A clap of tunder
Rent asunder
Man’s little wonder—
Allah, Allah!
Idols trumble
In a jumble,
Temples crumble—
Allah, Allah!
Ashes cumber
Flames are ember,
Who remember–
Allah, Allah!
Orbs are winging,
Fire- bringing,
And of him singing—
Allah, Allah!
Clove and nard, in
His first garden
Wait his Pardon—
Allah, Allah!
Every flower
in his bower
Is love’s dower—
Allah, Allah!
His compassion
And his passion
are our fashion—
Allah, Allah!
(Ameen Rihni 1876-1940)
Hope is agnoy,
Yet we hope.
We hope secretly
while hope publicly mocks us.
Even denying hope,
I hope. And I resent it.
Hope is whip of time
spurring us forward.
And I seek to be sage when young,
to recover youth’s paradise when old,
to be free by virtue of that illness, love,
and a captive of love when I’m free,
to be eloquent reticent
and reticent when pearls come in my speech.
we all sow hope.
And after all toil, hope is all we reap.
Hope is tightrope
on which we teeter above the sea of life
like acrobats.
Yet hope nibbles its own cord.
as the second eat away third thread.
Have peace, O restless, worroe-laden heart!
I shall not laugh
until with sorrows I have made you part
As part the weath, when winnowed the chaff.
Till then I shall not laugh.
O sleepless eyes that weep, yet shed no tears,
I shall not sleep
Until from you I’ve banished cares and fears
that dimmed your light and though you how to weep.
Till then I shall not sleep.</center>