Have you ever looked closely at a puddle that you’ve jumped over in hopes of avoiding dirtying your shoes? On one of those rainy days when the rain creates more mud puddles and washes few leaves? It’s like glancing at that reflection of yourself that you chose — willingly — to not create. It’s a strange reminder of all that you could have been and all that you are not and everything that you *are*. And then you suddenly, happily remember that new beginnings are a course of nature — the sunrise, the birth of a baby, spring, recovery from a disease, the feeling of relief, ‘Bismillah Irrahman Irraheem’ (In the Name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.) And that, my dear readers, is how I felt when I wrote this poem on this sunny June evening:
“It was a long time ago,” she said.
A long, long time ago
when the petals of the dreams knew not to wither
and fantasies were a welcome reality
and the coolness of the Promised waterfall gave you wings…and you flew.
Fly again because the sky is waiting, the sky is waiting…