Al-Qawiyy

There are poems I cannot write down

but for the grief
like the epic on piety neglected

and the hateful thief
like the ruba'i of striving for Allah

never reached
like the sonnet sans envy's divisions

bound in a sheaf
like the ever-stretching lyric Al-Qawiyy sings in red whispers to me

I cannot write them down, nor ever cease