Barely There. Yahia Lababidi

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      Barely There

      Short Poems

      Yahia Lababidi

      Barely There

      Short Poems

      Copyright © 2013 Yahia Lababidi. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

      Resource Publications

      An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

      199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3

      Eugene, OR 97401

      www.wipfandstock.com

      ISBN 13: 978-1-62564-279-0

      EISBN 13: 978-1-62189-847-4

      Manufactured in the U.S.A.

      This book is dedicated to my dear wife, Diana C. Restrepo, for showing me that the ultimate work of art, is who we are and what we do.

      Breath

      Beneath the intricate network of noise

      there’s a still more persistent tapestry

      woven of whispers, murmurs and chants

      It’s the heaving breath of the very earth

      carrying along the prayer of all things:

      trees, ants, stones, creeks and mountains alike

      All giving silent thanks and remembrance

      each moment, as a tug on a rosary bead

      while we hurry past, heedless of the mysteries

      And, yet, every secret wants to be told

      every shy creature to approach and trust us

      if we patiently listen, with all our senses.

      Embracing, We Let Go

      Perhaps, we are negotiating

      not just with one, but always two

      (who share the same soil, it is true)

      one who lives, another who is dying

      A shift in balance begins to take place

      once a love of silence is confessed

      its roots run deep, its shade a world

      and her fruits impossible to forget

      From the first, we surrender something

      and, gradually, consent to be emptied

      seduced by so much soundless music

      drunk and sated through lipless mouths

      What use to name this silent master

      preparing us for dying or the Divine

      —I’m not sure there is a difference—

      but know in embracing, we let go.

      Exchanges

      Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form. —Rumi

      What unexpected turns our losses take

      in winding their way back into our arms:

      an absent lover returns as many others,

      a nation forsaken in the shape of a new life;

      poems might take the place of parents

      and friends gone come back as a wife.

      If Love were not always a step ahead

      how would it ensure we kept up the chase?

      Spirit

      Bodies are like poems,

      a fraction of their power

      resides in their skin

      The rest belongs to the spirit

      that swims through them.