Many a three am have we spent together.
When my fingers are stubborn lovers,
There you are.
Sufi souls of the world,
You have created your magic to contradict the rules of time,
And transgress all of man’s laws,
Because you’re bound only by the Divine,
A most welcome straight jacket of LOVE.
There I am, writers block,
And your music plays it’s familiar sorrow.
“Come”, they call me,
For centuries we have waited for your fingers,
Don’t leave us destitute.
For centuries we have sent our seed,
Through the loins of our children,
Our secrets, bound in blood.
Let us see what you have made of your soul.
Show us the tapestry of love you have woven,
How many people can you keep warm?
How many will you warm still?
We’re waiting for your sons too.
Don’t let our efforts go to waste”.
And with a brush of magic that kisses my fingers,
The pen panics as it feels the lightening quicken to my their tips.
My nails are light,
Ten incandescent beams,
Never a dull flame.
I will let them write your names my father’s,
I will wake up the world to you.
Three AM, I will let them know,
That you always visit me with the ney in hand,
With the daff in the other,
And with odes of longing, you remind me,
Loving souls do not ever sleep.