By:  Sundus Alsharif


I do not know

what half-hearted

love is–

I cannot hold its emptiness

in my hands or cultivate its never

growing seeds

in my mind.

All I know is love that

pierces eyes and shakes

the soul to move.

All I know is affection

for the innermost parts

of myself that no one can see but You.

And this love is what my insides

dance for. What they survive for.

What they dream for.

This is the only love that feels

real to me.

Yours. The down to the bone

pulse racing heart calming never ending

peace.

My heart only really knows this kind

of love.

So I should not be confused when

I try and fail to hold emptiness in my hands

and wonder:

why am I sad?

Because I tried to give my heart to one who

didn’t fashion it. Who didn’t really know me like You.

It’s like giving a masterpiece to a baby

too young to know Vincent Van Gogh–

and expecting it to find patterns and lines and color schemes fascinating.

But when You hold my heart You recognize each atrium

and ventricle and beat. It’s not strange to You.

Sometimes I can’t see or feel love. Because I forget the only love my heart really knows. And it’s with You. It has always been with You.

Oh Allah.

 

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