The Islamic Garden
It's Good. It's My Life
Discovering my path as I tread it; looking beyond, a haze dims my view
Looking back, regret and guilt weaving through my heart, an insidious vine.
My beginning. My mother, of her, but no longer hers
Wandering far, yet still we are one.
Words like snowflakes – delicate and precise
Show me my journey. It will be judged
What I aimed for and why.
Loss of control throws me into uncertainty
Did I find shelter in tears, or was I heedless and numb?
After life's torrent rains on me, a choice; to shatter or to heal.
Now feeling myself becoming whole.
Love floats but grief is in a physical place; a place I do not want to be.
I can't stop time or capture light
But goodness takes root in a willing heart, growing and spilling over into all I am
The known world shifts, forcing me to accept or resist
Transforming, like a gifted alchemist, into joy, mercy
Love rising up, straight through me and entering the world
Expanding rings of compassion, extinguishing hate
As persistent as meaning and as powerful as dreams.
Walking away from quarrels with dignified calm
Speaking mildness in the face of ignorance.
What I see is a reflection of me.
My life, like an ancient tree, survived a hundred years of drought and storm, still reaching toward the sun.
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