THE UNKNOWN SCRIBER
When I reached the age of ten,
I began versing a life of laughter and tears.
Words were stitched together, over and over again,
And beauty was created in silent revelry.
I compiled a wealth of verses through the years,
And the curious would ask, “But who is Wintry?”
From my heart the sweetest sound rings,
But fools were skeptical and questioned me.
All night and day my poor heart sings,
Weaving the melodies of joy and woe.
I sang of youth, innocence, love, and beauty,
But none cared for the passion my verses show.
“Wintry,” My heart cries, “Don’t heed foolish men;
They have eyes for naught and cannot see!”
And truth has spoken–how can they know,
Or even grasp the beauty I cause to flow?
So I remind those silly sap heads now and then
Of the beauty that I create with my heart and pen.
©H. Dabajeh
I TRUST IN POETRY
When the world first allured me with her beguile,
I was too blind to see the malice in her smile.
The pleasures I eagerly sought were quickly done,
My worldly joys ended before they had truly begun.
Amidst the crowd, I sit, yet I feel all alone;
I offer warm smiles, but inside I’m cold as stone.
So I turned to solitude, my dearest friend—
It hardens my heart to help me transcend.
Upon my pillow, my head I press,
And recreate a world of happiness.
I open my mind and let my thoughts roam there,
And my heart is freed from every care.
I only trust in poetry, and thus I choose to live,
I keep my distance from those who are too talkative.
Though I may be lonely, I do not fret or lament;
My verses minister to my every content.
A hidden poet, it’s how I’ve come to be—
In this chaotic world, I am unfettered and free.
©Habib Dabajeh
DEVOE LAKE
When days were festive and life was pure;
There was no tribulation and no trial-
Time appeared to be standing still.
Play and laughter were our only choir;
A simple bird song made us smile.
We lived for the moment and the thrill.
Youth was the only comfort we knew,
As we sang and danced all around.
There was poetry that filled the heart,
As lovable guardians saw us through,
And made our joyous hearts resound.
Never were we burdened, and never apart.
We sped to the woods and the tall trees,
Into the quiet heart of Rose City,
And wandered the forest of our second home.
We tore our clothes and skinned our knees,
But we were happy, humbled, and free,
Where natural songs play, and the wild roam.
When darkness fell, we sat awhile,
And joined the stars that lit the night–
We sought only our hearts to please.
We spoke not to confuse and beguile,
Our kindred spirits knew no blight.
We sought only the heart to appease.
We wept in joy with full red cheeks,
And swam and splashed in the deep
Heart of Devoe Lake without stop.
Now, like thirsty birds, we have dry beaks,
We see what once was, and we weep;
That lake of youth has now dried up.
All sweet memories time enshrouds,
Transfixing before us this dreamy landscape.
Those years of youth we only fantasize.
The days now are like the clouds;
Before you can point and make out a shape,
They quickly pass before your eyes.
©Habib Dabajeh
FALL SEASON
Wherever beauty could be sought,
Through every forest, I loved to tread.
With every picture my eyes caught,
Of paths unseen, untrodden, and forgot,
Poems were created with the words I thread.
The Fall Season I love the best;
It humbles my heart and my mind.
When I’m far from home I’m not oppressed
By that other world of wickedness;
Which I was so anxious to leave behind.
Within my mind I neatly store
The sights and sounds to the eye and ear.
From every spot, my heart would pour,
And scribe the beauty the heavens implore,
So my heart and mind in strength can persevere.
Until the last leaf hits the ground,
And the fluffy white stuff starts to pan;
I pack up my thoughts, and look around
One last time, and then I’m homebound;
And wait for the Fall to fall again.
©Habib Dabajeh
ON THE PORCH
The sun shone brightly on Morross Street.
The screeching bikes arrive and dropp to the ground.
Outside my window, I heard their scrambling feet,
And there was joy and laughter all around.
Excitedly, they arrived, pounding on my side door.
I was eager to start whatever adventure lay ahead.
Who knew back then what fate had in store?
There was so much to conquer and many roads to tread.
