An ode to being Human

When the pen reunites with the blank plain

When the forehead meets once more the floor

All decree is set,

Yet my heart yearns for something more.

My heart — a museum of past pains

Tainted by all that cannot be changed

For all that my heart feels, holds but cannot convey

I am nothing, but a stale piece of clay

A beating flesh of only flaws

I continue to fall, continue to forget

Mistakes, short-comings and all

For how much longer till I find my embrace?

When the soul finds a release,

The mind an outlet, an escape

Only then — I am free.

When I call out to you, ya Allah

Only then, I am free.