i personally think poetry are often written, thought, felt, spoken...by restless souls...do i have a restless soul? who can tell you, who can tell you why, fools give you reason wise mennever try....
He calls me I do not listen
He listens, but I acknowledge not.
He comforts me I gesture him away.
He directs me, but I question his use.
He still waits, patiently in hope I fall in love with him, in hope my heart yearns for him.
Calling onto me day and night, trying to reach to me via all accords.
I stopped in my tracks.
I am feeling for his need.
My soul is reciting
My heart is aching
Ya Allah!
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