Moses’ Ark

Then they will whisper in your ear

that you are discarded,

frail in form,

a vessel for sorrow,

that your existence is nothing but emptiness,

that they are the conquerors of the earth,

the rulers in the name of God,

and that you are but a trembling servant,

mere foam upon the surface.

They do not know, my lady,

who lit the fire within their furnaces,

who brought food to their children.

They do not know how you hid their shoes

from the fear of rain

in that wretched shelter.

They cannot grasp the distance

nor the burdens you carry.

O lady of love and knowing,

O bottle of spilled fragrance,

O bird of paradise—

You are the harbor of humanity.

God created you a saint

in every place,

in every time.

You are Moses’ ark,

and the hoopoe of Solomon.

O helper of the needy,

a few drops of milk from you

quench the thirst—

They are the ones who have lost.

For the pulse of God within you

is full—

mercy,

and tenderness.

Let all the worlds of my love bear witness,

all realms of jinn and humankind,

that within my soul

you are a flowing stream

from the grace of the Most Merciful.