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Before Your Love, Ali

Ya Mawla,

I wonder if it even fair
To ask myself who I was
If ever anything I was,
Before I met you,
Before I loved you.

I wonder how to call this state,
When one is just a scattered possibility,
When a human being is just
The random aggregation
Of barely pulsating dust.

I wonder how to call this state
When eyes perceive nothing more
Than a twinkling candle’s light
Fading away in the depths
of its existence’s vicinity

I wonder how to call a life
When air means survival,
Where water is stagnant,
Where love’s fragrance does not exist.

I wonder how to call this existence
When your wings are just an attire,
When your cage becomes your world
When flying is a word, unfurling just a sound.

I wonder how to call a vein
Whose blood does not circumbulate
Like a pen that does not spiral
Like brush that does not strike.

I guess it is not fair
To say that I existed
That my tongue tasted life
Before it whispered your name.

Ya Ali,

I guess it is not fair
To call this piece of flesh a heart
Before it started beating
Before it met your gaze,

Ya Mawla,

And if a bird is a bird
Only when it flies
Just like a wave is alive
Only when it crashes

I guess I was only that which one is,
When one is not, whatever that is

I was Nothing.

I guess I was the space which one occupies
When one is not, wherever that is.

I was Empty

I guess I was the moment which exists
When one is not, whenever that is.

I was Absent

This.

This is what i was,
If ever anything I was,
Before I met you,
Before I loved you,

Ya Wali Allah.

*Peace be upon you,
The uprooter of hidden polytheism,
The distinguished and learned,

Ali,

The Prince of the Faithful

*Ziyarat Nahya

About Reza Abbas Farishta

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