Feather

Head…pain.

I pull into the parking lot,
And want to shake my head so bad,
But find that I cannot.

Head…pain…feather.

My immobility persists
While I attempt to process why
These words arrest me so.

Head…pain…feather…child.

And then I see inside my head
A scene projected by my heart,
A fascinating show:

A baby in my mother's arms
Is rocking slowly back and forth;
She smiles, she laughs, she imitates
His coos so very well.

And as he rocks and bobs his head,
She's taken by surprise just when
His forehead strikes her in the chest,
How hard, I cannot tell.

But she does seem to wince at that
With baby still held in her arms,
Laughing, then crying out in pain,
And then, laughing again.

I blink to end my reverie.
Feather still eludes me.

Of Tears And Rain

A year had passed, but not a drop
Of rain had fallen down upon
The land of Makkah, and its crop
Did suffer. And its men were drawn

Toward their kind and noble chief,
Abu Talib, the Hashimi,
Whose charge it was to bring relief
To his ailing community.

He sat upon the dusty ground,
And listened till their tales were done,
Then gathered all the children 'round;
And when he saw his brother's son,

Abu Talib let out a cry
Of pure, uninhibited joy,
To see the apple of his eye:
Abdullah's one and only boy.

He held the child close to his breast
Then stood him 'gainst the Kaaba wall
And gently proffered his request
To pray to God for rain to fall.

Muhammad raised his handsome face
And as he closed his blessed eyes,
He supplicated God with grace,
His heart beyond the cloudless skies.

Then in that moment, Mikail
Released the long-withheld decree,
And angel crowds rushed down to feel
The light of higher company.

A drop upon Muhammad's cheek,
Then silence, as the heavens turned,
To rain upon a people weak
The mercy that their son had earned.

And thus the much awaited rains
Revived the Makkan hearts and crop.
I'd equal all the rains with tears
For something of that foremost drop.