stiffen your sinews,
bones etched with hieroglyphics of hurt
your soul becomes supple.
I couldn’t show you how this happens,
when vigour clouds your judgement,
when youth gives you hope,
yet numbs you of tasting.
There’s an agreement with time,
relinquishing your affairs to their allotted appointments,
trusting beyond your comprehension,
faith if you will,
in being faithless insofar as holding God accountable,
rather, holding Him capable,
of anything, of anything.
Your soul aches for this flexibility,
your body waits for the battering.
-Wesam El dahabi