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