Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Love is a Mystery to Me, So I Sought Her in the Library

Love Among the Books
Love is a mystery to me,
So I sought her in the library,

Under the section of Fiction,
I found all of her anger,
Sorrow and despair
Were but a temporary state.
“I am not always this way,” she said.

Under the section of Current Affairs,
I found books and books about me,
And often it is about love and hope,
But sometimes the story is very sad,
To which I must answer her
And say, “I am sorry.
My bad".

Under the section of History,
I read about her birth, her childhood,
Her family and friends,
Thus she found me there, and said,
“May our own history never end.”

Under the section of Humour,
I found her funnier
Than Karl Marx,
Her slapsticks more hilarious
Than Spinoza,
And her laughter more musical
Than Gershwin.

Under the section of Literature
I found her as Lizzie
In Pride and Prejudice,
As Marianne to tame willful Willoughby,
As Layla being courted by Majnun,
Wracked by love, overwrought by jealousy.
To which she fussed, “Jealous… ME?”

Under the section of Poetry
She found my soul there,
Hard at work, scribbling prose
Of God, Prophet and Love,
And she demanded,
“Where am I in all of this?”
To which I said,
“Why, love, in the kiss…”

She paused for a bit, biting her lip
Before firmly summing up,
“Damn the kiss, write something about ME!”
Heche says I don’t write much about her. That even when I do, it is in the passing, a minor point before I tear away into the stratosphere.

So I will stop here before I go any further.

For those celebrating love on Valentine’s, I wish you many happy kisses. For those celebrating love each and every day, you have my utter admiration....

Wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam
Love will show the Way

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