They mill about
Tourists, like myself
And not like myself
Clogging the frame
Until I realize
The shot is about them
As much as it is
About the mosque
They mill about
Tourists, like myself
And not like myself
Clogging the frame
Until I realize
The shot is about them
As much as it is
About the mosque
I take a moment
Just to sit and be
In my own thoughts
My own body
Reflect on the emotions
All bottled up
Which fill me to overflowing
When they come
Leave the sluice gates open
Don’t restrict the flow
Let them wash over me
Allow them to take what they will
The torrent is hard
And full
A tumult of the repressed
When the tide finally ebbs
Walk the flood path
Take stock of the flotsam and jetsam
Retrieve what is dear and useful
Leave whatever is not
After thanking it
For the lessons
Insight comes
But not without its reckonings
And with these comes healing
I peer into Islam
From shadow to shadow
Backlit by misconception
Misunderstanding
And just plain ignorance
But with open heart
Open mind
And intention
To pursue
The illumination of insight
Pigeons in a hot sky
Morning comes
Molten sun
Casts sepia silhouettes
Surreal beauty
Wrought by an atmosphere
Fraught with death
Home in a couple of days
Where battered lungs
Complain for another week
Sol heads off to bed
Flicks off the lights in the hall
Peace comes with darkness
To be in motion
Is my way of stilling thoughts
Stillness quells the pain
Through the market streets
They carry precious cargo
Enigmatic tale
It has been said
Pix or it didn’t happen
All too true
In a literal sense
As the mind grows older
And my memory weaker
The common image of me and my faith
Is naught but a reflection in a rippled pond
An inverted, distorted misconception
Of institutional icons
Revealing nothing of me or my heart