Shining upon the rose,
lovely, the sun rises
over the midday sky.
Without a second thought,
the brightest one steps forward,
bends an ear to the ground.
The Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH)
wife was waiting.
He was walking his way home.
Maybe—or maybe not—
one revives from the death-sleep of night.
But hearing the sound
of the beloved’s foot returning,
one cannot die.
The blessed lady heard
the sound of a foot,
and was sure it was his:
“This is it—it’s the man, it’s him!
He is coming home.”
The sun is walking toward the rose;
it will show up
in no time.
Ah—but only to discover:
it was Fathima walking
to her father’s home!
She—a woman—
had the foot sound of the man,
the greatest of all!
The very one no other could imitate—
for he was the masculine original.
Because from the one,
the same circle came
the man and the woman—
maybe with a little gap,
spilling infinite pi decimals,
new days and new nights.
Still, all is but the show
of the one Moon and the one Sun.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
Shining upon the rose,
lovely, the sun rises
over the midday sky.
Without a second thought,
the brightest one steps forward,
bends an ear to the ground.
The Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH)
wife was waiting.
He was walking his way home.
Maybe—or maybe not—
one revives from the death-sleep of night.
But hearing the sound
of the beloved’s foot returning,
one cannot die.
The blessed lady heard
the sound of a foot,
and was sure it was his:
“This is it—it’s the man, it’s him!
He is coming home.”
The sun is walking toward the rose;
it will show up
in no time.
Ah—but only to discover:
it was Fathima walking
to her father’s home!
She—a woman—
had the foot sound of the man,
the greatest of all!
The very one no other could imitate—
for he was the masculine original.
Because from the one,
the same circle came
the man and the woman—
maybe with a little gap,
spilling infinite pi decimals,
new days and new nights.
Still, all is but the show
of the one Moon and the one Sun.