I close my eyes shut,
In the hope of a face.
A face I long to see.
A voice I haven’t yet heard.
A scent that makes me grin,
And the embodiment of a beautiful soul.
I can’t help but contemplate upon the thoughts previously contemplated upon,
Through the ravines of time,
And the brains of wisdom,
And the hearts of love.
I can’t seem to fathom,
The fact that they come to rest in my broken, bleeding arms.
The fact that they come to live in my corrupted mind.
I look down with embarrassment,
At my own flaws, at my own inferiority.
It is then when,
I wish to see the one that inspires the feeble virtue in me,
The one that looks down at me,
And grins at me, knowing the nature of my non-existent mind.
I close my eyes,
In the incessant wish to see a figure,
A figure of hope, light, comfort and warmth,
Someone who takes me up in their arms and says it is fine.
A soul which has itself been through trials and tribulations,
But wide enough to hold the regrets of another human soul.
I hesitate for a split second,
And wonder if I am worthy or not.
But it all comes back to me,
The sins I have committed, the vice in me,
And the hearts of the people I have let down.
It aches again, the accustomed throbbing of the lifeless stone.
I overlook the pain,
And oversee that which tends to show itself,
A mixture of black and white, a greyness of utopian ideals.
It is then when I long to feel the warmth,
Of the one that felt in a similar way,
A feeling perhaps,
A flicker of the eyes,
A gentle smile,
Or even a hand to be held.
– Imaan Siddiq