Bismillah Hirrahmaan Nirraheem.
The bewitching melody of an inward wail for unity with the unseen and the whimsical thirst for fortitude continues.
Veiled is the intermediary hand cluthing my heart within its very palms; its fingers uprooting it, calling out to it -
"Hayya Bina, Hayya Bina!"
(Let's Go, Let's Go!)
I extend a hand and with urgency, it comes, hastening; scurrying, scrambling, to scoop me up and carry me away, but I withdraw my hand out of cowardice.
Why am I running towards Your love yet running away from Your love?
Or maybe I like to think I am running towards Your love; fooling myself with a fanciful imagination and baseless, fallacious words - when reality dictates, I am seeking refuge from that which I claim to be seeking refuge in.
Running towards a myth; towards the fabrications of a self-made jurisdiction.
A province of failure and spiritual bankruptcy. No-mans land - a land for the lost souls and the faint hearted.
Do not let my heart turn to stone and become fickle, or my soul become weak; straved or barren.
Teach me to cultivate the fruits of fidelity. Teach me how to love You again and again.
Take me by the hand against my will, or I fear I may never give myself unto You still.
For how can I claim to have given myself unto You, when I cannot begin to fathom the correct way to love You.