On my front porch, we would nightly convene;
To share stories and laugh at a silly joke.
Our eyes were bright, not fixed on a phone screen,
And there was constant eye contact as we spoke.
We sat on porches, and there was time to kill,
With burgers and beer, we talked and ate.
When stories flowed freely and time stood still,
Before we learned how to digitally isolate.
The creaking of bike chains kept the evening’s beat,
While fireflies danced and the days felt like forever;
Now phone screens glow as we scroll and tweet,
Missing moments that once brought us together.
No message notifications broke our spell,
As we laughed and played throughout the night;
Just the songs of crickets with tales to tell,
And friendship’s warmth that glowed with light.
It’s time to power down these devices we prize,
And return to the days without despair;
This virtual reality is for fools, but we were wise;
We had genuine connections in the open air.
The porch still stands, so let us reprise,
And bring back life’s unhurried scenes;
Where we might lift our downcast eyes,
And rediscover what true connection means.
©Habib Dabajeh
SEASONS
The vibrant hues of spring
Dance in her captivating eyes,
Reflecting the fresh greens
And delicate blossoms of the season.
The sweet fragrance of summer
Lingers in her flowing hair,
Reminiscent of sun-kissed days filled
With blooming flowers and laughter.
Her cheeks, a soft blush reminiscent
Of the fiery reds
And oranges of autumn leaves,
Radiate warmth and vitality.
Yet, beneath this beautiful exterior,
Her icy heart remains untouched,
Piercing the air around her
Like the biting chill of winter’s breath,
A thorny rose, bright and lovely,
Who tempts all the curious eyes,
Only to leave those who seek her warmth
In a state of longing and despair.
©Habib R Dabajeh
SNOW IS GREEN, GRASS IS WHITE
It’s time for me to turn my weary eyes away
From a world that is so cruel and untrue.
And as for you, who spreads those lies,
The truth will eventually find its way to you.
I need to march on my tired feet
From this darkness into the light.
I want to reach out my hand and hopefully greet
A mind that can distinguish wrong from right.
Onward I marched with weary feet,
But there is only darkness and no light.
Now, what is bitter is considered sweet,
And the tongue of falsehood is accepted as right.
©Habib Dabajeh
SOLE KEY
If He offered you a thousand nights-
A thousand nights your soul to redeem;
You could sleep a thousand nights,
But of Him, you would not dream.
If He filled your mind with endless thoughts,
And gave you infinite words at will;
To describe Him, you could not.
In your mind, He would be hidden still.
If He indulged your eyes to look upon Him,
And all His glory stretched to eternity;
To look upon His Face, you cannot.
No mortal such Beauty can see.
If He offered your ears the songs of Seraphim,
And every sound gratify to your ear;
You would hear what no mortal heard,
But His sweet Voice, you would not hear.
If He tossed you the keys to the universe;
And no door in all creation to you is denied.
You will open and enter every hidden door,
But will find His door sealed from the inside.
If He opened the windows to Heaven and Hell,
And showed how the souls He will debate.
You will know the true Balance of Justice,
But He will not reveal your fate.
If He sends the Dark Angel for a chat,
And you discuss the imminent death knell.
He will show you both fear and joy,
But, as for your hour, He will not tell.
You saw and heard what no mortal should,
Enough to cause any soul to come apart;
And in the end, Death cries out,
“I am the only key to His Heart.”
©Habib Dabajeh 5/99
SOUL SCHOOL
When thoughts unwillingly take control,
And thick clouds gather to blind the soul;
The mind becomes adrift in an ocean of sin,
As it fights rough waves back to The Whole.
With hope as our guide, we stay on course,
And live our lives with laws without remorse.
With longing and prayer, we make our way,
Like a moth to a candle, we burn for The Source.
Death is a harsh road and without end,
But faith beckons us to trust ‘The Friend’.
How many souls have traveled down this road,
A road no living soul can comprehend?
Although a fortunate few have gone to see,
And miraculously returned back to reality;
To explain what’s behind the veil, they cannot;
Since Fate has blurred their memory.
