The Zakir

“O’ mirror of my soul!”
calls out the Zakir.

“I long for thine reflection of me,
polished of my rust
washed of my dust.”

“I measure every good
and every bad,
with thine reflection,
ere taking them
to the Merchant,
for a trade worthy
of my liberation.”

And while carrying the load
on his being
The Zakir becomes his Zikr
In silence and in hymns.
And reaching
the marketplace,
stands before
the Merchant’s stall.
With nothing,
but empty hands
worthy only,
of receiving
A beggar’s provision,
Or a poor’s due.

(written on 29 June 2017)