Kisses From the East Wind.

The wind came from the east today,

carrying tears of my lover.

A letter, calling me to our abode.

The ship has left, so did the last bus.

How do I return to a land,

so foreign to me?

Your memories are distant,

so is your name.

Then the musky wind kissed my nose,

and I travelled time.

Lessons Learnt In A Dream

Summoning me in Your miracles

Every slumber You take me on a journey.

Today was a path towards Time.

A precious creation often looked down on.

You who created all that's creating.

You who lives beyond all the life.

You've been kind than kindness defined

Lightly in my subconscious teaching me.

So I woke up hastily, from a deeper sleep.

My soul reconnected to its casket,

A breath to prove of my life(full)ness.

Drenched to let my sins fall.

Bowing on the mud, my forehead 

Cleansed with your closeness.

My body wakened at the lowest of plane.

My soul elevated beyond the untouched.

Ya Al-Mujeeb, no questions left unanswered

Ya Al-Wadud, no yearning left unloved 

Ya Al-'Afuw, no sin left unforgiven

Ya Ar-Rabb, no moment left unremembered.

Abode

Amidst the temporal bliss this world has cursed and blessed me, there was a yearning erupting inside me.

To look for a home, like a fool. 

And then You, i stumbled upon my journey. 

You took hold of my soul, shaking it. I felt my sins falling apart.

Holding, You close, i wished for nothing but a departure from this inn that man praises.

My yearnings have faded, with only one prayer uttering on my tongue.

Provide me with an abode, under Your throne. 

A Wail The Wind Carried.

What does one do with all this love they hold?

I've drank enough from it, oh beloved!

Which mountains have captured you?

Which roads have blocked you?

Which hands have caged you?

Your absence leaves me with a burdened bosom.

Walking I wait, running I yearn.

Embrace this insane heart you possess.

I am exhausted of holding in love,

Brimming to shower your soul,

before we depart.

Sinful Love

What is it that is so sinning about love that it hurts? 

She asked of a tone more like a mere whisper.

It isn't love that's sinning, it's the lover or the act of love. We tend to expect, and that's the first error a human does when they love. Then we tend to blame for humans are never satisfied. After all that we tend to kill it with our ego. Only if we did love and simply love rather than transforming such a divinity into everything except love. Then it's sinning and if you sin you're hurt. 

Eyes

They speak a language, quite unheard. Her eyes, deep in them captured are stories of souls broken.

They'd glance at you and make you want to express the unfelt in the most vulnerable way.

They are mirrored reflection of what you are, what you mean to her. 

They are poetry with the touch of lunatic serenity that you, don't deserve to understand. 

Humility

A tiny speck of ink blot on the corner,

the writer's furious expressions.

A splash of paint that fell on the floor,

As an artist agressively articulated an art.

I am the nothingness that was born.

A catalyst between the maker and made.

A bridge between the seeker and seen.

A tiny particle lost, so as to find meaning.

So humble me my lord,

ground me to the earth.

Let me not weigh my ignorance,

and die before death kisses my lips.

Picture from Khalil Gibran's exbition at House of Wisdom

Art.

Sometimes you find yourself transported into another universe. Your thoughts seem to flow like a river, shrinking your ego amidst the splashes of colors. Art has a gracefully rebellious way of making one humble. You stare at them and wander to different lanes of emotions. You are curious to visit the alleys and attics of the artist’s soul. To find stories, to find meaning. And through that, you cleanse a bit of yourself. Something in you awakens, pushing the deepest of agonies aside and spreading wings of compassion alongside. A tinge of guilt forms at the thought of enjoying a life’s journey that probably had its share of pain and grieving. They may not always speak to your eyes, but often it feels they listen to your mind’s malady.

Artist - Noura Ali-Ramahi

From her collection Suadade

Exhibited at Etihad Modern Art Gallery