The seed of sorrow is planted in every breast,
And causes the pondering mind pain without rest.
His Mercy has depth, like an infinite sea;
If your number comes up, He decides what’s best.
What now I feel is what my heart tells me;
What any human, or fool can plainly see;
Sorrow has been written for the soul,
And that which has been written, must be.
©Habib Dabajeh 6/06
THIS HOLY DRAMA
I
We are merely actors, a gathered convoy;
The moment we’re born, the Drama begins.
We live out youth in comfort and joy,
And soon start to balance good deeds and sins.
In His Hands, the whole stage He holds,
And observes how The Holy Drama unfolds.
II
Upon this stage, and with the passing of time,
The processing of reason takes effect.
Some are born on the summit, some must climb;
Some succumb to burdens, and some happily accept.
The weak resist, and into confusion are drawn,
While the strong embrace their faith and hold on.
III
As adults, we start to question seeking truth,
Only to be ensnared by our selfless reasons.
And as the years flow, we reminisce on lost youth,
As time passes swiftly, and the mystery deepens.
We hinder ourselves with what we can’t comprehend,
In this play of uncertainties, and is certain to end.
IV
It’s a beautiful play written by a Beautiful Mind,
And has been wisely planned to be carried out.
Some see the beauty, but a certain few are blind;
Some trust the ending, while others foolishly doubt.
It has joy and heartache, horrors and glory,
But it was purely conceived as a love story.
V
As old age wanes us, we hold on to belief,
And trust The Author and His Divine Cause.
Unwillingly, we play our part with joy and grief,
And as death drops the curtain, there is no applause.
Darkness fades, and we awake to a lucid reality check;
The Author was always standing and applauding our entire trek.
©Habib Dabajeh
WE ASPIRE
He dims the candle, and the stars appear.
He blesses the birds and grounds their flight.
But, even in the darkness, I still can hear,
Their sweet songs fill the night.
All day long, and they never seem to tire
To pour out their hearts like Cherubim.
Birds show the soul that it too may aspire,
To never tire of praising Him.
©Habib Dabajeh
WHEN MEMORIES WERE BORN
Tickity Tock is the thief called time.
These old bones have seen better years.
The hills I ran up, I can barely climb;
Bird songs are now fainter to my ears.
The beauty that was can never fade,
Life will always be beautiful to me.
My eyes are strong, but see with aid;
It’s the same world, but not as free.
A memory sparks my restless mind,
And I’m quickly drowned in thoughts of youth.
Kind Fate allows our clocks to rewind,
That we may reminisce a time of truth.
I lived for nature, and there I roam,
And took every path wherever it led.
The only time I thought of being home,
Was when I needed to rest my weary head.
No debts to pay, only money to burn;
I had no care for this world’s affair.
Love of poesy was my only concern,
And bore only what I could bear.
No burdens to hold, I had no goal;
Only gaiety flowed from my tongue.
The songs of youth filled my soul,
And pearls of poetry were merrily strung.
Poesy alone was all I knew,
And I reveled in its truth and lies.
With idle thoughts, I began to view,
The face of beauty through a poet’s eyes.
Now, the days are more precious than before.
The heart beats, until only He knows when.
I’ve chosen to live for what I adore,
In peaceful silence, with pad and pen.
I see the same light in my children’s eyes,
And that familiar laughter I once knew.
The love and hate, the truth and lies,
As they begin to collect their memories, too.
©Habib Dabajeh 2/19
BEAUTIFUL LIES
I am the Poet who gladly dispenses
Enticing words with a stern decree.
The pure quality that allures the senses,
That aura of beauty I make you see.
I coerce your body and make you dance,
I fool your eyes and twist your tongue.
I pierce your mind and make you glance
Back to a time when youth was young.
I sing the verses of hope and despair,
And make you unclothe in the moonlight.
I make you picture what’s not there,
And show you the stars in broad daylight.
I cause you laughter, then I induce pain,
I prompt you to love, then make you hate.
I make you believe what you can’t explain,
I make you promises, then make you wait.
I close the day, and the night I raise,
And provoke the crickets to rejoice.
