Be mad with love,
until like Qays, you scathe walls,
wherever you walk for scent of her existence.
But it’s not her,
She is just a metaphor,
Her scent is the mystic awareness of His presence.
It is He you’re looking for,
It is He all along.
He created her,
‘He created you
And what you do’,
And what you feel.
You’re not feeling love,
You’re not mad,
You’re feeling Him,
You’re insane because it’s Him you ache for,
But your senses are deceiving you to an illusion of her.
Eventually this misplaced love will find it’s home,
If it’s He that you love, and He dwells inside you,
Wasn’t it you all along?