I found the dome of the rock.
They tried to stop me with toy guns and imaginary lines,
But I found it anyway.
100 metres from the ancient Al Akhsa mosque,
In all its untouchable splendour and beauty –
I could not touch it so it could not touch me.
But Yassin can.
That’s right, I found out it was a man,
No temple however many centuries old,
Could replace his welcoming hand.
His ocean heart with continents of kindness,
Crystalline seas devoid of depth-lurking monsters
Like prejudgement or superiority.
He sat with me willingly and laid all his willingness out openly,
We spoke when words mused and enjoyed quiet when she beckoned,
Time made no fuss nor hunger nor thirst,
It matters not whether his words came from God or from flesh,
For they cleansed my ears with love cool and fresh.
Yes I went to the Dome of the Rock,
But no I didn’t get a picturesque photo,
Or “feel the vibrations maaan”,
I spoke to a man,
Who could tell me more about Islam
Than any stone can,
Though my friends will tell me this is Haram,
The temple in his soul was worth a thousand built by man.
Humans are so interested in this rock, that ruin, lost ark, our land…
To crave after material confirmations of our spiritual ties,
Makes us lose sight of each others eyes.
But Yassin still stands,
It matters not whether he reads from the Torah or the Qu’ran,
Just another forgotten prophet by a CD stand:
I hope, one day, you too,
Have the privilege of shaking his hand.
Blog owner, singing/strumming person, word speaker, community arts make-happen-er, eco-baby.