aliisbokhariIn Search of the Divine
In silent hues, a tale doth weave,
A head in hand, the heart bereaved.
Decapitated, yet he walks the night,
In meeting God, a radiant light.
With severed form, he cradles grace,
On canvas pure, he draws the face.
Two visages, one in sacred trance,
A mirror of the soul, a fated dance.
Through martyrdom, the phoenix soars,
From ashes cold to heaven’s doors.
For God resides within each man,
A hidden spark, the sacred plan.
In life or death, the seeker roams,
In every gaze, the heart finds homes.
Yet tangled threads of mind and heart,
Reveal the struggles that tear apart.
Exploring depths of identity’s maze,
Where sanity dances in shadowed haze.
The fractured self, both lost and found,
In sacred chaos, truth is unbound.
Thus, in that quest, the spirit’s claim—
To know thyself is to fan the flame.
In every wound, a story flows,
In seeking the divine, the self bestows.