Wild wishes, too high for worldly tries,
Celestial glows that do not fit into time
        and place,
  Lost love's tormented hopes and cries,
Come with fresh face at my dooryard.

   Wild wishes, desires that cannot be quenched
         in poor world's weak  arms,
Joys treading my footsteps  from Heaven
         above,
    All my loves long ago, my sweet heart-felt
         urges,
  Of all I ever seek, of all I ever wanted in heart,
Beckon to lead me to Higher Houses of
        content.

  Wild wishes, her face, her eyes, and the love I
        have for her,
Feelings I cannot put aside  no matter what,
  The deep-felt dream of uniting with her in
         truth,
She comes to me riding high on Wild Wishes
        for my  hand!

    -by Hakim H. Kassim.

Wild wishes, too high for worldly tries,
  Celestial glows that do not fit into Time
          and Place,
Lost love's tormented hopes and  cries,
  Come with fresh face at my dooryard.

Wild wishes, desires  that cannot be
         quenched in poor world's weak
             arms,
  Joys treading my footsteps from Heaven
        above,
  All my loves long ago, my sweet
        heart-felt urges,
Of all I ever seek, of all I ever wanted
         in heart,
Beckon to lead me to Higher Houses of
         content.

  Wild wishes, her face, her eyes, and the
         love I have for her,
FeelingsI cannot put aside no matter
       what,
The deep-felt dream of uniting with her
        in truth,
She comes to me riding high on Wild
       Wishes for my hand!

This is what happens
    when your own past--
Twisting and turning
    with you at some
       midnight hour-
  Becomes you, all over
      again at once all too
          fast,
Overlapping you, heart
     and soul, strenuous
         in power;
   Precious memories
     posted in
       unchartered future;
Each note of thought
    wearily clings, too
       often
  But a scene with  
      yourself, demanding
             an answer,
Yet within past  content,
     drifting you to
       give-in, just to soften
  The unintelligent trail,
       past wishes revived
           in ardor:
For, without the pain of
     the past, can there be
         future?

            
                     -by
           Hakim H. Kassim.
          (d. March 25, 2024)

This is what happens when your own
         past--
Twisting and turning with you at some
         midnight hour-
  Becomes you, all over again at once,
          all too fast,
Overlapping you,  heart and soul,
          strenuous in power;
   Precious memories posted in
             unchartered  future;
Each note of thought  wearily clings, too
          often
  But a scene with  yourself,  demanding
             an answer,
Yet within past  content, drifting you to
              give-in, just to soften
  The unintelligent trail, past wishes
        revived in ardor:
For, without the pain of the past, can
        there be future?

            
                     -by
        HAKI. H. KASSIM.
        (d. March 25, 2024)

This is what happens when your own
         past--
Twisting and turning with you at some
         midnight hour-
  Becomes you, all over again at once,
          all too fast,
Overlapping you,  heart and soul,
          strenuous in power;
   Precious memories posted in
             unchartered  future;
Each note of thought  wearily clings, too
          often
  But a scene with  yourself,  demanding
             an answer,
Yet within past  content, drifting you to
              give-in, just to soften
  The unintelligent trail, past wishes
        revived in ardor:
For, without the pain of the past, can
        there be future?

            
                            -by Hakim H. Kassim.
                             (d. March 25, 2024)

This is what happens
    when your own past--
Twisting and turning
    with you at some
         midnight hour-
  Becomes you, all over
      again at once, all too
          fast,
Overlapping you, heart
      and soul, strenuous
         in power;
   Precious memories
      posted in
       unchartered future;
Each note of thought
     wearily clings, too
        often
  But a scene with  
     yourself, demanding
          an answer,
Yet within past  content,  
    drifting you togive-in,
       just to soften
  The unintelligent trail,
      past wishes revived
         in ardor:
For, without the pain of
     the past, can there be
        future?

            
                -by
        Hakim H. Kassim.
       (d. March 25, 2024)

This is what happens
      when your own
         past--
Twisting and turning
      with you at some
         midnight hour-
  Becomes you, all
      over again at once,
          all too fast,
Overlapping you,
       heart and soul,
          strenuous in
              power;
   Precious memories
          posted to
             unchartered
                future;
Each note of thought
      wearily clings, too
          often
  But a scene with
       yourself,
          demanding
             an answer,
Yet within past
       content, drifting
           you to
              give-in, just to
                soften
  The unintelligible
     trail, past wishes
        revived in ardor: For, without the pain
     of the past, can
        there be future?

            
                    -by
        Hakim H. Kassim.
      (d. March 25, 2024)

'Yet in the Dark!'
    Yet in the dark,
       alone in the dark!
There I hear the loud
     lonely bark
From hopes gone
    with many years,
Yesterday's passions
    dead with heavy
       tears;
The high-held dreams,
     long wont to roam--
The noisy joys that
     were my own--
Yet now I only see
     them there when
         alone
In the dark, in
     silence to moan,
And weak in word,
     yet high in heart,
Explain to the young
     boy I once was
        and now apart,
The tumult of time,
     the shade of years،
The unforgiving
     passage and of
       unshed tears!

"Je pense donc je
        suis."
         -Descartes, 1637

You'll never know,
Though forever
         wonder

Of the day of your
         feast!
It's an unknown
         moment

In the long annals
Of the Universe's
         clock;

And you blame
          things--
People, places,
         principles,

For not giving you
        enough,
Or not giving you at
        all.

In fact, you're to
       blame:
The sheep with the
    scar,

Cleaning out with
   naive acts
What might have
   been of use to you;

Your mind and body
   fight,
Fight, because that's
   all they do,

That's all they CAN
   know!
Ah, such Cartesian
   discovery:

One set against the
   other,
Without end or
   result;

For evermore, like
   ebb and flow;
Day and night, up
   and down.

Was Jesus the
   solving synthesis--
Sprite or Spirit? He
  came and left--sole
        individual!

Dualism yet persists,
   as before:
Keep reigning as
  King in your 'mind,'

Though to 'matter'
   you're
One among six
  billion hapless faces!
 
  -by Hakim Kassim.
  (d. November, 1988)