By: Sundus Alsharif
I do not know
what half-hearted
love is–
I cannot hold its emptiness
in my hands or cultivate its never
growing seeds
in my mind.
All I know is love that
pierces eyes and shakes
the soul to move.
All I know is affection
for the innermost parts
of myself that no one can see but You.
And this love is what my insides
dance for. What they survive for.
What they dream for.
This is the only love that feels
real to me.
Yours. The down to the bone
pulse racing heart calming never ending
peace.
My heart only really knows this kind
of love.
So I should not be confused when
I try and fail to hold emptiness in my hands
and wonder:
why am I sad?
Because I tried to give my heart to one who
didn’t fashion it. Who didn’t really know me like You.
It’s like giving a masterpiece to a baby
too young to know Vincent Van Gogh–
and expecting it to find patterns and lines and color schemes fascinating.
But when You hold my heart You recognize each atrium
and ventricle and beat. It’s not strange to You.
Sometimes I can’t see or feel love. Because I forget the only love my heart really knows. And it’s with You. It has always been with You.
Oh Allah.