School of Sufi Teaching

United Kingdom

Naqshbandi, Mujaddidi, Chishti, Qadiri & Shadhili practices

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I remember

I remember the trees of my childhood,
Elm trees that are no longer there –
I remember how they made me feel good
When now I fall into despair.

I remember my school and its teachers
As a place that was happy and kind –
I remember the summer sun breezes
In a world that now seems to go blind.

I remember the fields and the hillsides,
The butterflies bright patterned wings –
I remember the wind on the bike rides
And how I would play on the swings.

I remember the climb to the hill top
Where the foxes sometimes could be seen –
I remember the old fish and chip shop,
And how we would play on the green.

I remember how I used to feel strong
As the arrows fled fast from my bow –
And how little ever did feel wrong
As my spirit continued to grow.

I remember the world as a good place,
And as more full of laughter than fear –
I remember a life I could embrace
Where both thought and feeling were clear.

I remember the power and the glory
In summer and winter and spring –
But now I know that a good story
Can make someone weep as they sing.

I can’t say that all joy was broken
Or that childhood had not any pain –
But somehow, my feelings unspoken
Got buried, again and again.

And I grew up both harder and colder
As the child in me turned into man –
And my anger and upset grew bolder
As I lost any sense of a plan.

Of a plan that was made by a good God –
And instead worlds demonic I knew,
And the alleys and back roads I now trod
Were far off from the trusted and true.

I now had to play by my own rules,
I could no longer play on the green –
I felt a great hatred for all schools
And thought my whole self was unclean.

Though every once in a while I saw beauty
Which kept me alive in the mire –
I mostly thought it my new-driven duty
To stoke up a radical fire.

A fire that would burn the world’s hatred
All poison and misery and fear –
A fire that would consume the undead
Who’d destroyed al those things I held dear.

I knew not where this path was leading,
And I got lost full many a time –
I only knew that I was bleeding,
But I couldn’t remember the crime.

Now I’m older, look backwards and wonder –
And I try to look forward with hope,
But I hear coming lightning and thunder
As we slide down a slippery slope

That results from a lack of true speaking
And a lack of true feeling as well –
The bones of the planet are creaking,
Poor beauty seems drowned in a well.

It’s a well of confusion and sadness
From which murky water is drawn –
As the spirit to counteract badness
Is standing both cold and forlorn.

She needs an injection of passion
To shout out her message so clear
Which is that we all are in danger –
But that it’s ourselves we must fear.

She needs to bring hope to the hopeless
And a clear inspiration to all –
She needs celebration and lightness,
For the rise that comes after a fall.

I’ll go back to the world of my childhood –
And those old trees so fine and so tall,
And we’ll make a new world full of kindness,
Where there’ll be love, and justice, for all.

And we’ll make a new world full of kindness
Where there’ll be love and justice for all.

Clive Perrett

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