I tell the nightingale its time to praise
The living flora with the sweetest voice.
I make your days pass like years,
I make you cherish and make you scorn.
I invoke great bliss, then expose your fears,
I make you rejoice, then make you mourn.
I cause the crippled to leap with joy,
And show the blind beauty never before seen.
And I enlighten spirits and then destroy,
I tell you grass is white, and snow is green.
I overwhelm your heart when I incite,
And swell your passions and infidelity.
If lovers should brawl, and spouses fight,
Blame the enticing words, don’t blame me.
When you have finished reading my phrases,
Know this, my whole life is built on lies.
Please don’t look at me, I don’t like gazes,
When I’m reveling in your own demise.
I am a Poet, I tell beautiful lies.
I try to be honest, now and then.
A Bard at heart, the truth I disguise,
It’s not my lips moving, it’s my pen.
©Habib Dabajeh 3/2019
CURIOSITY
If I told you my heart concealed a secret,
And that I would keep it sealed to my grave,
You would stand there, lost in thought,
As I walk away, leaving you to burn and crave.
See how I left you smoldering with curiosity?
Your eyes I open wide, and your heart I enslave.
Notice how puzzled and agitated you’ve become?
And how childlike you start to behave?
Not too long ago, you were so humbled,
Now your temper flares, and your lips concave.
Lost in thought, you succumb to begging,
You display impatience, and not so brave.
What if I told you that this hidden secret
Will not make you dance, rant, or rave?
Would that bring you peace of mind?
Or will your racing heart still misbehave?
This veiled secret is the size of an ocean,
Carried deep in the heart of the wave.
Once it crashes on land, it spills out,
And is entrusted with the shore to save.
The shore is often visited by talkative fools,
But the silent sands will offer no conclave.
The oceans and seas, all sandy shores,
Are bound in secrecy, protective in their enclave.
Through the flowing years, the waves crash,
And what is written on the shore, they quickly lave.
They will never submit to human folly,
Especially not to the persistent and the knave.
I close my mouth and seal my thoughts;
It was never my intention to deprave.
Human curiosity and desires of the heart
Will cause even the noblest of souls to cave.
©Habib Dabajeh 2/21
GENTLE WHISPERS
As the sun dips low, with wings filled with ink,
His golden brush paints a brilliant landscape.
A tapestry of silence calls the mind to think,
To ponder this breathtaking display taking shape.
The wind, an artist, dances through the greens,
Like a poet’s open heart, wild with glee.
It twirls and creates nature’s unbridled scenes,
Composing sweet stanzas through Divine decree.
I hear a gentle whisper as it softly weaves,
Through a sea of sunflowers, erect and fair.
An endless verse, upon the meadow it conceives,
A celebration of life, inviting all to share.
Its breath is like a song cascading as it passes,
While birds and butterflies rejoice in their flight.
Each breath is a word, that dances through the grasses,
And the poem lingers on, like eerie echoes in the night.
Oh, blessed night! the moon overhead glows;
The wind still whispering tales through the trees.
As I embrace the quietude, a distant brook flows,
And a choir of crickets harmonizes with the breeze.
Upon this endless meadow, keeper of the lore,
Reflective moments invade the troubled mind.
For in this green expanse, our hidden spirits soar,
Longing for the Unseen and the Divine.
©Habib Dabajeh
SHOW TO ME
Show me a man who guides and inspires,
While he privately shields his own doubts.
One who sleeps in tears when he retires,
But smiles in public, jokes, and joyfully shouts.
He who consoles the pains of others,
But hides his own pain with laughter.
Who is unloved, but encourages lovers
To chase whatever dream they’re after.
Is there such a man who loves his foe?
Whose hidden faults the world will never see?
That mercy, generosity, and love to me show;
That fearing man of God, show to me.
©Habib Dabajeh
SOLITUDE
Deep in the woods when I would be alone;
I’d look upon the world in a different way.
With no other soul around, and no cellphone,
Only that sense of foreboding you downplay.
When friends and I gathered in the same place,
We disturbed the silence with a devilish deed.
