Bismillah! The buds now burst into hues unimaginable;
Flowery nerves fattening up by the blessing of our Lord.
Wondrous things to perform; not on stage, not on stand
But in nooks of cooler sand; the plant now whorls
Into our worlds, waltzing to the poet's carts - Shakespeare carts -
We're all poets at the heart - lug them up the dusty path.
The clouds must hold our pain till we've reached home!
To the sun's veil we cling, slipping to the evening again.
Bismillah! What better rhyme can I offer than this?
In all things of nature, God's signs are seen.
In dark, in murk, in light, in grace, in every space
That you hold to yourself from me and the rest.
But we dwell together in this Earth as brothers and sisters...
Here's a rose for the sweetest, the pious and mildest
That sprang from the soil of a poet's heart.
I might as well repeat the round: we're all poets at the heart.
Bismillah! Come child, sit with me and pray
For your mother, father, brother, sister and friend
Who love you more than you hope they do!
They kneel in humility and pray for you
Every day, when you step into the impulsive world
Raise that head that springs from you and look,
Look at all those things around, and roll your eyes round and round
At sky, at sea, at grass, at bee (don't go very near the bee)!
Photo by Taylor Miles