The Wheel: Poem by Nimah Ismail Nawwab

The wheel’s turning

shadows love, lust, passions of this world

as it moves in a kaleidoscope of tumbling shards

the illuminated soul

glistens within the circle of existence

as the music of the other realm

unheard and unseen by others

fills the soul with unbound  joy

The empty threshold of this momentary station

is for once filled with golden lights

converging for once, converging

converging

The spokes of the wheel

lie at rest

the merging lights run off shaded shadows

and the circle is complete

is complete.

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From Canvas of the Soul: Mystic Poems from the Heartland of Arabia, Tughra Books 2012

www.nimahnawwab.org

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Winter Scene, a Poem by Daniel ‘Abdal-Hayy Moore

WINTER NIGHT IMAGE

Cold winter night blue snow crust on the ground
colors bleached out to only a few from the usual spectrum

even multicolored things in black and white now
palladiums of xylophone ice cabinets in a near dimension suspended

just above ground level played on by angels using
devilish mallets to make long low echoing plongs of sound

reverberate among skeletal trees housing the few birds
left in their snow coats trying to snooze heads deeply

buried in wing-pits like tight
feather balls for a sport frozen in space the pitch

suddenly stopped in midair until spring thaw
when all will float freely in space again against

flittering green backdrops and uncoiling scarlet splashes and
a soft golden ubiquitous light even in the middle of the night

it seems with earth’s blood flow pulsing so
youthfully again through the vision screen

and everything again like a golden
ocean in motion with all its leaping arcs and arches

not like the
present suspended animation of the silvery ice-world held in the

center of planetary star-space like a single round teardrop frozen on its
sad descent to nowhere from no particular

origination to no clear destination but dear God’s good
pleasure through all His various weathers rapidly

shifting from hot to cold and
back again in our

hearts
______________________________________________________
1/7/2001 (from Blood Songs, The Ecstatic Exchange, 2012)

Abdal Hayy bio pic

This poem was posted on AH Moore’s blog on Jan 7 2014, during the rather poetically named Polar Vortex that has plunged temperatures on the East Coast down to unimaginable lows – and this poem was written on the same day 13 years ago. As AH Moore added, ‘prayers for the indigent and the needy’ during these freezing times! AH Moore will be giving our first talk and performance on the subject of Sufi poetry at the April Zende Creative Retreat, as well as being our general all-round Zende zeitgeist and talisman.

 

Around Me Grew A Secret

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On a bus stop bench today
opposite Crystal Palace park
a sphere of silver appeared
and passing buses warped
the metal melted, ads peeled off
bystanders blasted, eyebrows singed
the trees flashed sauna-hot
a curve of grey and drizzle lifted
I hid my laughter that
nobody seemed to notice and
the orb of clutter-thoughts
that dangle round my head
like strips of ripped skirt tied to branches
vanished. Oh! How they’d obscured the view!
Now it is clear those shabby tokens,
gifts given in hope of something else,
could never reach the Giver.
He does not do cupboard love, a
worship born of wanting –
‘Take this time of mine but
give me what I wish for,
with all due respect. No, not that one –
I said I wanted it in red!’
But on the bus stop bench
around me grew a secret:
This is always here
while we in earth robes walk
as though we’re mountains.
This is always here.
Once you’ve been shown it
you cannot unknow it.
This is always here.

Medina Tenour Whiteman, Jan 2013

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