Sunday

it doesn’t feel like Sunday–

the sun is up

there is coffee

to be brewed

but it

doesn’t feel

like Sunday

somewhere

a choir is singing

and voluminous periodicals

are waiting

at doorsteps

and the workday

routine

has ceased

and in other places

far from here

the lives of joy

or poverty or

war

continue.

but here

it does not feel

like Sunday

how is it

that the earthly

constructs

of time

can be

so conveniently

folded

as if

to disappear?

and here we sit

the followers

of days

that we cannot

even remember–

a month of Sundays,

‘a thousand months’–

the collective

human life span

consolidated

on demand.

but

it

does not

feel

like

Sunday…
Linda Tauhid

7/26/15

Ramadan Reflections on the 4th of July

i am without color

i have no

rainbow overlay

no red,

black,

and green

flag

to wave;

no red,

white

and blue

sonata

to play;

my soul

is

colorless–

anguished

yet free

my heart

is flooded

with the

tears

of my eyes

my shaking hands

reach for help,

support–

my mind screams

“madad”!*

enable me

with

True Friends

and

the power

of hope

and reflection;

cleanse me

with the

baptismal waters

of faith

and certainty;

i see no colors

within

the human spectrum.

only enlightened

or unenlightened

beings

channeling rainbows

of light

and darkness

with their

thoughts

and actions–

black, gray, white–

colorless

as

a cloudy

day.
Linda Tauhid

7/4/15

©2015
*support