fragrance of the found

“O God, what did find who lost you?
And what did he lose who found you?”
-Hussain ibn Ali (a)

I’ve heard whispered tales of a flower in a slumbering wood
Whose tears did fall when the world’s weight it understood
Drowning in the haze of fairytales, countless once upon a times
Of knights bright in shining armor, women with beauty refined

Too weakened by shadows, roots shaken by each passerby
So it learned to prick hands that either crushed, or at its beauty did sigh
Its strength tested, soon took its bent stem as a sign of defeat
Was told once its petals would fall, would turn man into beast

Lost and confused, turned for answers to a wise, olden oak
Who with weary eyes, understood, and of the world then it spoke

○ • ○

“You lament and wail that hearts of men, ancient flowers, are weak
Forgetting angels have knelt in wonder, humbled by the strength of its beat
You lay your head low in hopelessness that all you’re made for is decay
Forgetting the sun loved most the rose that stood two bow’s lengths away

You weep and mourn at your condition, sighing with every falling leaf
Forgetting your existence itself is a manifestation of belief
You find your guideposts in souls who of themselves are unsure,
You forget footsteps of lions by day, by night, keepers of the poor

Your roots have become weak for to this question you’ve become blind:

“What does he lose who finds God;
who loses God, what does he find?”

○ • ○

“You speak to me in wonder of men who could move mountains with a look
But I speak of men who lay eyes closed, yet still the mountains, they shook
You dream of titans in armor, strength displayed in the depth of their step
But I dream of lovers shielding beloved, strength beating in their chests

You have loved corpses of the earth who linger, yet soon from you do depart
But I have loved spirits, buried not in soil, but in budding roots of my heart
I am entranced by these dead who still live, over me they hold sway
Pain renders me breathless when their bodies in front of me lay

I am torn to pieces, but they say, soothing the wounds of my mind:

“What did he lose who found God;
who lost God, what did he find?”

○ • ○

“You hear a river tell of a body broken, see a youngest child’s grave
But I hear a sky praise a shining moon, see the oldest definition of brave
You see a mother kneeling down, grieving the loss of four of her sons,
I see a woman praising the womb that carried the protectors of one

You see chains and shackles and prisoners marching down city streets
But I see crushed flower fragrance revolutions, gently planting seeds
I know this story like old wounds wrapped around my soul
Of a son who gave his heart so his father’s might stay whole

A story I wish I’d lived, last breaths whispered with his hand in mine:

“What did he lose who found God;
who lost God, what did he find?”

○ • ○

When they tell you your life is naught but breath in the passing wind
That your history holds no beauty—show them from your end, you begin
Tell them your soil cradles seeds that when planted in blackened hearts
Are embraced by the sun’s touch, and at once from them darkness departs

That budded mouths that seem muted, blossom with sweet melodies
And hum heartbreaking tunes of a trampled garden’s tragedies
Tunes of beautiful flowers that once lived, looked on all with soft eyes
Gentle lions that in death are immortal, souls to heaven, they rise

But upon passing, broken petals have left a trail, a fluttering scent
Of minds empowered by love, of hearts that to the brim are content
There are gardens, but few roses, and the few that are found
Were long ago buried, abused, crushed deep into the ground

But called true Roses for having rose, risen after every demise
Lost everything but their God, so everything did they find

○ • ○

I’ve heard of a legion of flowers in an awakening wood
Who on this night blossomed, the world’s weight they understood
Not drowning, but embracing tales of a Mercy to mankind
Of Knights in shining arrows, Women with excellence of mind

They’re led by twelve Suns that erase shadows, roots to a heavenly tree
Who do not prick, but leave fragrances in hands of harsh enemies
Their strength tested but they take bent stems as lover’s prostrations
Know now that when petals will fall, will come man’s elevation

They call: “Let them test our strength, whether with bulldozer or hand
Slings and arrows aim to crush, blind hearts will never understand
That you can fall our petals, break our stems, pull our roots out high
But you’ll never be able to erase our fragrance, its path into the sky.”