When I forget, I can always go back to you.
behind all forgotten memories.
Calling my name when I ignore,
the cries it makes as I flee after eight.
That dusty old book that smells like home,
safe and guarded with life and oblivion,
the smell of Thursday nights and mingled breaths and echos
as we move like one
and pray for people with angst and pain
as hope builds with our minds and beings.
That dusty old book that solves our problems
and lessens our fear as our eyes roll over
the meanings of our past and
utter bismillahir rahman nir rahim with love and devotion
and sacrifice.
That dusty old book I opened this month,
believing that my desires and sins will vanish before me
as my hands run down your dusty spine and beautiful words
with tears lingering and smudged smiles.
Sighing with you, remembering the past as today,
I'll keep you close between my heart and ribs
and you can be remember me with my voice and endings.
1 comment:
That was beautiful...
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