Confusion
The tingles that rise in my chest,
The rush that I feel in between my breathe,
The tightening of my fists,
The dilation of my pupils,
What is it that creates this symphony?
Is it the love of material?
Is it the love of knowledge?
Is it the love of people?
Or is it the love of comfort?
The question perplexes my brain
Creates a dissonance in my electric rail
As I carry the clash of my intellect with my conscience
I stumble on the treasure of humanity.
Within those pale fabrics and worn out ink,
I discovered the reason of my unease.
It was not
The love of material
The love of knowledge
The love of people
Or the love of comfort.
It was that composed which the philosopher
the salvation of the saint,
and passion of the Sufi,
It was the love of wisdom.
It was the love of the unseen.
© Faizan Anwar 2020
