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
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
Lines and curves
Simply and exquisitely executed
Create a harmony in form
Unparalleled
While the prisms and lenses of my culture
Cut and polished from fear and ignorance
Distort the culture that created this beauty
Into twisted paroxysms of ugliness
An ornate lamp hangs
In a gentle place
There to illuminate
When darkness falls
A beautiful ornament
In the clear light of day
Would create a spectacle
In the dim hues of night
And now I wish
I had seen this room
Bathed in the prismatic glow
Which gives shape to the dark
Gods and philosophy
Politics and economy
Then fall
To our basest instincts
Defending them
Proselytising them
Exploiting them