The Double-Edged Sword Poem by Abdul-Qadir Abdul-Mumin

I met you at the river's bend,
Where quiet waters seemed to gleam,
And offered you a cup to fill
With echoes drawn from sacred dreams.

You wore the skin of kindred winds,
Spoke in the tongue of distant kin,
And gently asked to share my fire—
The one I kept burning within.

The first night, petals left my tree,
Soft-falling in your open hands.
I thought it autumn's honest call,
Not knowing spring had changed its plans.

The second time, the well ran dry,
Though rains had graced the thirsty land.
I dug and dug with blistered palms—
Still found the prints of someone's hand.

The mirror cracked where once was calm,
My name repeated not by choice.
The storm, I learned, had worn your face—
The echo carried not my voice.

Now even stars I once believed
Seem dimmer when I speak their lore.
For some can drink and leave no trace,
But come again to ask for more.

So I sheath a blade that bears your light,
Twin edges forged in trust and ache.
Some weapons kiss before they cut,
And smile for every heart they break.
© Abdul-Qadir Abdul-Mumin