Sweet Blasphemy

The glass shards

in your hair were

just diamonds

and pearls

If I must believe

this violent loss

the way grief

rips the air from lungs

then I'll breathe without air.

If my eyes cannot meet you

my ears cannot hear you

my arms cannot hold you

and if, in my home,

I cannot find you

then everywhere is your home

and in everything

I find you

in the pink silks of sunsets

I see you

in the voices of your friends

I hear you

If my heart feels your presence,

and my mind bows to your signs,

what part of me is left

but surrendered to the unbelievable?

The glass shards

in your hair were

just diamonds

and pearls

I believe

the gold ring you wore

is twisted and bent

because you wished it so

I believe

you chose me

not to carry you into the grave

but onto a bed of daisies

I believe

the coffee shop you loved is my mecca;

there, we've placed a shrine for you

the friends you loved are now my children

for them, I am in service.

Your words, in notebooks and letters,

are prophecies, and sketches of holy books.

The glass shards

in your hair were

just diamonds

and pearls

I believe

this unspeakable grief is kindness,

that Imam Ali kept you safe under his cloak,

that Mar Charbel healed you,

that Avalokiteshvara adorned you,

that the Prophet held your hand and recited for you.

Instead of dust and carnage,

instead of steel and shrapnel,

instead of sirens and lights,

instead of what cannot be unseen

I believe

the glass shards

in your hair were

just diamonds

and pearls.