Photo: Jason Mrachina

By Zaheen Uddin

Sitting here, waiting, waiting for epiphany to strike.

Thinking in reflection, sinking in perplexion

Mind winds up, thoughts line up, time winds down understanding hikes

Sensation is in elation, reverberation in air particles’ perception

Suddenly everything is in slow motion.

Because logic, reasoning and problem-solving ability

Are clearer than a summer sky that knows no notion

Of a straggling cloud in the celestial sea of tranquility

Abstract materializes, realizes the vices

Of the hidden within that were veiled before

Synesthesia of the mind makes sounds dance in colorful silence

Violet vox, turquoise trills, lavender lore

Black and white are dark as the day, bright as the night

When shadows are cast behind and the eye of the night outshines the rest

And dark distinguishes danger from delight

With an inner eye that foresees beyond light of the West

Because the evanescent sun extracts the last tracks of day

In between gone and here it is a phantasmagoric sphere

Giving a clear criterion of what is on land and what remains at bay

Beyond which an unconscious ocean is near, so clear

Pristine it appears, but here, not a ray of light shines down

Complex in its contents, deep in darkness

Creatures deep within it are fatefully bound

By the confines of the abysmal harness

Deeper and deeper I plunge within

Pressure strengthens as complex composition concentrates

Steeper and steeper I delve into sin

Wetter, better yet more fettered as it palpitates

Blind now, deaf of sound and unable to comprehend

Light seems impossible in a place where hope dies

Empty, yet so heavy, there seems to be no end

To the evil, the deception, the ineptness, the lies

I crawl myself out with no known avail

It’s too damp and too dark to try

If only I had never set out to subconsciously sail!

At this point it’s so damp I can’t even cry

Too much thinking, too deep, abstract

The window of opportunity is long past gone

I’m lost, I lost black, I’m trapped

The perceptive lights that were once bright are no longer on.

I close my eyes to my impending doom.

I give up, forfeit, let the tides take me

Out of the ocean, out of the sky I zoom

Into the singularity of my soul, and it breaks me.

Silence, solitude, severance and sadness

Nothing, null, nada, naked

I’m left alone in the centroid of madness

Rotten, forgotten, hated, forsaken.

“Awaken,”  I hear a voiceless voice say

Within me, around me, surrounds me, intimately

Eyes flash open, body is frozen; I lay

On the bay. I once was in close proximity, infinitely

Ecstatic, erratic, emphatic tears wet my face

Once drier than the most monochromatic and mundane

Who brought me here, where was that place?

And how did I get back to the higher plane?

I knew the answer, yet I didn’t.

Closer to me than my jugular vein,

I felt my pulse, it beat to the rhythm

Of the universe’s call inside the walls of my brain.

Within me, about me, without me, intricately

Designing and planning a masterful plan

Refining and aligning, as I am so insolently

Denying, lying, and crying towards my hands

“Truth was made clear and falsification has left,”

Said once a noble amongst mankind

And the same I say after once being bereft

Of the blessing that was graced by the divine.

That man, that mercy, that messenger, that martyr,

Was a part of my heart, from end, from start

I remember his message, from a life that was harder

Than the toils upon which any one of us embark.

His message was this:  “Whatever is willed is never to miss

And whatever misses you was never to hit.”

And “Glad tidings to the righteous of perpetual bliss”,

And “Whatever wrong is against your soul, and good is merit.”

I remember this, and the ember’s hiss also known as desire

Dies down until the illumination of what surrounds

Stops flashing about and what was once furious fire

Is now doused by the waters to douse what’s aroused

Arise from the mist, determined, clenched fist

I realize my purpose in earnest and my wish

And the voice that was voiceless yet I so dearly missed…

Was one I always knew, true as the sea’s blue; I know this.

It wasn’t far, it was always near.

I just couldn’t hear, with my fingers in my ears

So close, so great, so compassionate, so dear

In my darkest moments, do You truly appear.

And so I want to remember You

Wherever I am, if I’m planning a plan You are planning too

With love unmatched I cry tears true

Because of fear, love, trust and weakness of man

You are the Friend I never knew

But always there, for eternity

No matter how dark it is, I can still see You

God, my God, you are always sought internally

Today though… everywhere…

will I look for You.

Note: The post was written a few months before traveling for Umrah. Alhamdulillah, having now completed the journey, I cannot emphasize enough how important preparation is to the journey. To remove oneself from the dunya (worldy life)and prepare for what lies ahead is essential. What will you say to your Lord and His messenger ﷺ (peace be upon him) when you visit them in the blessed cities?

