Her

This poem I wrote was inspired by a story told in A. Helwa's book Secrets of Divine Love about tawakkul on Allah.

The wandering Samurai found himself behind

An old tavern in Kanazawa, Japan surrounded

By 13 Bandits. Sword in hand and tongue in cheek, 

The warrior burst in hearty laughter: “I’m sorry 

For the poker match you guys…especially you Mugen!

I was really hoping you could bring Home 

That new rug for the Family. Maybe if you had one more 

Warrior, the winds might have blown in your favor! HAHAHA!”

Then, flowing through the frigid still air, 

A gleaming figure cuts through the electrifying 

Tension, and swiftly sends the men to their 

Thunderous ends. Through the echoing groaning and grunting 

Of 13 fallen voices, silence befalls and unveils: Her. 

She smirks, shrugging her Herculean swing off as though 

It were a kiss on a chalorous Spring day. 

The wondrous pair embark on their honeymoon only 

To find themselves facing a Typhoon. As all the forces 

Of Nature go to war and every particle crashes into its moiraic 

Partner, the Samurai stood glaringly still. The Heroine walks

The creaky plank to the front of the boat, knees buckling

At every uncertain step. “Why does your face not flush

At the sight of our appointment in Samarra? Why are you not afraid 

Sweet boy?” protested the warrior. In one swooping breath 

The Samurai’s sword finds itself at the edge of its paramour’s 

Jugular vein. She sounds a hearty laugh and the Samurai inquires:

“Why do you laugh? Are you not afraid!”

“No” she whispers, “I know you love me and seek only to realize my Truth.”

“Well I too entrust myself to the Beloved One who animates me. The Guardian of both Our destinies.

How then can I fear?”