In sickness and in health

It's been a long time now,
we struggled with strife.
It's been a long time now,
We've been husband and wife.

Though you speak little now,
your heart still shines an occasional smile,
bringing more joy somehow,
than your oft heard laughter before this trial.

Though there's so little now,
you can do as in the past,
as we were, so we are now,
living the life for us cast.

It's been many years now,
And like birds of a feather,
in sickness and health,
We've remained together.

Parkinson's cruel struck you down,
taking it's toll, so plain to see,
but always this unwanted crown,
You have borne with dignity.

It's been a long time now,
you've been my life.
It's been a long time now,
my darling wife.

Celestial Chess

It was not my will  to live or to die.
So whose will am I?

Since my will is neither here nor there,
And I know not what I'm doing here,
I am the will of some other force,
Set upon its chosen course.

Since I have no say,
In the coming of the night
Or the passing of the day,
I am just a pawn, in a game of celestial chess,
Whose beginning and end I cannot guess.

I can only embrace the life I am given,
And wonder where from death I shall be driven.

The Cock

Oblivious of the wok,
Does strut the crowing cock.

Osama And The Blackbird

Now here’s a story, I have to tell.
Pray excuse me, If I do not tell it well.
It was a warm spring day,
Not long ago,
I happened to gaze, through a window,
And in the garden,
A murderous scene was set,
One I saw and shall not forget.

I saw a blackbird trapped upon the ground,
From his open, orange beak, came not a sound,
Over him talons upon his throat,
A Sparrow Hawk stood,
Wings spread like a hood,
Hiding his dark deed,
From the neighbourhood.

Deadly claws held firm the prey,
Remorseless, almost sanguine,
Was he in his way.
His stranglehold tightened,
Upon the blackbird, frightened.
Its small feathered body,
Struggled and fought,
Though it seemed, all for nought.
With every sinew, it struggled and strived,
Fighting for life and the strength to survive.

It flittered and fluttered,
Gasping for air,
Afraid to die, in the Hawks lair,
Fighting for time,
For time was life,
Worth the pain and all the strife,
Till the blackbird,
Could fight no more,
And death upon him,
Closed the door.

Whilst feathered friends looked on alarmed,
The Hawk, feeling its prey becalmed,
Winged effortless into the cloudless sky,
One last time, the blackbird to fly.

Then Osama,
Your words came to me once more,
The words I have heard, many times before.
We prefer life but you prefer death,
You said.
The blackbird was gone,
The blackbird was dead.

No longer do we hear his song.
Nor see him fly among the hedgerows,
Nor over fields where the thistle and the nettle grows,
No longer does he scamper on my lawn,
Picking up breadcrumbs in the early morn.
Ah! death, I’ve seen it clear.
Is the end of life, God holds dear.

You see Osama,
Nature’s laws are unbending,
The struggle for life, is unending.
It is not death the Blackbird seeks,
Though he live for years,
Or merely weeks.
It’s life, the Blackbird cherishes,
Not death by which he perishes.

Osama, if it is death you prefer,
Then why this life do you suffer?
If death Osama, is so glorious,
Why is Allah’s work so laborious?
If it is in death we are living,
Why is Allah in life so giving?

If death is God's true light,
What need we of miraculous sight?
If death is glorious sensation,
What needs God of wondrous creation?

So why Osama, would you flee,
The deathly talons of the Sparrow Hawk,
Swooping down from the tree?
Without life Osama, there is no God,
And without God, there is no life,
That’s why the blackbird struggles and strives,
And why humming bees toil in their hives.

It is not for death, they suffer strife,
It is for time, for time is life.
And every time, has rhyme and season.
If blackbird lives, he lives for reason.
Blackbird is born of God’s creation,
Wondrous, beyond our imagination.
Our soul to God we give,
Not to wastefully die,
But rather that we might in glory live.

In life we hear the blackbird’s song,
But in death, his music is forever gone.
The mournful silence of death, cannot be heard.
Unlike the song of a singing blackbird.
So who, Osama, chooses to die?
Not the Blackbird, not the Sparrow Hawk, nor I.

If death is so glorious Osama,
Then please tell me why,
Why the great Allah, made you and I?
And why Osama, would you flee,
The deathly talons of the Sparrow Hawk,
Swooping down from the tree?

Postscript:

In May 2011 the Sparrow Hawk swept down from the tree and struck. Like the Blackbird, Osama has gone.

Cycles of life

Seeds

As seed turns to flower and blooms in the spring
Aromas waft scented upon the wing,
Of bees and birds and butterflies,
Till the petals fall and the flower dies.

Seeds fall upon the mulch of autumn.
Trees bend in the whistling winds that court them,
And the leaves blush in hews of red,
As they tumble lightly to their dewy bed.

The leaves lie sleeping in gentle decay,
Harvested by mould turning them to chalk and clay,
While seeds lie trapped in the frosted earth,
Awaiting the spring of a new a born birth.

Cycles Of Life

A Baby Is Born



A baby was born this day, in a Bethlehem manger.
Three wise men following a star journeyed to see the stranger.
From heaven he came, to this humble earth,
When the virgin Mary, gave him birth.

And Leaves His Mark

Seeds of wisdom he did sow,
On barren ground they did flourish and grow.
His words were harvested by the twelve apostles,
And guarded for posterity, like ancient fossils.

And Dies And Is Reborn

Upon a heathen’s cross he died.
Why have you forsaken me Lord, he cried.
But he rose again from the dead,
Or so at least, the disciples said.

From Dust To Dust

From ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
We metamorphose as all life must,
From state to state in mysterious form,
Does all life itself transform.

The Beginning And The End