My eyes have not seen anyone more magnificent than you

No woman has borne such perfection

You were created free from all deficiencies

It is as though you were created as you wished

[Hassaan ibn Thaabit]

.

From jaahily (pre-Islam period in Mecca) poetry to country odes, nursery rhymes to modern day rap, poetry has long possessed a mystical hold over society. Sitting at the height of literary excellence, its subtle words and rhythmic beats engage the deepest emotions of the reader, moving them to live the words recited.

.

“Logic and grammar are important. But for students to truly own the English language, they need to read and write poems.”

[Dorothea Lasky]

.

Islam has a rich tradition of poetry, and no topic has drawn more attention than the love of the Prophet ﷺ. For centuries, scholars and lovers have written words dedicated to their beloved Messenger ﷺ. Poems such as Hasaan ibn Thabit’s verses (above) and the Burda (The Adoned Mantle) sit eternally in the hearts of Muslims as epitomes of love for the Messenger ﷺ.

.

I do not claim to be a poet. When compared to these greats, my words are meaningless. However, my intention to go on ‘umrah next month has inspired me to follow in their footsteps, dedicating a few words to read them to my beloved Prophet ﷺ at his tomb. Perhaps Allah will place blessing in these words and grant me the honour of a true vision of the Prophet ﷺ and his companions. Ameen.

The poem reflects the life (seerah) of the Prophet ﷺ and how it bears on our own. Many of us claim that if we were with him ﷺ, we would have been of the foremost to protect him. We say we love him ﷺ yet few of us have seen him or know what he looks like. So often the Prophet ﷺ and Islam are slandered and we do nothing to educate people about him. We profess that we would seek his ﷺ company had we been contemporaries, yet we live in ignorance of our faith and ignore its inheritors ((Abu al-Darda’ (Allah be pleased with him) that the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him and give him peace) said:

“Scholars are the inheritors of the prophets.”

[Related by Tirmidhi, Abu Dawud, Nasa’i, Ibn Maja, Ahmad, Ibn Hibban, and others]

)) . We wish we were in his company yet we forego the gardens of paradise ((Ibn `Umar reported that the Prophet ﷺ said:

“When you pass by the gardens of Paradise, avail yourselves of them.” The Companions asked: “What are the gardens of Paradise, O Messenger of Allah?” He replied: “The circles of dhikr (remembrance of Allah). There are roaming angels of Allah who go about looking for the circles of dhikr, and when they find them they surround them closely.”

[Tirmidhi narrated it (hasan gharib) and Ahmad]

)) . As the companions (sahabah) famously said to the followers (tab`ieen – the generation which followed the companions):

“If we saw you at the time of the Prophet ﷺ, we would think you were hypocrites, and if you saw us at the time of the Prophet ﷺ, you would think we were mad men!” ((I heard this tradition orally and have sought to establish its source, although this statement is strengthened by the famous saying of the Prophet ﷺ in Bukhari “The best of generations is my generation, then those that follow them, then those that follow them.” I sight this phrase as a point of self-reflection, not to derive any ruling from it

One saying ascribed to Al-Hasan Al-Basri is:

 حَدَّثَنِي أَبِي ، قَالَ : ثنا إِبْرَاهِيمُ بْنُ مُحَمَّدِ بْنِ الْحَسَنِ ، قَالَ : ثنا أَبُو حُمَيْدٍ أَحْمَدُ بْنُ مُحَمَّدٍ الْحِمْصِيُّ ، قَالَ : ثنا يَحْيَى بْنُ سَعِيدٍ ، قَالَ : ثنا يَزِيدُ بْنُ عَطَاءٍ ، عَنْ عَلْقَمَةَ بْنِ مَرْثَدٍ ، قَالَ :

 ” انْتَهَى الزُّهْدُ إِلَى ثَمَانِيَةٍ مِنَ التَّابِعِينَ ، فَمِنْهُمُ الْحَسَنُ بْنُ أَبِي الْحَسَنِ ، فَمَا رَأَيْنَا أَحَدًا مِنَ النَّاسِ كَانَ أَطْوَلَ حَزَنًا مِنْهُ ، مَا كُنَّا نَرَاهُ إِلا أَنَّهُ حَدِيثُ عَهْدٍ بِمُصِيبَةٍ ، ثُمَّ قَالَ :

