.. Of Yards of Soul


Measuring yards of Life
coming apart,
at the seams of my creviced soul,
I sit every dawn with a needle and thread it,
with the veins of my spinning heart. Stitching with knotted yarn.
Sewing on fragile fabric;
I raise my eyes in-between every stitch; 
and spy on the night
to count each conspiring star.


Like the studded clear-crystals
on my black velvet Prayer-Mat —
every shuddering star
upon the ‘Fajr’ sky,
stare back at me and pity my eyes.
Only to deliver
to the listening ears of His firmament,
my mute sighs ..
Of how frayed
the garb of life has become.
Of how loose
the thread at its seams have grown..
So He may bestow upon my soul
His ‘Noor’ —
in the form of a white veil,
a cloak,
a wrap,
.. or even a shroud,
just thick enough..
to contain these oozing breaths —
whispering your name in silence —
from fleeing
through my old tattered being!

~ IZ ~

* Fajr – time of dawn. * Noor –  light.