Letters from Tuba

For some men there is a point of no return, when in that exact moment Allah manifests a treasure trove of love cloaked by the Hijab(veil) of beauty, no words no pens can ever explain nor describe the measure of such wealth. Those chosen men know well the gravity of that moment, and they brave, mind-less, the shore-less ocean of melancholy into which willfully drown themselves, because life can no longer continue and all things must cease.

These are a collection of love letters from one such man. A Haitian who braves the waters of Atlantic to find his lost love, Sabine, though he knows not where in US she is, nonetheless he gives it all to find her to see her one last time and he knows that final moment of most clear vision is the last of his life, because his Creator has made her the shore for him to swim to, the last of the bondage for his mortal cocoon and joyfully embracing the death and breaking through the loveless chrysalis. His palatial wings engorged anew with eternal life to flutter drunken through the Eden, endowed with millions of eyes to behold and devour the nectar of beauty and forever love her endless and such is the promise of his Creator for those who embark upon this journey, their loved ones are blooming on the gates of the destination.

The letters are written after his death caused by the capsizing of the boat. All pain is removed, all hate evaporated, all caution slaughtered, all cowardice silently strangled. He paid the price with his life in exchange to write these letters with the ink of love on the paper of beauty with the pen of eternity and sent by the post of amnesia.

When Allah loves a slave, often The Majesty breaks his heart over and over again, and in that precise moment when the man has lost everything, no possessions or youth left, Allah endows upon him the ability to give the only possession remaining i.e. his life proffered for the loved ones. While no one may take notice, let alone accepting this offer, Allah gladly accepts the trade and grants back the eternity.

My friend fly to embrace that moment, be poor and destitute, let the youth and health escape you but take note of the precise moment when you are reduced by the love of Allah to nothing and smashed into smithereens, love her and love her with your life. And when your heart is broken one last time, and no one values your love and rejections run rapid like acid through the veins and a thousand suns set in the boiling ocean of the eyes, alas! you learned how to love your Creator!

Black dove, off my palms, flutters
And though she hastens to conquer the heavens
And calling my cunning bluff, instead
It is most clear…
The heavens intend to devour this bird
(Like all doves before and all doves after)
And I stand on this muddy rooftop, ardour
Testament to sadness of all Haitians
And now my empty palms, languid
Raised to the heavens, few words
French, Creole or English… placidly
Washing away… billows of destiny
Where devil proffers her flight to oblivion

And now that she is merely a black point
Palms of my trembling hands
Prow for this prince’s vessel
Broken mast and ripped sails
Battling the copious waves of regrets
(No one on board only my laments)

And now that I can not behold her
Palms of my broken hands
Cracked mirror of bitter destiny
This prince’s tearful eyes
Looks upon, to find the reason
And now at this sunset, dove-less
The answer inviolably made clear
Dove after dove, all rejoiced in return
But my black dove lost forever
(Like the light of this world at sunset)


The Horseman    

My Daughter  

Background: Haitia worker.

© 2003-2002,  Dara Shayda