If... (Excuse Me, Kipling) Poem by Mohammad Yousef

If... (Excuse Me, Kipling)

If the winds of fortune should dance in your favor,
and the stars align in a perfect celestial waltz,
then rise with the sun,
not as a conqueror,
but as a humble gardener,
tending the dreams that sprout in the soil of your heart.

If the shadows of doubt creep like ivy,
twisting their fingers around your resolve,
let the light of your spirit shine like a beacon,
piercing the murk,
for even the darkest nights yield to dawn's embrace.

If the road ahead seems strewn with thorns,
and the echoes of failure taunt your every step,
wear your scars like badges of honor,
for in each wound, a lesson blooms,
and in each stumble, a story unfolds.

If the voices of the world rise in a cacophony,
drowning your whispers of truth,
stand firm,
a lighthouse amidst the storm,
your heart a compass, guiding you home.

If your dreams are but whispers,
fluttering like fragile moths in the night,
gather them close,
for they are the seeds of possibility,
waiting for the breath of courage to ignite their flight.

If you find yourself standing at the crossroads,
where paths diverge like rivers in the wild,
trust the pulse of your spirit,
let it lead you through the thicket,
for even the winding paths hold treasures unseen.

If the weight of the world collapses upon your shoulders,
and the burdens seem insurmountable,
remember,
the oak stands tall because it bends with the storm,
its roots deep in the earth, unyielding yet flexible.

If the laughter of others rings like a distant bell,
and the warmth of connection feels like a fading ember,
reach out with open hands,
for in the act of giving, we ignite our own flames,
and together, we create a tapestry of light.

If you find yourself lost in the labyrinth of time,
as moments slip through your fingers like sand,
savor the sweetness of now,
take a breath,
let it fill your lungs with possibility,
for the present is a gift,
unwrapped in the stillness of existence.

If...
is not merely a word,
but a canvas,
a realm of infinite potential,
where dreams unfurl like wings,
and the heart dares to soar,
beyond the confines of what is,
into the boundless beauty of what could be.

So, excuse me, Kipling,
as I weave my own verses,
for in your echoes, I find a voice,
in your wisdom, a compass,
and in this tapestry of 'If, '
I discover the essence of becoming,
the art of living fully,
the dance of existence,
unraveled, yet whole.