Forms an art without figure
The face of Islam
Don’t misunderstand me
Such exquisite abstraction
Just lacking romance
A place to admire
A picture to hang
But to live there no chance
Every photograph untaken
Every brush stroke unpainted
Every stanza unwritten
Every story untold
A small darkness left unilluminated
Spirit moved
By the artistry
By the grandeur
By the grace
I know there are saints
Not like these saints
I know there are angels
Not like these angels
I know there is god
Not like this god
I know there is heaven
Not like this heaven
Spirit moved
By these metaphors
Manifest
In the people
I have known
In the places
I have been
In the light
I have seen
In the grace
I have experienced
In the beauty
I have created
And the colours
Oh the colours
Ever vibrant
Even this brown earth
They painted
With expansiveness
Let the grandiose
Dominate the brush
Then I
So happy
For just a hint of them
Through the glass
Held in my hand
As a photographer
I have never been satisfied with
Two dimensions
A single moment in time
Or even reality
I prefer
To create
Rather than
Record
Light is my palette
A digital file my canvas
A computer my brush
And all the world
Is beautiful data
To be transformed into art