Bahá’ís throughout the world gather today within the First Day of the Month of Sharaf [Honour]
“Sonnet In Honour of the Feast of Sharaf”
Not that what is in my soul is pure, nor are my eyes
In proper shielded, buttressed against what should not be seen;
No, my thoughts are not so secluded from my dreams;
These, the ears, are not immune from bablings of bathos on the sly.
My hands are placed firmly where they should not be
Nor to my taste my food as it should be. All
That modesty and honour require are no more; nor is the call
Of truth without duplicity the centre of my heart’s sincerity.
These infectious imperfections gain erection every day before my face
As each hour with yet another hour blasphemes with uniform joy in their gray
Glories with ceremony in a plethora of follies strewn
throughout my hours’ providential tally of remaining rainy days.
I am never far from falling short of all my own metaphors, the similes and grace
Of He who created me and the cynosure of they who didn’t…yet I continue on
That He remains the Melody of Virtue and I am become the lyric of its song.