ON THE HEART

"But what of the heart?" Almitra might very well have asked.

And the Prophet might very well have answered thus:

It is made, Almitra, of material things,

arteries, muscle, sinew, valve and such

tangible, pulsating things that pump, circulate, preserve life.

But Almitra, the heart is a construct of other things

less tangible,

less amenable to capture

through the imperfect instrument called reason,

for Almitra

in it is resident poetry,

in it is resident hope,

longing, breathlessness and breathing,

and who can deny that in its meagre chambers

unbearable sorrow and unexpressible joy are roommates?

Your heart Almitra is the sum total

of all the paths you've walked

and all the spaces

you've refused to inhabit,

for it is made of both presence

and absence,

and somewhere, you will know someday

or perhaps you already know,

there blooms a rare flower

of exquisite fragrance

and tender petal

a flower nourished by ancient winds

and futures that colour our dreams,

some call it love, Almitra,

it is a heart thing,

rare but beautiful

and if you should encounter it,

call it a blessing and embrace

for some blessings

when you shut the door on them

leave,

they never return.

Words are borrowed and reconfigured; they mean little if not shared. 
So do what you will with these lines.  And this includes comments. MS