Saturday, 24 August 2013

Bus note 68

        Two in silence
        mouthing prayers:
flaking bindi at bridge,
round face in repose;
        delicate taqiyah rests
        above young beard.
Ladywood wastes again,
        looking a strain
        on first thing eyes
till we're past
        and the beads
        run on through
        the different fingers.


  1. Much moved by the delicate and telling way this gets from point A to point B. Something in the progression beyond the wasteland toward the desired repose that feels... would the word perhaps be universal?

    The beads running out through the fingers, the sands through the narrow passage in the hourglass.

    Minutes, days, years -- where do they go?

    (Loving thoughts from here to the wooden ones, in time of uncertainty, and trusting that this time round Allah deems it fit to reward the Virtuous, for a change.)

  2. Here's hoping (and we'd better hope as hard as we can).

    Nina just about tops Sandy's rendition. The ache of it has me crying every time.

    To our friends in Oakland: shantih.