I may not have rhythm to dance with you,
But I can tango your mind with words.
I dance to the beat of my own drum baby.
-ME
Tag: writing
Lava prose
Of molten thoughts
And lava prose
Of hair on end
And curled toes
I write with fire
From belly deep
To bite your lip
And burn your clothes.
– ME
It’s not just a pen.
Renowned Muslim thinker and scholar Hamza Yusuf recounts a story when he was in the Mauritanian desert under tutelage from great masters who have carried on proper Islamic tradition and scholarship down to students for hundreds of years. He was cleaning under his nails with a pen when something struck him upside the head. His teacher threw something at him and told him, “Hamza, God has sworn an oath by the pen”. He immediately understood his mistake at disrespecting the otherwise inanimate object. (1)
But look at who he is now.
When you have such reverence for things, you can then pass on value to your family, students, friends and more.
Where is the reverence and respect for those sacred things?
(1) Quran Chapter 68 is titled ‘The Pen’ and begins it’s first verse with God swearing an oath by the pen. “Nun. By the pen and what they inscribe,”
Slay them with pens, educate them with swords.
Some people need to be shredded with words,
Others need to be taught with a sword.
What is society willing to afford?
Has man lost his way,
Severed the umbilical cord?
The attachment to all that is good and pure,
And can nothing more say?
We are poets – Documentary.
Last two post didn’t work too well. So here it is again.
Reblogged from here:
http://slamtv.org/2015/09/10/we-are-poets-feature-documentary/
You can watch it here: https://vimeo.com/ondemand/wearepoets
You’ll find it where it hurts most to look
Caffeine coursed veins
Lead to empty hall brains
With no lights on
But echoes of chains
The pains, the strains
The soul drained.
No we’re not at all insane
Just wanting higher plains
Trying to leave our mark, our stain
Not wanting to be contained
Trying to unshackle
The rein
Until none of me remains
And my ego does not complain
My spirit can soar, unrestrained
My attention to The Real
Not the profane, not the mundane
And I no longer feign
-ME
On writing.
Franz Kafka said to his adoring Fiance
You once said that you would like to sit beside me while I write. Listen, in that case I could not write at all. For writing means revealing oneself to excess; that utmost of self-revelation and surrender, in which a human being, when involved with others, would feel he was losing himself, and from which, therefore, he will always shrink as long as he is in his right mind. That is why one can never be alone enough when one writes, why there can never be enough silence around one when one writes, why even night is not night enough.
Yes, this true! I agree wholeheartedly with him. Any writer that needs an audience to complete his work is a show pony, not a stallion of the desert of words.
The heart of matters
I don’t get it. Over and over, all religions at their innermost core preach love and purity of heart. Why then are humans hell bent on ignoring it? Why then isn’t the heart the single most important focal point for all human beings? What is this madness that has captivated our attention and diverted us from our hearts and ultimately ourselves? Did you know that before the central nervous system develops in the foetus, the heart is the first organ to form? The brain is not even existent! The CNS is no where to be found yet we still have the audacity to question the heart sciences. No, not the cold, hard spiritless sciences of laboratories but the ones passed on from generations back which are taught by sages and masters to students.
