-upon my head and my eyes, my beloved!
busy. life grows. listening to enshad.net remixes. this netcafe turns between soft rock and hard rap. news: muntaka to [RevivingTheIslamicSpirit]; and thomas de grenwode is become an oxford scholar, all must now approach him for his erudite opinions on modern history and politics (cough).
thought: i am so far remov'ed from life in north amerika. i remember people, i have memories and images and ideas, but so far as perceptions of actual scenarios of the way people live and the way they interact, i find even the thoughts foreign and alien. people know so little. "having a son in syria must be nerve-wracking": how? why? explain something of this to me?
nearly broke my kopf today, falling out of a bus. but there are probably more stabbings and stalkings in edmonton than there are in damascus (eight percent of all statistics are based on speculation and fifty-six percent of these are false). it's been nearly four months.
{
edited.for.foreign.ers--
\\these wounds of our grief
witnessed my genesis
nourished a seed, while
seeds of hope, clung, trials
and quiet joy, stirring in
darkness, fell, the fullness
of the plough, severed
my last tract to
pre-death, called
the baseline of belief into
my newborn ear.
snow-blossoms distinct as i
constructed memory.
thoughts forming words, and
suddenly shards of hyper-action
sifting ashes of land--tracts
bordering dream-saplings, nurtured
a spring breeze.
kinetic motion
the living firmament
shifted, through the
numbers limiting stories
the second storey: a
flight of whitewashed
marble, before four o'clock
glory. Foreign call
ings followed, an in
culcation of dowries, before
secret whispers of permission--
must have winced,
must have smiled,
consciously stood upright.
another
responding, even while i harboured
such imaginate, silent posturing:
i wrought this soul--annually the
truths analogued economy,
john maynard keynes, treading out
suitable forms.
eve and adam fell,
the sudden dole of hell,
consequent echoes this knell:
effect and tandem du'a,
sown salt in our
fields of mercy.
thirsty furrows yearn
for turquoise monsoon,
the emerald fosters its own
shadow. embers of fatality
generation tracing linkage
but the immediate trinkets' heredity:
which vanished cry
drifted and sank the
barrage? retrospect is wry,
confirming, dry, even as
spirit responds--
God is Most High
--impatience twists visage:
too much given form,
self working to make self a
bide in pompous palaces ha
rshly inlaid--all of glass,
complex of division and lack
attempting proof to all and legion.
words following all, words of
and excess
i was my own court, my own
barracks--and each recall of the theme
swung through the complex peach-orchards
on that ferocity. moonlight waned
the sickle cycled onward. that mantle
assumed with such rapidity
i made light of it, plucking
the sting of sour olives.
in daylight. the silence though became innate
chasms separating my physical organs
from their place in time.
historicity does not demand every
intake of false breath. explicity
would cause this shroud
to remain nameless.
a haze over the moor, but yields immediate
suspended effect of a thousand sincere night-cries
and quiet, gradual, removal
the peach-orchards grew sabbarah cacti
entering the blessed month
which bore millenia-fruit
late in their season.
this i cannot explain
except by dogma--philosophy
is the idle chatter
of insincere poets.
i do not claim
the completion of the Kingdom
or its inward contemplation
thought: joyful words are sacrilege
if the image is not false through
and ibn qayyim said
and that what i have watched grow
thought: prophet of doom and repetition
this picture is the narrative
