and then our exile

i've begun. hurrah, i am so proud.
it's also something like eight months down the road. better late than never, hm? i'm exuding hope, it's that late in the season. autumn madness.

[this] is a photopoem circlet.

per week: fiqh three times, hadith two times, bukhari dars once, 'ilmu'l-qalb twice, tajweed once, englisch teaching/tutoring three or four times, and the rest? is a grande party made of [this]. somehow i lost the arabic in there, i'll find it someday.

--

the slime of all my yesterdays
rots in the hollow of my skull

and if my stomach would contract
because of some explicable phenomenon
such as pregnancy or constipation

I would not remember you

or that because of sleep
infrequent as a moon of greencheese
that because of food
nourishing as violet leaves
that because of these

and in a few fatal yards of grass
in a few spaces of sky and treetops

a future was lost yesterday
as easily and irretrievably
as a tennis ball at twilight
--april 18, sylvia plath