بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

What am I to make of it all, breath to breath the rise and the fall,
Of my chest and the Golden Lamp, day by day cast onto the damp,
Dark earth beneath me, just briefly, a few short years reach out to meet me,
Before farewells and last goodbyes, then wrapped and prone, alone I’ll lie.

What am I to make of it all?

* * * * *

Oh, my dear friend …

What of the beauty and the splendour, the orange glow of the final ember,
The campfire crackle and smoky scent, our night out bush when we last went,
Among the gums and the banksias, the grass trees and the hakeas,
The mountain air and calming breeze, moving our manic minds to ease.

What of the crystal clear cold water, carried along by that peaceful porter,
Meandering over pebbles and stones, smoothed to round, with soft coloured tones.
The soothing trickle of the river run, from one to many and many to one,
Heaven sent and scattered about, now gathered together with measured clout.

What of the gang-gang and the galah, rosellas, whip birds, and budgerigars,
The haunting call of the black cockatoo, and the playful prancing of young kangaroos.
A comically clumsy wombat’s retreat, startled – at last – by approaching feet,
The dragons sprawled on a sunny ledge, of rocks, down by the river’s edge.

What of the sky spread out up there, Rembrandt’s palette could scarcely dare,
Approximate such subtle hues, vivid colours, rubies and blues.
Shades of amber, silvers and greys, and at times that surreal haze,
Stoked by summer’s glowing guest, a whole new spectrum its bequest.

What of our days down at the beach, warm, soft sand subsuming each,
Barefoot, cool water drawing us in, beyond the breakers where the dolphins swim.
The underwater world just off the rocks, with magical fish and sea-sculpted blocks,
Gardens of weed decked with shimmering shells, dancing daintily to the rhythmic swell.

What of the ripples of peach and jade grass, the coruscant waves mapping breezes that pass,
Through seas of pasture fringed by green groves, offering ample shade to the droves.
The grand verandahs ‘round rural homesteads, with rusty browns adorning the sheds,
The lonely peace of a country road, where space has swelled and time has slowed.

What of the star-studded heavens at night, the silhouette shapes of fruit bats in flight,
The waxing and waning of the Luminous Sign, above, marking out the passage of time.
The dim-cast shadows in pale moonlight, nocturnal mammals just out of sight,
Relief for tired eyes, relief for the mind, a time to reflect, a time to unwind.

What of the inconceivable cosmos, this dazzling display in the deep that surrounds us,
Of light; seen and unseen, extended, way past that which can be comprehended.
The worlds, numbered like drops in an ocean, each one unique, like a cloud in motion,
What extravagance is this, that we gaze upon, from our Vantage Spot as it courses along.

What of the taste of a home-cooked meal, the simple pleasure that we all feel,
On a winter’s night, warm and dry, inside our homes, our loved ones nigh.
Laughing aloud at life’s mishaps, sharing time for that overlap,
Between our souls, that space for love, for all those things worth dreaming of.

What of the flutter of a love-struck heart, the first tender kiss on the lips as you part,
From your beloved, who’s swallowed you whole, who’s found in you food for her soul.

What of the radiant joy on the face, of a young child who with reverent grace,
Looks up to you admiringly, blind to your faults and frailties.

What of the greatest mount of all, your dad’s broad shoulders when you’re small,
The safety of his bear embrace, that gentle smile upon his face.

What of the one who’d never rest, until she knew you had the best,
Of life, and through great sacrifice, your mum gifted you a paradise.

What of it all, my friend?

* * * * *

It is all from God to you.

 

إِنَّا لِلّهِ وَإِنَّـا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعُونَ
Surely we belong to God and to Him we shall return.

– The Qur’aan