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In your words,
I find cure.
By your look,
My soul enlivens.
O You Who dwells in my hearts.
O friend! A friend, truly, are you
To have noticed my iron legs,
And not the rotten part; the host of flies.
How pleasant was the fragrance
Which you thought to be that of buoyance?

O friend! A friend, truly, are you
To have noticed my tears in the rain.
Ah! You did not see at all,
For my tears was the rain.

O friend! A friend, truly, are you
To neglect my presence before came the sun:
When I was trying to kindle my candle,
But comprehend my presence when the sun rose.

O friend! Was it the scars on my shadow you saw
Or the shadows of my scar?
Whichever, both were mine.
Or did you not see at all?
A friend, truly, are you then.

By Abdulmalik Jibril
They said every sun that set will surely raise,
And in-between is but time.
What if I rest and never raise,
But you awoke to the sunshine,
Will you bring me the sun where I lie?
Will you hug yourself to comfort me with your smile?

If tomorrow comes, o friend
And you awoke before I do,
Will you wake me up
And give me from your meal?
Will you be my friend still
Or you will unveil what I feel to be real?
If it rains on your farm before mine,
Dear friend, do not forget
That we first watered the soil with our sweat
And through the thick and thin of life,
We dared nature with a smile.

Tell me, o friend. Tell me.
If things never get right and fine,
Will you still be by my side?

By Abdulmalik Jibril
How long will it take me to tell you
Stories of the three group of eight prisoners
And how my mind left me for you.
For I'm lost,
Hoping to find myself when you find me.
If only you truly look —with care.
I hope never is not far from here,
For I know forever is nowhere near.

How long will it take you to tell me?
That you hear how my heart beats in pair:
With you and for you.
And the thousand and one words in my silence
Hoping that you truly listen —with care.
Maybe, or maybe not,
Someday I will dare take a step.
I hope forever is somewhere near,
For I know never is far from here.

I can only hope, my dear.
Who am I to dare
And what do you even care?

©JIBRIL ABDULMALIK
Sing me not songs of stars,
Bring your ears to my breast,
You will hear the songs of my heart.
Not just of the moon and sun,
But those of the universe.

Bring me not flowers
Nor butterflies.
Exalt my presence
For you are rose — most pleasant
And you are my butterfly — more elegant.

Take me not to places worth milk and honey,
Take me to your heart
The deepest and calmest part
Let me rest there
Under its gracious sky
With you beside me,
Gazing at the inner beauty of you.
For no treasure is beyond there.

©ABDULMALIK JIBRIL
If you think of me,
you shall find me.
But when your eyes rain,
know that it brings me pain.
For your tears may curse the land and leave it barren.

As you think of me, so am I.
Think me gone, gone I shall be.
So think not of me gone;
know that I live.
I only left the body.
I left once to live forever.
For I am not the body, but the soul.

There is a thin line between both lanes.
I shall await you where the line ends.

Jibril, Abdulmalik ©2019
I thought of love,
then I lost myself.
For I found it
beyond my knowingness.

Again, in my lost self,
I thought of love
and love found me.
Then it became of me,
as I, of it.
Now, love is me and I am love.

—JIBRIL ABDULMALIK ©2019
Teach man an alphabet
and he may think
he already knows scriptures
Teach him scriptures
and he may think
he already knows the secret of the universe
Show him the secret of the universe
and he may think himself equal to God
Show him the way how
and he may depart from you
and differ in route.

— Jibril Abdulmalik ©2019
When I begin writing a poem,
the tears, blood and sweat of  the innocent become my ink
and the bones become my pen.

When I begin writing a poem,
the voiceless become my thoughts and I become the words of the voiceless.

When I begin writing a poem,
I only stop when I find no more pen,
for the bones are gone to the soil ben
And when there's no more ink,
for the tears, blood and sweat are dried up when there's no more heat

When I begin writing a poem,
beyond myself do I think,
till every line makes a sense
and the message is clear and felt.

By Jibril Abdulmalik ©2019
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