 ” نَضْحَكُ وَلا نَدْرِي ، لَعَلَّ اللَّهَ قَدِ اطَّلَعَ عَلَى بَعْضِ أَعْمَالِنَا ، فَقَالَ : لا أَقْبَلُ مِنْكُمْ شَيْئًا ، وَيْحَكَ يَا ابْنَ آدَمَ ، هَلْ لَكَ بِمُحَارَبَةِ اللَّهِ طَاقَةٌ ؟ إِنَّهُ مَنْ عَصَى اللَّهَ فَقَدْ حَارَبَهُ ، وَاللَّهِ لَقَدْ أَدْرَكْتُ سَبْعِينَ بَدْرِيًّا أَكْثَرُ لِبَاسِهِمُ الصُّوفُ ، وَلَوْ رَأَيْتُمُوهُمْ قُلْتُمْ : مَجَانِينُ ، وَلَوْ رَأَوْا خِيَارَكُمْ لَقَالُوا : مَا لِهَؤُلاءِ مِنْ خَلاقٍ ، وَلَوْ رَأَوْا شِرَارَكُمْ لَقَالُوا : مَا يُؤْمِنُ هَؤُلاءِ بِيَوْمِ الْحِسَابِ ، وَلَقَدْ رَأَيْتُ أَقْوَامًا كَانَتِ الدُّنْيَا أَهْوَنَ عَلَى أَحَدِهِمْ مِنَ التُّرَابِ تَحْتَ قَدَمَيْهِ ، وَلَقَدْ رَأَيْتُ أَقْوَامًا يَمْشِي أَحَدُهُمْ وَمَا يَجِدُ عِنْدَهُ إِلا قُوتًا ، فَيَقُولُ : لا أَجْعَلُ هَذَا كُلَّهُ فِي بَطْنِي ، لأَجْعَلَنَّ بَعْضَهُ لِلَّهِ عَزَّ وَجَلَّ فَيتَصَدَّقُ بِبَعْضِهِ ، وَإِنْ كَانَ هُوَ أَحْوَجَ مِمَّنْ يَتَصَدَّقُ بِهِ عَلَيْهِ

(حديث مقطوع)

[taken from http://www.islamweb.net/hadith/display_hbook.php?bk_no=628&pid=138420&hid=1838]

))

So how then does this bear on us who are so far astray from the path to Allah!

The words I write are a reflection on my own soul, my own hypocrisy and double standards. I claim to yearn for him ﷺ yet my actions speak differently. How do I greet the greatest human to walk this earth whilst I know what state my soul is in? Perhaps through these words Allah will grant me forgiveness, guidance, and sincerity to change the man I’m becoming to the man I wish to become.

—————————————–

What If

What if I met the Prophet ((The ﷺ is omitted to keep the poetic flow)) ,

And walked the path he walked.

I would be his shadow, follow every step,

And never let him go.

.

What if I heard the Prophet,

Speaking to friend and foe.

I would write and learn his every word,

And spread them across the globe.

.

What if I spoke to the Prophet,

And shared with him my thoughts.

I would live by every word he said,

Applying them one by one.

.

What if I stood with the Prophet,

Fighting against his foes.

I would protect him against every (s)word and (ar)row,

Of the tongue and of the bow.

.

What if I saw the Prophet,

Embracing me with his smile,

I would feel its glow shining through my life,

And forever be my guide.

.

So why now do I leave you, oh Prophet,

When true dreams remain for those who love.

If truly I ever loved you so,

The heart will find what it seeks.

.

While the sayings of yours, oh Prophet,

Like gems amongst the words,

Remain to guide us along the path,

Mina al-dhulumaati ila al-noor. ((from darknesses into the light; 33:43, 57:9, 65:11))

.

And your legacy remains, oh Prophet,

With the scholars left on earth.

Inheritors of prophetic wisdom,

Preside to lead us forward.

.

We abandoned you for profit,

Chasing what the world can give,

Forgetting that joy is found with you,

In God’s everlasting bliss.

.

Now I return to you, oh Prophet,

In this blessed city of light,

To pledge a change forever more,

And turn my face to God.

.

Peace and blessings to you, oh Prophet,

For time and ever more.

To you we owe the greatest debt,

For all that you have brought.

..

And your family and friends, oh Prophet,

Who showed us how to live,

They sought your love in all they did

To earn the love of God

.

