Inside of pure truth the mind stands alone, afraid to reveal the passions its known.
And behaving in timeless ravels before, the questions of love it ceases to explore.
But through beams of wonder beyond the selling sky, the world forms confusions that drip from your eye.
And endless it seems as the earth moves too slow, and your dreams have no meaning of forces to know.
There plays a message deep in disguise, of a poet you love with a birthday surprise.

And here while I speak of a trueness before, the coolness of reason brushes my core,
and through the chills I tell you, nobody loves you like I do.

Beneath all of prayers the hope is still strong, and souls have no wish but to still move along.
And with there short breaths they wispier their pain, lying to no o­ne of laughters to gain.
But holding the past the present slips away, as they watch all their wonder and wish it to stay.
And while it searches for dreams to explore, the future captures the sallums before.

And here while I speak of a trueness before, the coolness of reason brushes my core,
and through the chills I tell you, nobody loves you like I do.

Out of the ashes of pity and grimes, the angles bring beauty to wipe through the jinns.
And o­n their wings is a knowledge so true, dipped in compassion to pore down o­n you.
And with it they wispier a sweat birthday song, carrying passions to help you along.
And between those clouds of white gentle bliss, I seal my poem with an invisible kiss.

And here while I speak of a trueness before, the coolness of reason brushes my core,
and through the chills I tell you, nobody loves you like I do.

Taubah Abdul'Ba'eth
Dedicated to my mother o­n her birthday