Abhá

In the fall of 1990 i had a dream that was real and profound. It was one of those rare dreams that was as real if not more real than our waking moments. Today i felt driven to write a poem about that dream. Unlike some of the other poems that i have shared here this one is more personal and not as universal. It is not a shared experience as the ones about the Holy Land are.

Abhá*
Early one morning
While deep in slumber
I wandered the worlds
Infinite in number

Upon a foundation, round
My aunt was chanting
And I found
A host of people
Circumambulating
Deep and profound

The sky was blue,
The walkway white stone
The air was pure
Not a blemish was shown

Joy and love were all around
A tune was playing
A beautiful sound
Two faces I saw
Dear friends from here
Of which I have always felt near

Off to the side a garden I saw
Of pure white gypsum
With no flaw
Within that garden
Twelve head did I see
As they turned with great smiles
As they looked at me

The power and presence
Overwhelming my soul
With one word I awoke
Not able to stay
Not wanting
to go away
the word that escaped my mouth
with a shout
wide awake
was
“The Martyrs”
Shiidon, August 2007

*Abhá is Arabic for Heaven