Chaos and revelry we would gladly embrace,
And for welfare and well-being, we paid no heed.
All nature before us we would quickly dishevel
Just to brag and impress a friend or brother.
While we were grouped, we’d wrestle the Devil
To show we were fearless in front of one another.
The joy was there when we were united,
And devilish deeds induced loud laughter.
We cursed and joked, and hearts were excited,
And reveled in drunkenness many times thereafter.
Sitting in the woods alone, I quietly rumble,
My mind is at peace and it’s not flawed.
I’m not lonely or afraid, I’m made more humble;
In solitude, you only remember and fear God.
©Habib Dabajeh
T.S.M
A fool with no brains and two eyes blind,
Demanded answers to some questions asked.
Three things created that transfix the mind,
Where everything conceived has been amassed
By the Eternal Pen shivering with Light.
The first has a present, a future, and a past.
The second has breadth, length, and height,
And the third has solid, liquid, and gas.
We created mortals cannot reason and construe,
Nor can the wisest minds ever break through,
These Three Constituents that were created by He.
For surely, He cannot be contained by the Three.
Everything created into darkness will descend,
Yet, He remains, without beginning or end.
©Habib Dabajeh
THE POETS
We babble words pure and mendacious,
The longer we think, the more satirically audacious.
We can bring you down to sadness and despair,
Or we can choose to be instilling and gracious.
We plant the desert and drain the sea.
We sit for hours and converse with a tree;
And hear her endless tales older than humans,
Of a life, unbound by man, peaceful and free.
We stir the mighty oceans and calm the breeze.
We raise the poor and bring kings to their knees.
We can open and close portals unseen,
And can come and go as we please.
We have the entire heavens at our behest.
We make the sun rise from the west.
And we hide the moon and adorn the night
With strange anomalies, chaos, and unrest.
The entirety of the universe we do encase,
And travel its distances without a single pace.
The power of our words is infinite and abound;
We can disrupt time, and we can distort space.
And while you’re fixated on our every word,
You try to riddle what you just heard.
You clash between faith and incredulity,
And we continue to verse, undeterred.
And when all is said and done,
We split the moon and defuse the sun.
We leave you there in anger and bewilderment,
Wondering if it’s the end, or has it just begun?
©Habib Dabajeh 2019
WHERE COLD WINDS BLOW
In Michigan, where cold winds blow,
Abides a Poet, not many may know.
Beneath the veil of a winter’s sigh,
He wanders realms where shadows lie.
With boastful words and flowing ink,
He contrives a verse, to make you think.
On a freshly falling page of snow,
He sculpts the silence, a world aglow.
His heart is heavy, burdened by dreams,
Each line a whisper, or so it seems.
For in the twilight of the dusky glow,
Lies irony wrapped in the warmth of woe.
He pens of lovers, in frozen embrace,
Yet feels the chill in their distant grace.
Their laughter dances on the breeze,
But leaves him longing upon his knees.
With pen in hand, he casts his plight,
Painting the sorrow of love’s sweet night.
Each stanza drips like the melting frost,
Reminding him of what he’s lost.
Through forests deep, where shadows blend,
He chases echoes, a soul to mend.
Yet as he writes, the ink does bleed,
Irony blooms in the heart’s great need.
For every word that spills from his pen,
Unveils a truth he cannot defend.
The tales of joy he so deftly weaves,
Are but reflections of what he grieves.
The moon hangs low in a slate-gray sky,
A witness to the dreams that die.
In Michigan, where cold winds blow,
A Poet’s heart bears the weight of woe.
Yet from the frost, new life will spring,
A stubborn hope that dares to sing.
And as he writes on the canvas of night,
He finds in shadows, a flicker of light.
So let the winds howl, let the tempests roar,
In the Poet’s soul, there lies something more.
For though the winter may chill the air,
The essence of love will linger, fair.
In Michigan, where the cold winds blow,
A Poet persists, not many may know
His heart cries out, with poems so clear.
He whispers of beauty, but none will hear.
©Habib Dabajeh