I am he who  through
    that long November
       night
  Watched your eyes
       with untamed
         delight,
Earnestly travelling
    into the mystery of
      your mind;
 In the highnoon of
    Love we heard and
      spoke the same
        notes;
I am he who once
    held you in willing
      arms,
Unknitting wells  of
    passion beneath
       your heart;
I am he who wrote a
    Writ with you,
Sowing in your heart
    a Promise not to
      break the shared
        bond;
I am he who, in trust
   of  love, am a voice
     echoing in the
       skies;
 Faithed, in a leap for
     your love, and your
        hand, and that
          look in your
           eyes;        
The sea here sheds
   tears as it the earth
     crushes,
  The shore beside me
     pains as water race
       back to their
         depths,
And I am he who with
    confused past
      shares the anguish
        of the sea.
  Farewell!
And now I turnto be
    living with your
      memory, without
        blaming fate.

     -by Hakim Kassim.

-Lament.

           ".  . . without hope change  
            In sleep she seemed to  walk
                forlorn."
                           -(fro) Tennyson's   (poem)  
                            "Mariana" (1830).
     (for Diana, who inspired the poem
      in  visionary gleam)

And so you came  loaded with  lament
   Of  all the world  aflame in your  eyes,
           so calm and wide,
Grieving perhaps  over 'might-have-
           beens,'  yet with intent--
   Sorrow the kind   that had no home but
          with  restraint  in  pride,
A kind that made  you not weak but
         aweary  by  adverse  tide;
  Then sat yourself  before me in  quiet
          unease,  sweet  mournful
 Letting go of all. you truly are,  all you
          could  really  do--
So much lost to  an unfair world  that
          neither  revered the. beautiful,
  Nor shielded  its weak  from its
          cruel  cold! a world  that had no
               chance for  you--
An indifferent  world that never knew
          you for real,  for true.

                          -by Hakim Kassim.
                           (d. Dec. 14. 2021)

This is what happens
      when your own
         past--
Twisting and turning
      with you at some
         midnight hour-
  Becomes you, all
      over again at once,
          all too fast,
Overlapping you,
       heart and soul,
          strenuous in
              power;
   Precious memories
          posted in
             unchartered
                future;
Each note of thought
      wearily clings, too
          often
  But a scene with
       yourself,
          demanding
             an answer,
Yet within past
       content, drifting
           you to
              give-in, just to
                soften
  The unintelligent
     trail, past wishes
        revived in ardor: For, without the pain
     of the past, can
        there be future?

            
                    -by
        Hakim H. Kassim.
      (d. March 25, 2024)

(to Amal)
Musical Child of May, spirit fierce  and
                   fair!
  Born to Spring when the cricket cheers,
                   or
Drowsy nightingale weeps in melody, to
                  beget
  A new breed that in future glory may
                  rhyme--
Here to the twenty, and a thousand to
                  come,
  Of all your soft and moon-lit mid-May
                  eves.
Strange how much change the passing
                  day reveals,
  Stranger yet how your heart, sweet
                  child, stays  in love; ever-truer,
Blind to what was or will be said. Glow!
   MayChild of that immortal season,  
                  ancient friend
To Hyades that forever mourn and weep
                  for their slain.
  Pray, MayChild, to lift a lowered world
                 up to higher ground:
Pray for Mulki, avid, able,  so full of life,
  And for him who from womb to tomb
                 trod his way too soon;
Pray for Leyla, hostage to a future
                 brighter than can be said,
  And for this one,  humbled and defiant if
                 broken they say;
Pray for Ilham, a beauty that will burn
                another Troy,
  And for Kamal, princely and tall and to
                reign;
Pray for Fatah, to whom Allah left
               enlightening common minds,
  And for Sahardid, gifted with what for
               so many in envy crave;
Pray for Guled, made of the rare,  born
               for the  best;
Pray, MayChild, for mean and  hateful
               were not  said of you--
   Pray for us now and at the hour of our
               birth!
Tender  Star of May, beauty  blessed
               before her birth!
  Rich and loyal in  love, as  some are not,
Forget not: the ways of the are not those
               of  love:
  In a rugged world where  brutes tread
               their  petty ways of hate,
They break the heart that  shows love in
               full faith;
Venus, who versed you well in perfumed
             gardens of Spring,
  Knew that men's promise and trust
             vanish with the fleeting hour:
Consider Echo who, for love sincere,
             became  but a faint voice--
  Consider one might not be so loved by
             whom one loves so deep!
                                                                      
                                -by Hakim H. Kassim.
                                 (d. May 15, 1993)

No, I do not, cannot
      hope to bear,
  I would not summon
      my soul for once
         again,
To be serious in love,
     and care and dare
  To wear its colors
     and expect to
       remain sane;
For my heart, any
     heart! can be
      'moved' only once!
Thus no more, my
     dear, I do not care
        to go that way,
  To suffer woes in
     needless hope
       without excuse,
For how should I hope
    every night and day
  To "own" another
     whom I met by
        mere chance?
So you may thus
     remain  'in -live' or
       'indifferent,' as
          you please!
                      
                 -by
        Hakim Kassim.
   (d. January 30, 2024)

(for Khadija Abukar)
already you're in my
    my mind,
more than only a
    friend,

i met you hustled
    and felt tender call
      of soul, yet find
        myself in
            wonder,

my heart leaps up at
   the sound
of your voice, as if
    i'm abound;

though far away
    apart by oceans,
       my soul mingles,
          high emotions,

and from day's toil
   comes to seem
relaxed, at home in
   my dream where
     every night i meet  
        you,
you with the Light
   that'll save, too--

for it's been as we
   met, and is, true in
     stars that you may
       as well
        are the Promise;

you easily sit by me
   and soften
this poor soul of
   mine, which often

finds himself too
   much lost in
     your eyes,
        and thinking of
          you, all the
             'whys'

in my mind of this
   cold, cold world,
simply disappear,
   leaving me bold

enough in my heart
   to dare cope
     with whatever--
       there's with you
          hope:

everything is happily
   open in the future,
only if you and I will
   act mature!

                     -by
           Hakim Kassim.

fatigued hope
weary steps.
ultimates--
   in surplus
" . . .do what's right."
dreams discarded.
times tried.
keys found.
years lost.
casts made,
casts kept:
hearts broken.
lengths paced.
parts on a limb.
"do as good men
   would!"
omens and murky sighs.
time will draw-in soon--
future becomes
   yesterday
where are YOU?
where, the dreams . . .
.  . . your paved face?
   (d. November 07, 2017)