a quiet meditation

one

The first syllable is always the hardest to utter.

After that, the ease at which my thoughts ebb and flow into words amazes even my own ears.

The cadence of my words, matching the rhythm of my heart, capture a song all too perfect to sing.

And in my own recollections and reminiscings, I catch a stray tear gently escaping.

These poor eyes; they betray me.

As humble bystanders, they have witnessed all my miseries and sorrows.

Observed my vices, and follies

Without an ounce of pious disposition.

Yet this very second, as my untamed tongue laments and confesses,

I could feel the pity of their gaze.

Had I executed the perfect decisions, and dodged all failures and rejections, would they be in awe?

Would my tongue orate words of praise?

Would the bass in my heart flutter instead?

Would my stomach churn only in hunger and excitement?

Indeed, this song is beautiful.

But it is far too sorrowful and sad.

A requiem for my indolent disposition.

two

I think we're alone.

Those small incisions that make a thousand cuts upon the heart.

Like when we lost Halima. May God shower mercy upon her.

And those slow tints that turn the eyes hopelessly dim.

Like when we lost Yasin. May God shower mercy upon him.

And their slow trance upon our broken dispositions.

With their ochestra of sorrow, grief and pain eternal.

With which we lose the enigma of our spirits.

And the decadence of our tenderness and love.

As we sow the seeds of our grief, and irrigate the soils with our tears

We hope to reap the fruits of eternal love and happiness.

And on that fruitful tree, upon its fruitful branches,

To regain what we have lost.

And remedy the source of all ephemeral pain and misery.