Though omnipresent force, some call it weak.
Soft and hard, could it be both false and true?
Some say it’s no more than a rosy cheek:
Why, then, is a flower so hard to subdue?
Is it a power only in its action?
No, for it lives beyond physical border,
A long journey, sublating mere attraction,
A deep wound, needing absence of order.
From the tall cradle to the deep earthy bed,
Its presence will continue to live on:
Among the clash of steel it remains undead,
In a world of fire, it has always shone.
Yes, its name is that which makes one insane:
My fond heart, is its pleasure worth its pain?
By Hasan Habib