Touching Destiny

Touching Destiny 

If I could touch Destiny…

I would touch her face
and run my fingertips along her projecting jaw line
and raise my hand, held out open under her chin
to catch the tears that drip off of it
after lingering, hanging with an insisting refusal.
I would let my hand sting with their touch upon my skin.
I would not gently run my fingers,
ones transfixed to ease suffering,
up her boney cheek to the source of the tears,
where the chill of her skin disappears
and only burning rages on.
I would not gently press my fingers against the depressions under her eyes
to collect and alleviate the stinging sensation about to fall forth.
I would not.

I would run the palm of my hand
along a few strands of her thin, oily hair
to get a little of its sticky moisture
captured in the lines of my palm.
I would not stroke my fingers
through the side of her throbbing scalp,
letting her hair slip in between them,
to massage some of the pulsing vessels to relaxation.
I would not.

I would run the tips of my fingernails
secretively along her pale, shaking arm
and hold the back of my hand against the back of hers
and feel the rush of quivers.
I would not slide down to my knees
and grab onto her hand to hold against my chest
and press my forehead and nose against her arm.
I would not kneel at her slender, blistered feet
at the desperate attempt to revive her with my viability.
I would not.

But what can I do?
As I stand here for so long
looking down into this distant abyss,
over the brim of this precipice,
with all of the possibilities too far, or simply nonexistent,
to let my tirelessly searching eyes rest upon,
let alone comprehend with the limitations of my mind.
My intellect can never answer why.

Every night when the teasing light of the stars
cannot suffice to aid me in my chase,
I turn my back to the edge and face her again,
standing there feebly,
like everything inside of me about to break.

I stand again,
face to face with her,
as I notice a glimmer,
a twinkle seen so often,
I grew accustomed to ignore this minute detail of her appearance.
It came from the adorning stars above.

I look into that sparkle
in an endless black ocean of her eyes,
which tears at my longing gaze
to let go of what I cannot hold.

An appearance such as hers never came to me to redo.
It came as the same way it must go.

If I could touch Destiny…
I would make no alteration to her perfection.

“And with Him are the keys of the Ghaib (all that is hidden), none knows them but He. And He knows whatever there is in (or on) the earth and in the sea; not a leaf falls, but He knows it. There is not a grain in the darkness of the earth nor anything fresh or dry, but is written in a Clear Record.” [Qur’an, Surat ul-An’aam, 6:59]