I have chosen this poem, A Holy Place, that I wrote in the year 2000 because it is about the spring, worship at home and about learning from people of faith--it seems so relevant to this season we find ourselves in now.
A HOLY PLACE WHALLEY RANGE, MANCHESTER 2000 The first sign of summer in our road was when granddad emerged. In his white robes and dashing slippers he would sniff the air suspiciously doubtful that Manchester could ever be warm enough to allow him out of hibernation. One May day , he caught his breath for a while lounging on the bench, watching Iqbal feed pigeons and squirrels. Then the flurry of wings enchanted him as they flapped down and picked away at the seed. When all was quiet, Iqbal inside, pigeons back on the tiles, squirrels back up the giant willow which gave unsought-for shade to the old man, he reached down and lifted his prayer mat and placed it reverentially on the lawn. Kneeling down, his head almost touching the grass, he prayed. Back and forth he moved, brought himself into Allah’s presence. For a moment the little urban space became a holy place. Prayers over, Iqbal’s dad rose, smiled at me. God was with us. (This poem was first published in the Winter 2013 issue of Magnet) David Copley
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
ReflectionsThe reflections here are written by members of our congregation.
|