Oh, my love, don’t forget me
in the rainy season,
like a harvested seed
that brings smiles to the faces
of village farmers.
I mean,
remember to seek me
in the marketplace of your heart.
For I wish to be the patron
frequenting your stall
like a needle passing through fabric.
Remember me,
when all I crave
is your love language
resonating within me.
You and I,
becoming the melody
on the lips of the world.
I say, remember me,
like an imam cherishes
the recitation of Al-Fatiha
at the start
of every rak’ah in prayer.
Do not forget to invoke me,
love, like a devout worshiper
pays homage to the deities
every morning.
Remember me,
even when the rain threatens
to wash away
the garment of our love,
let your voice defy
the forces of destruction.
Remember me as sacred ink
records sentences
in the diary of love.
Remember my soul,
when the winds of life
try to separate us.
Do not despair.
Remember me in the shrine of love
like a performer never forgets
his prized attire
after a show.
Remember me in the sea of love,
like an artisan
never strays from his craft.
And, if we are together,
let your smile be a language
that captures my soul
like a blacksmith holds iron with tongs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Yusuf Yassir on Unsplash