ones

Losing ithica, after ithaca

So many seeping through my tightest slots of patience

As a nail crowns your finger, Ithaca covers me

I preach it in my poetic salon

Enchanted other heretics seem to be by my desperate delusions

In a world Ithacas are benevolent works of divinities

I am haunted by my fear of my fear

Who could be more helpless than a running deer from the monster’s claws

Only a human

With too little strength to die for an Ithaca, with an Ithaca, like an Ithaca

 

 

 

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Once upon a time I stumbled upon an Ithaca

Like butterflies, I flew in the air searching for a temptous nectar

I set out on a land where Ithaca was far and near like a shooting star

Cut the miles, trooped its length and width, till I reached

God knows how hard I shook it, till all doors had flung open before me

I felt the rush of the Atlantic had sworn to off the face of the earth wipe my existence

Even though I was forced by the mighty gravity to the deepest depth of the blue

I miraculously surfaced my glooms

Bitter taste of victory whirled in my world like a dizzying dance of a whirling dervish

I crumbled in my own temple of Ithacas

Woke up to a festival of crumbled ones

Losing ithica, after ithaca

So many seeping through my tightest slots of patience

As a nail crowns your finger, Ithaca covers me

I preach it in my poetic salon

Enchanted other heretics seem to be by my desperate delusions

In a world Ithacas are benevolent works of divinities

I am haunted by my fear of my fear

Who could be more helpless than a running deer from the monster’s claws

Only a human

With too little strength to die for an Ithaca, with an Ithaca, like an Ithaca

Inspired by the original Ithaca by Constantine P. Cavafy

Hearts on Her Socks

It hails outside a window in her freezing house

Warmness in her heart ceases to reach her cold feet

It is a cold night indeed

Escapes the cold under thick blankets

Locks herself up in a room

Never been so darkened

Unaware of what had sent the glooms under her rainbowish ceilings

Her cold body slips under the covers

Fading beneath the layers

An attempt to hide a prideful desire in flames

It is a lonely night she feels

Finally seeks refuge

In eaten fantasies and memories

Eaten by time, pain, pride or fear

Fear of sin

Sin begets sin

And so on

Feeding off the bits and pieces of good old memories

Is the least she can achieve of happiness

Perhaps send itches of desire to a calm retreat

The least of sins are thoughtful ones

A marble body lies on her cold bed

Unturned gem

Only not in the dirt

Even in the wildest moments of time

Roars down her throat she swallows

Lying there like a mummy

History exposed in a museum of painful endings

She remains unturned

You must envy her perseverance

She masters the wait

Never compete with a woman keen to preserve her slate

Seduction at this hour

A hazard to her Godly pact

Though this Oceanus chaos versus reason

There are facts

Skin aches to touch

Lips long to part

Flower impatient to blossom

Unyielding yearning

For a season so far apart

Blue with suppression

One of her excellent skills

Bury it all inside

She smiles “what a beautiful coffin!”

And what a cold coffin!

Sleep is the best solution

Before some fool ignites a revolution

Lit up the fire in her holly devotion

Prayers are her favorite of soul lotions

Rouses – ablutes – prays – then back

Bidding sleep a warm welcome

Soon retrieves the previous situation

This is a curse or worse

Cold feet electrocute her blinks

Pursued cold all over her body down to the end

Astounded at the sight of her pair of socks

Red hearts blaze with envy on it

Stole all warmth once coated her naked veins.

May K.

Arabic tune by Wael Kfoury

Symphonic Sin

Stripping amid the chaos in the journey leading to reason

No questioning where grace had fallen

Grace or faith – beware multiple thoughts induce confusion

Stars in the skies shall erase the glooms of illusions

My heart’s unrest temporarily sedated

Bidden welcome by my beloved music

Reminds me of Him albeit the ancient promise of delusions

A believer could not wander around with faith so delusive

Fragmented between devotion and music

Could music really steal away devotion?

Devotion is parentless in a poor assessment

You are either a devoted believer in worshipping God or His music

I am a worshipper of God – music lies among my rituals

Would I be a hypocrite to give in to the enchantment of his creation?

I am a creature in love with another creature

Together we prostrate sublimely to our Creator

A Sufi combines no love of any creature with the Most Gracious

Music is one way to mercy which He offers ardently spacious

My heart is a wonderland in a human box

You’d see midgets and giants racing or in harmony

Constantly rides a carousel of emotions and careless whispers

Don’t chuckle at my strife – yours next I see coming from a short distance

Violin stick plays upon my heart thousand melodies of pain

You may hear them from a distance shedding mayhems

Don’t be fooled by my grizzly chanting

Humming is what plays in the background

Affirming failure or perhaps handing a tourniquet to the bleeding poet  

Humming sounds like drumming of warfare waits to breakout

Alien troops marching to the land long peace-deprived

No … No … No

Cast out those monstrous fears – soon to eat your conscience alive

Dance along with the wolves in the pitch darkness of your nights

Clutch at a straw when the waves of the crazy ocean reach their highs

Float in space with your music until your soul lands peacefully in the Most Gracious’s skies

May K.

P.S. preferably read while listening to this tune