By Muhammad Daniel

I was born from an act of idealism
To a world where ideals are sold

I looked for the way to be muslim
Got confused with what I was told

Each group claimed to be on the right path
Citing strong evidences to prove

But my heart found no peace with this conflict
So restless I started to move

From this one to that one I staggered
Nowhere did I seem to fit in

But in fear of the fire I kept searching
Wondering at the state we are in

Soon I grew tired of meetings
Of conferences, speeches and shows

I longed for some friends to be close to
As we lined up to pray in the rows

But the rows said salaam and dispersed
To the cultural lives whence they came

I went home to no group to be part of
Past the pubs looking warm in the rain

But Allah is my refuge my solace
He alone do I turn to to ask

That the muslims get out of their ghettos
To unite on their God-given task

And take in the wandering converts
For God surely will reward those

Who share the diamonds they’re hiding
In the peace of their family homes

Earlier this year, The Federation of Student Islamic Societies (FOSIS) launched the “Write a Revolution” competition as part of their SOS Syria project. The competition attracted submissions from writers across the globe. Entrants were asked to consider the words freedom, oppression, unity, justice and hope to write a short story or a poem in light of recent events in Syria. Below is the winning entry for the poetry competition.

By Syma Alam

         The humming of bullets thicken the air

         Death preys on the souls of innocent men

         Like a crazed grim wind it seeps everywhere

         Without knocking it enters, feasts again

            Our lips have been sealed but our eyes

                    Bleed, yearning for freedom and the right to

                    Speak. But those who feign deaf can’t hear the cries

            For rights to the pursuit of happiness

            Men flee to save their precious lives

            Lost lovers shed tears of grief

            Children from mothers, husbands from wives

            Yielding love in hope of relief

            But though their hearts choke with dismay

            A rising sun brings a new day.

                  And when I thought I saw her disappear

       She emerges from the men and children

               From the darkness, a light draws close and near

               She runs forth and into my arms again

      Holding her tight, inhaling her sweet smell

       Spinning with fair bliss, I failed to conceive

      The dark speck that tore as she moaned and fell

       My tears rolled, as she struggled to breathe

       Blades through my heart, I watched her die

       Red innocence spread out upon

       Her White clothes, Black hair, Green land, my

       Hands. She smiled. And then she was gone.

       Justice had died, I could not pretend

       But a rising sun will set in the end.

        A lifeless corpse, I stand alone

        A blind warrior, naked, weak

        Stripped from my sanity and prone

        To suffering, the days are bleak

        Watching the killing of thousands

        Of men, the piles of the bodies

        Guiltless and pure, laid on the sand

        Our homes invaded by armies

        But we have committed no crime

        But mourning cannot turn back time

        We must be patient, though there’s no place to stay

        As jannah (paradise) awaits us at the end of the day

        With honour, death I shall befriend

        A rising sun will set in the end.

 
Syma studied Islamic theology for a number of years before her A-levels and is now in her second year of Medicine at St George’s University of London. She is interested in teaching and occasionally writes, when time permits, as it allows her to reflect. She hopes to travel to the Middle East and acquire a deeper understanding of the Arabic language.

By Farah Abduz-Zahir

Rhythms primordial
soothing, inspiring, connecting
to some hidden electron’s
orbit.
In some inner recess
synapses dance
Listening. Smile plays on lips
Heart alight
chest heaves and inhales
blessed blessed air
made fragrant with the sounds
of this recitation
suspended in sound waves
that permeate every alveolar crevice
giving life
suffuses into blood and traverses the body
crossing the blood-brain barrier
entering the mind
in a thousand ways
every sense alive.
No trance.
But True Life.

What my breath and my being and my inside world was
created to receive
What those doors to the outside
rejoice to let through
The words of the Creator
my Beloved’s speech,
the kindest gentlest words
Envelopes and enlightens the humbled one
Standing through long nights

Blessed night of power.
Oh the stars tremble
and the Universe a tremor
Did you feel it?
That resonation with your heart strings?
– a Galaxial roar!
The Creator’s speech
came down, through seven heavens and beyond
One pure reality.
One perfect perfection.
My soul, one ranged in rank
of rank upon rank upon rank
and rank and file and more and more
all across the globe
This human kind
United to hear
Once more the speech of its Maker

‘Bala Shahidna‘!
‘We bear witness’!!
Now I remember…. now I recall.
– comes back from the recess of my memory
That was formed before a synapse in my brain
From before I was a drop of despised fluid
I said,
I bear witness.
No wonder the earth moved under my feet
for a split second
the time-space continuum breached
I would cry…but I am transfixed
My Lord, I have come
I am coming home.

