Playing the Sonata of Life
Life lying with beckoning arms,
decked in all its fineries;
Piercing gazes of fiery passion,
enticing into its enchanting embrace;
Existence itself as if a still motion,
contradictory in terms but somehow pertinent;
A conundrum of truth, fabrication and dreams,
dissolving into a plethora of conjectural dissonance;
Somewhere, somehow, the glowing warmth of a guiding light,
reaches out to the dark recesses, the abyss of the heart;
As if enlivening the deadened piece of flesh,
as if turning it sanguine once again;
Making the languid spirit rise on command,
to free itself from the shackles of conditional remand;
Stifled by years of encasement in the prison of its being,
breathless now for the Kiss of Life to bring it back to living;
The soul breaks free, magnetically drawn to its essence,
the pleroma of being, the reality of causal existence;
The accoutrements of mortality, the demands of physicality,
like chains to a convict's feet, prove to be for the soul a disability;
The breathing "I" reaching out with tearing ligaments of temporal attachment,
turning slowly to thread-like remains of increasing detachment;
The pain of inevitable separation and the tears of anguish,
make the soul, heart, intellect, all relinquish;
All that remains is the circling frenzy of contemplative ecstasy,
soaring to the highest highs, sinking to the lowest lows;
The ebb and flow of being and non-being enacted by the crashing wave,
the quest for meaning, the search for peace, a legacy that time immemorial gave;
A voice rising within claims the agitated soul,
guiding it readily to its awaited goal;
"The false glory of man's greatness, the ruse of deceptive permanence,
decry, decry them all, the pawns of manipulative hindrance;
Dig beneath the pyramids of selfish renown,
bare the treasures that lie hidden beneath the carcasses of lust and pride;
Apply the alchemy of old,
to turn your worthless worth to gold";
The soul is reborn enveloped in a silent new consciousness,
the voice departs though leaving its lingering freshness;
The soul rejoicing in its born-free state,
cognizing Haq it now does at last contemplate;
It enters at will the embrace of life,
yet wise to its conniving ploy;
It resides in peace and to peace it calls,
awakening from slumber before the final curtain falls.
Written by Naila Amat-un-Nur
From her book "The Journey back to Allah"
decked in all its fineries;
Piercing gazes of fiery passion,
enticing into its enchanting embrace;
Existence itself as if a still motion,
contradictory in terms but somehow pertinent;
A conundrum of truth, fabrication and dreams,
dissolving into a plethora of conjectural dissonance;
Somewhere, somehow, the glowing warmth of a guiding light,
reaches out to the dark recesses, the abyss of the heart;
As if enlivening the deadened piece of flesh,
as if turning it sanguine once again;
Making the languid spirit rise on command,
to free itself from the shackles of conditional remand;
Stifled by years of encasement in the prison of its being,
breathless now for the Kiss of Life to bring it back to living;
The soul breaks free, magnetically drawn to its essence,
the pleroma of being, the reality of causal existence;
The accoutrements of mortality, the demands of physicality,
like chains to a convict's feet, prove to be for the soul a disability;
The breathing "I" reaching out with tearing ligaments of temporal attachment,
turning slowly to thread-like remains of increasing detachment;
The pain of inevitable separation and the tears of anguish,
make the soul, heart, intellect, all relinquish;
All that remains is the circling frenzy of contemplative ecstasy,
soaring to the highest highs, sinking to the lowest lows;
The ebb and flow of being and non-being enacted by the crashing wave,
the quest for meaning, the search for peace, a legacy that time immemorial gave;
A voice rising within claims the agitated soul,
guiding it readily to its awaited goal;
"The false glory of man's greatness, the ruse of deceptive permanence,
decry, decry them all, the pawns of manipulative hindrance;
Dig beneath the pyramids of selfish renown,
bare the treasures that lie hidden beneath the carcasses of lust and pride;
Apply the alchemy of old,
to turn your worthless worth to gold";
The soul is reborn enveloped in a silent new consciousness,
the voice departs though leaving its lingering freshness;
The soul rejoicing in its born-free state,
cognizing Haq it now does at last contemplate;
It enters at will the embrace of life,
yet wise to its conniving ploy;
It resides in peace and to peace it calls,
awakening from slumber before the final curtain falls.
Written by Naila Amat-un-Nur
From her book "The Journey back to Allah"