And maybe that’s it, birth into this one is death of the next
And the womb of Allah knows the peace we crave
And smack is another valley of oblivion
And Death is, and meditation gets there
And silence, numbing, addictions want it but
We are born here and
We can remember the tomb, arms crossed
Like a swaddled baby
We can drop all away like the plunge of sleep
And it terrifies, the free fall
But even babies can learn to let themselves sink into the cot
Like the womb of Allah surrounds, warm, dark, a nothing
We can pretend to be a nothing
And know we are a nothing
While we feel all that we are

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