birds in a spiral

a letter for the nameless + faceless individual in my dream

Author’s note: Before we begin, let me illustrate how I imagined this piece. There are five parts and the end of one marks the start of another. So for instance where part I ends, part II picks up from there and so on and part I picks up from the ending of part V. Imagine these pieces placed in a circle at points along the edge and rotating in a spiral.

---

I.

were they not but sticks of clay—our ribs,
scored, slipped, spiral-caged
fluttering hearts sprout wings
feathered wisps float swift—
cardinal and blue—
birds perched within
adjacent rungs of promised rings
sunset glazed gaze
diamond dazed days
songbirds sonnet warble trill
one carries my voice
a ballad in your melody

II.

subtitle: I am mine because I am yours

the voice is mine, the song is yours
the fingers mine, the hand is yours
the mind is mine, the thoughts are yours
the sight is mine, the eyes are yours
the teeth are mine, the smile is yours
the pulse is mine, the veins are yours

the gold I wear, the treasure yours
the stain on my palm, the name is yours
the pen I hold, the ink all yours
the bites fill me when the meal is yours
the illness mine when the fever yours
the wounds are mine when the blood is yours

if the sun is mine, the light all yours
and if the stars are mine, then the night is yours
the prayers mine for the dream that’s yours
I’m a bird that flies in a sky that’s yours
the rib is I, the chest is yours
the words are mine, this poem yours

in this play, people keep score of rights
what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine
what’s mine is mine
and I’m all yours

III.

yours is this mind
	and what you find intellectual thoughts
	scripted just to compile in your heart
		and its restless nights striking against windows
		the storm of words sewing my lips tight
yours are these hands
	emptying love whenever its filled
	nimble fingers mending holes that it touches
		and the earthquakes and floods they house
		afraid to unlock a reverse midas touch locking you in a hearse
yours are these eyes
	and the show of stain-glass scattered light
	a mirror of moonstruck starlight reflecting your gaze
		muddied brown stale-scented crushed flowers of hope
		condensed into pools leaking acid on your clothes
yours are these veins
	the sea-blue filigree adorning my wrists
	pulsing waves coursing underneath diaphanous skin
		and the turbulent pulse so fast that i freeze 
		life so deep underwater that I no longer breathe
yours is the heart
	a solid gold core the folklores claim
	with a lustered warmth of the day-broke sun
		and the fear you'll pan dust from my rivers
		till all my blood drains cold
yours is the bird
	fluffed layers washed every shade of blue
	feather-woven down warming frozen days
		afraid of barking hounds guarding her gates
		she'll pay the golden price to hold her wingspan against your sky

IV.

the prices paid to watch the air grow noxious
men drawing charts like toddlers with crayons
wars over milk, bread, and eggs
eyes rolled blank until you count the zeroes behind your head
or in hushed whispers the checks mailed to alma mother
columbia or berkeley bumper stickers on cars
stanford and harvard spilled at brunch with some moms
tarnished tinsel trophies marooned under beds
accolades dense with guilt and a fearful stench
who will I find when I sand this veneer?
who owns your soul when empty but tears?
the world can only count papers and numbers
and other facades that cloak values held near
as people race to press leaves beneath pillows
before flames fume this evergreen empire
the con man buying dreams with a payload of coal
dollhouses of bones overlook the pacific uproar
my shoulders grow weary
with the weight of my own name
so just call me love
when you see me in the same state
I’ll love you for what you’ve built
and not just it’s face
and let your voice lull me out of orbit
no longer chasing riches of this world but running far past it
into a syzygy of you, me, and God
soaring the highest skies are two hearts of gold

V.

the sky births the morning as sun aureates night
rose-blushed backlit clouds bloom buds a garden screen
of youth-scripted, first-place winning soliloquy
of desire drenched with mist before fog settles into dew
drops of dreams merging into a clear stream
strong just enough for us to follow along with shaky steps
over a threshold, as you carry me in your arms, to a
red-bricked house your warmth cements into home
and the wisps of steam whirling over a bowl of rice
burning your tongue decepted by mindless chatter
as the the unveiled noon sun is melting iced water
that spills in pools reflecting frames when time stopped,
unlike cardinals splattered atop branches, hopping
states, singing like a band on tour, an audience as
we smile wide for flashing eyes, grins stained ripe
of the cherries from a branch, blackberries from a vine
tart puckered lips bursting honeyed laughs
vibrating waves of ocean salting a blackened shore
where my grandmother once loved my grandfather
and we’re cloned into them as I watch your hair gray
rocking on bamboo-woven chair with bisected crystals reading
postcards I’d send every minute we were apart
the seams of my soul frayed before you hemmed it to your heart
raining its melancholies then firefly lit memories
flaming in my eyes until we’re seated on the wan-lit
porch, where fledglings took flight and disappeared amongst stars,
waiting for the pink stained skies to return once more
as the sun sets a final time with just enough light to gaze at
the islands in your eyes that have become my home, its surroundings
white as the woven threads covering the shell a soul stranded
and everything spirals down, so we’ll return to the earth,
delighted to fly a return to Him
as were we not once but sticks of clay?

---

“The Anatomy of a Hug” by Luna Lu

الرابع‏: ‏ عن أبي هريرة رضي الله عنه عن النبي صلى الله عليه وسلم قال‏: ‏ ‏ "‏يدخل الجنة أقوام أفئدتهم مثل أفئدة الطير‏"‏ ‏(‏‏(‏رواه مسلم‏)‏‏)‏‏.‏

Abu Hurairah (May Allah be pleased with him) reported: The Prophet (ﷺ) said, "A group of people (both men and women) whose hearts will be like the hearts of birds, will enter Jannah". [Muslim].It has been interpreted that such people are those who put their trust in Allah; another interpretation is that these people are tender-hearted.

Riyad as-Salihin 77

P.S.

what business do I have, writing for a man with no face.
yet, I wonder.
I wonder.
If the sight of you would suck my pen dry.
When the moon and the stars spill their light, I praise God as I stare at the sky. It is only on a cloudy night that words piece themselves out of ink.

It is only in your absence, that verses trace your silhouette.