Un

Ya Allah! I'm unbearable. I did not pay my dues for being a human. You trusted me too much. O Allah! It were better that You had had my neck, than that I lived this long and loved You less. I love You with my soul, yet my body is thick with impurity, my mind clouded, my heart broken and cluttered. I am a hypocrite. I am a liar. I loved and feared too much, but travelled not with my feet in Your path. 

O Allah, You loved me too much! 

*Sigh!*

How Could a Lover Fall?

What could have caused your grip to weaken
that allowed creation to be?

How could a lover fall to his death
from the arms of infinite
strength?

How active you are in the mind sustaining such a great wall
that the sun can cast a frightening shadow
the world believes.

No one has ever really known sadness. No real God
would ever allow pain.

How then can a heart feel it is broken and in need
if we are held in the arms of infinite
compassion and
strength?

That mirror you (God) stand before --
we need to gaze into it also.

That name you called Beloved
as I fell from your lips --
I suffer

because I did not quite
hear it;

so tell me again dear One
so clear:

I am
you.

~

by: 'Hafiz'/Daniel Landinsky

Note: http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/L/LadinskyDani

Plan

So my plan is to torture myself to death.

I do this because my spirit is convinced...

I want to kill everybody!

Uh. Sure. Yes, my child.

Oh, the immensity of love! Of tortuous dreams! ~ Where is He?

He has burnt you in fire.

It matters not. He loves me, and I love Him!

Sigh. 

How many lifetimes have I lived?

I don't know, exactly. But many. Many!

Sigh. Samsara!

...

till next breath, next time!

Murder

It is the most fascinating thing—I feel there is nothing left in me. But there are these tears. And they keep coming and coming and coming. From my absolutely wretched being, they come as though from the spirit of a fresh and warm child. My inner worlds have collapsed catastrophically—the brain is shrinking like crumpled paper. The heart has burst. No, not figuratively. My qalb, the center of the chest, burst like an over-cooked chicken liver left on fire. It smoked away.

I got too near. Too near. 

I have got a taste for it. Can you believe? The Self has tasted death, and it lusts for it! Lusts for death!

~

Lust for life!?

In an instant I saw too deep, too deep beyond the veils. Sigh.

I must stop here.

Own

Dear Prophecy,

A gnostic has no life of her own. She belongs to Him.

What were you thinking!?

...