My Lord, I recall now. I know my way
Life-amnesia has dissipated
some dense fog that gathered ground
since the day I was breathed in to the fetus
it has been settling.
Oh what loss, now I know
for a moment it moves aside
And I glimpse
Light upon Light
The Light of my home

That lamp is burning bright
In a book, on a pedestal
in words in my memorization
in script in decoration
in friends who speak it
in mother who teaches it
in an Ummah who lives it
In the Messenger who brought it – may God illuminate his soul!

A thousand veils of darkness I amassed about me
each moment of every hour I pay no attention
The human created weak and forgetful
I wallow in contrition,
yet,
Only strong knowing my weakness before you My Lord
Only honored knowing my humility before you My Lord
So I survive
this arduous journey
that will be gone in a blink of an eye
but never seems to end.

Haqq and Iqra
In the name of your Lord who Created

Home is calling
Home is calling
Listening, these words…calling me home, ah home is calling
peaceful place where I used to be… reminders of it emerge
like some beautiful phantom out of smog
and beckon me back.
Alif…Lam…Meem
Only you know my start and end my Lord
My Lord without start and without end. You are constant peace

Pure True Loving Light
Fount of Original Eternal Compassion
Oh back to You I want to fly
Back to where I belong

Whole again.

The words keep calling,
reminding, reminding, reminding.

By Musa Burki

As we rise in the morning

Our souls possess a yearning

To fill our hearts with spiritual light

Kneeling as a humble servant in His sight

The dawn rings out a peaceful solitude

Rising from our slumber to show gratitude

Revealed words which emanate from the heart

A beautiful ritual for our day to start

Standing before Him in all His glory

While He encompasses our entire life story

Pleading and begging for a measure of grace

As we wipe the tears from our face

Prostrating and bowing in complete humility

Desiring to feel the mercy and tranquility

Releasing our fears and anxiety

Increasing us in our level of piety

 
We feel the trembling of our soul as it’s shaken

As the wind and the sun begin to awaken

Completing our spiritual practice at the start of day

Asking for our Lord to light the way

A wonderful contentment rests in our spirit

Obeying the call to prayer as we hear it

Our day can now begin with clarity and peace

Hoping that our love for Him willincrease.

By Musa Burki

A time for our hearts to become unsealed

Reflecting on the divine words revealed

The month which we hope to never end

Unable to count the infinite blessings it sends

Asked by our Lord to give up our worldly pleasures

So that we may receive His divine treasures

It’s a time that comes but once a year

Yet the moments which we hold most dear

The nights spent in prayer and reflection

Prepares the soul for redemption

Praying to our Creator for mercy and wisdom

Pleading to be admitted into His kingdom

We welcome you, O Ramadan, with joy as our guest

Having to subdue our egos as a test

You mend our hearts and give us tranquility

As we engage in battling our iniquity

Solidifying the bonds of kith and kin

Washing away the stain of sin

Fasting not only of body but of speech

It is Your benevolence which we beseech

O Ramadan, you have blessed us with your presence

Teaching us to grow from our spiritual adolescence

Continue to be the month which will always bless

Helping us to alleviate our fears and distress

Upon my master, Mustafa,

Lord, send your perfect peace.

Send such a peace upon him that

My hardships are released.

Raise TaHa’s praise throughout the land

And grant his rank increase,

Then help me walk upon his way,

And guard me from caprice.

Upon my master, Abdullah,

Send mercy endlessly;

This prayer I make my shade that Day –

Accept, my God, this plea!

Fill me with love for Your belov’d,

From Hell that I be free:

Lovers are with whoso they love –

May Ahmad’s face I see!

Upon my master, Muhammad,

Send blessings most serene,

And on his fragrant family,

Whom You made pure and clean;

Bless his household as You blessed

Their father, Ibrahim –

For You, my Lord God, did declare:

Peace on the folk of YaSeen! ((Qur’an 37:130))

]]> https://www.virtualmosque.com/miscellaneous/poetry-fiction/send-blessings-most-serene/feed/ 7 22294 https://www.virtualmosque.com/miscellaneous/poetry-fiction/a-most-blessed-rooftop/ https://www.virtualmosque.com/miscellaneous/poetry-fiction/a-most-blessed-rooftop/#comments Fri, 15 Jun 2012 12:00:13 +0000 http://www.virtualmosque.com/?p=22022 By Yacoob Manjoo

This piece was inspired by my time in Madinah, on the rooftop of the Prophet Muhammad’s (peace be upon him) mosque, a few weeks prior to Hajj 2011.

I like rooftops because they are freedom.

