Poets are born with fire in their mouth; love like this can either light up the skies or burn you to the ground with no evidence. Like a wolf howling at the moon, us poets speak of love like we invented it. Let me choose: I can’t decide if I want to be the moon or the wolf. On a full moon night, climb to the highest hill and howl through the night: or be the moon that made an appearance casting a blushing white light. Every night our fate meets to conspire the day I hold your hand. ‘Ah ya qalbi, how the timing needs to be right!
It’s raining outside and it’s a shame that the sun has to stay hidden just so the skies can demand attention.
And as I sit here and look at the clouds and rolling green plains, I thought, what amazing luck I have for the world conspired and created such wonderful things and given me the eyes to see them
Beautiful hues of pink and yellow seeping through your pores, you astonish me with shades of gold. Purple and blue slide from the corner of your eyes, watching you at all the right times. Like a glazed fire; you look grand to the high skies. Even if it’s brief for a few moments of glory, only to fall below the horizon down. So far, you can only fly to it and you are so close, you could fly to it.