HOSTAGES TO FORTUNE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Luck—that’s what some call it, a capricious cotillion with probability, eventually holding one hostage to fortune…” quote by the poet
Bystanders watch, their brows furrowed with wisdom,
judging the idiocy of my iffy propositions, the recklessness of my heart~
the unwise promises made to fortune and chance.
Is it luck I chase or a deeper current pulling me onward,
a commitment to commodity unseen,
a rendition to the unknown Hand that guides me?
The consequences occasionally sharp and bitter~
Are they assignments etched in pain or a class on grace,
divinely ordained, the Master sculptor’s chisel shaping my soul?
Were my falls the intended flights, each one a clumsy cotillion~
one orchestrated by a Divine hand,
making me a willing hostage not to fortune but to faith?
So, yes, I'm a hostage, willingly bound,
reluctantly surrendered, an internee of improvisation,
a fool of faith's uncertain grasp.
In this prison, I find the ultimate freedom.
Ode to a pillow
Oh pillow ! Your dexterity astounds me
You bolster the head of the destitute and the deep-pocketed
The hangman and the internee
The blooming and the senescent
The caretaker and the tsar
The analphabetic and the scholar
Yet none could serene sleep savor
Except those with a clear conscience ardor.
Abdelwaheb Dhaou.