This is interesting, in a tortured, abstract sort of way. More than ten years after having written it, I’ve just rediscovered this old bit of writing and I feel compelled to share it here as a backlogged post, which should be the day on which it was written.
Paradox
The dream was touched by a protected soul,
And hearts were torn by a rejected soul.
The kindly soul is trampled down, and yet
Malice pervades the most respected soul.
Angry teeth flashed under eyes glazed over;
This face revealed a dark neglected soul.
A scalpel tongue sliced out such acrid words,
All life was bled from that dissected soul.
Rage born of terror broods a bitter bile,
Ruining the will of each subjected soul.
What holds no grief will also hold no joy,
A void that shatters the affected soul.
Mist cannot be marred while crystal fragments—
Both are aspects of the reflected soul.
That darker shadow in the depths of night
In time reveals its own directed soul.
A crazed ceramic pot containing naught
Represents, I hear, a perfected soul.
Patience, Zahhar, for it takes time to heal—
Angels tend to your deeply infected soul.
This is my 67th ghazal.