As I write this, I’m seated on one.
No ordinary one, mind you;
but one in a city of immense peace;
on top of a building so blessed that only one other is greater.

Many people aren’t aware of rooftops.
They live their lives down below,
never thinking of how serene and peaceful the world above is.

It’s the same in this place:
hundreds of thousands come to this city,
to this building,
yet only a fraction venture up to this rooftop.

Down below, the crowds swell—
with new faces each and every day,
from places far and wide,
each with a culture,
a nationality,
a family,
a unique life story.

We meet each other—
all speaking different languages,
sometimes unable to communicate
other than in sign language—
yet our greeting is the same;
a universal greeting of peace—
taught to us by the Messenger of peace,
who established this
our community,
in this very place
some fourteen centuries ago.

He would be proud
to see his nation gathered here today—
such variety in colour, speech, and manner—
all committed to one way of life.

All here to visit him,
and honour his resting place—
the ground where he,
and the giants of his generation,
strove to build a society
based on justice,
peace,
and universal goodness—
recognised by every single soul—
whether they know it or not.

They walked this very earth
by day and night,
in wartime and during peace,
hardship and times of ease;
knowing that their time here was only temporary—
a short period of tests—
the results of which might determine
their home in the eternal realm.

And some were assured of their success;
yet still they struggled,
still they strove,
still they feared
that they weren’t living up to the lives expected of them.

Yet that generation
was the best of people raised up for mankind.

They enjoined what was good,
and forbade what was evil;
and,
they believed in One God.

But
our generation today
instead succumbs
to the cultural pollution
of nations that do not truly believe in their Creator.
For if they did,
their lives would reflect more justice,
God-consciousness,
and eagerness

to fulfil their responsibilities
as stewards of this Earth.

Yet in this blessed place,
this generation—
those who come to visit—
witnesses the way life should be.

We feel the tranquillity
of the way of life
we call our own.

We experience it first hand—
in ways we could never experience back home.

We feel rejuvenated
by this environment—
re-affirming our connection to our Creator,
the Owner of Peace,
the Master of all things—
both worldly and beyond human comprehension.

Grown men break down in tears—
begging their Lord for forgiveness,
and supplicating for all that they need in their lives,
and all that they desire in their existence.

Desperate pleas
with such sincerity—
both in private
and where others see them—
without inhibition,
for in those moments,
nobody else matters:
it’s just them and their Lord.

And so
this City of Peace
purifies the souls that visit;
washing away years,
decades,
and lifetimes of mistakes—
and giving hope that maybe,
just maybe,
when our journeys take us back home,
we’ll recapture the magic we felt here,
and live lives of peace, justice, and submission
to the One we owe everything to.

for my sweet sixteen

Gramps gave me

a gift

a sleek, red Benz

and I loved that red Benz so much

I went and

put It in my heart

I nurtured It in there

and found a home for It

right in the center

of my heart

I was so excited that I went

and told Gramps about my heart’s

new red infatuation

but for some strange reason

Gramps was disappointed

real disappointed

his blue eyes pierced with a sense of alarm

and he quietly advised

put that red Benz

where It belongs

your heart’s not big enough

to be clogged with

 such a big piece of junk

angered, I thought Gramps was being

an old, senile, nuisance

so I proudly showed him my heart

and exclaimed

see Gramps

look

there’s just enough space

surrounding the red Benz

for other stuff

but for some strange reason

Gramps was insistent

real insistent

his blue eyes pierced with a sense of alarm

and he went and took

my lovely red Benz from me

for days I was forlorn and depressed

wandering about with

a gaping hole in my chest

my heart was so empty

I didn’t know what to refill it with

so I took bits and pieces of things

in an attempt to ease the pain

right in the center of my heart

where that red Benz used to be

I sprinkled a little

Happiness

some

Hope

and even some

Sorrow

just to make my heart

Complete

soon a whole year passed by

and the next thing I knew

it was time for my birthday

I had a big red velvet cake

with seventeen candles on it

and when I blew out the candles

I forgot to make a wish

or maybe

I just didn’t have

anything good to wish for

in either case, after everyone was done

singing and clapping

something strange happened

Gramps came up to me

told me to follow him

and led me outside to our garage

there the gigantic red Benz sat

neatly adorned with a red bow

but for some strange reason

I wasn’t as excited as I should have been

to see my long lost love

not wanting to disappoint Gramps

with my lack of gratitude

I gave him a great big hug

but he just shrugged me off

placed a set of keys

right in the center of my hands

and with a wink, said

this time, I hope you keep that gift

where it belongs