.بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
You’ve got fissures on your skin —
where tears have been;
Red eyes, and aged nights, roaming, spent
unslept. Finite time, spent:
Looking, face-to-face, with a being
In the mirror whom you can’t quite seem to fully understand:
‘Grasp‘, just yet.
The glass breaks; they come together to reflect some new panoply of disjointed
thoughts. A mess. Pull yourself together. You tried, didn’t you, to build your armour; protect, like a [wo]man, what lies within:
You sought to ‘perfect‘ it; bring it together, and ‘fix’ it. Sands slip
from between your fingers. Fragile
[This is your first time doing this: existing and all, isn’t it? Mine too. Everyone’s, always.]
Not even if you tried. You reckon: your eyes look ‘pretty’, finally, at least once you’ve lined them with
Black ink: bold, and ‘barely noticeable’. Written over those lines with these new-crafted words, which may make more ‘sense‘
To those who might be looking on. From far away, craters, fears, mishaps, Slip-
Ups and all: can scarcely be seen. Comprehended; known, and understood. Still:
Impressions of ‘perfection’: green, and healthful petals, unmarred:
at long last,
finally. Carved out ‘for others’ eyes’, until
you come home, and wipe it all away; see your face bare. Stark, in lighting that will not let those parts of you hide. Again.
Look closer: know that it is the difference between plastic, and real. Alive, and, what a shame: what is not, really. Still. Entirely dependent, your entirety is, and not at all yet Home.
Parts that speak of growth; what a wonder, almost ever-present. Afraid, human, and deficient
in this, or in that, at various times. For things like love, and/or for considerations that resemble the beginnings of life, again: water. You called out for help.
Yellowed leaves, here and there, and roots that are known to simply absorb the things that they are told. Again, a bud or two fails to grow —
and autumn rolls around once more; things are torn
Apart, and some flowers, we find, do fall;
Then some come to be again,
Sprout through, un-shrouded, once mysteries, and as
if for the
Things happen, cyclical.
How much of it all goes unsaid, unseen: at times, you may have managed to convince yourself that you are ‘alone’ in this.
You are a being who has known the deepest blues of midnight: alone, alone, alone, and scarcely ever… ‘good enough‘. [What does it take, to be so?]
Enough. Yes, you’ve known things that could not quite be spoken or ‘explained away’;
This ‘being’ thing. Human: you will find that there are so many depths to this. Mess, pain, and desolation: comfort, surprises, joy,
And the rest.
Your being itself [even though you have finalised, in your mind, that you are forever ‘too _______’ and never quite ‘________ enough’:]
You’re a living, breathing, thinking, feeling: miracle of the Almighty. Do not forget.
With hope and love upon your skin,
In place of where fear and grief have often been. For:
What you know, and what you don’t know: He always does. You, reading this, have been
Created in the best of forms [Qur’an, (95:4)] and by the Best of Creators [23:14]. Every single piece of you has been quite intentional.