In poverty stands he firm with eyes
On heaven’s door; his gaze implies
A comfort held; his smile bright sceptre
The creation of his protector.
On a makeshift counter there lie
Wares arrayed; like the old Sinai
He bares the rush of feet and stares;
A life he keeps, death to forswear.
Near, voices perceived, but only
To Marzuq dances that, which lone
He catches from the grass and walls
That surround his mind enthralled:
Says the pavement, and the packet,
Sing the fibres in a jacket,
Chant the cells in every vein
That do mimic drops of rain.
Chirps the blackbird in the tree
And the tiny skittish flea,
From the Cirrus in the sky,
To the moon that watches high
As the voice of every object
Cries His name with deep respect.
“Allah”
© Edward Beaman-Hodgkiss
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
This is beautifully written. Thank you.
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