Fuck my selfish needs,
all I care about are my virtuous deeds.
I can keep kneading the dough, and stacking the paper—
but what will I think of my life later?
When I’m 90 and on my death bed,
will I see my life in red— full of money and passion?
or will I see my life in green— full of purpose, strong and lean?
Living life is balancing on a telephone wire
To let my soul soar through the fire
To love my loved ones, like today were their last day
Or to remind myself, that today might be my last day.
To remember the words of my umma:
Son, always stay humble
even though you might falter and stumble
Keep sharing your passion and love with others
and don’t care what your brothers or sisters say about you
stick steadfast to your life’s passion, like super-glue.
To know that every shoe doesn’t fit every foot,
To stay hooked on virtuous deeds,
don’t worry about your own needs
God will provide.
What is the purpose of my life?
- To send messages of love and positivity,
- To let others wonder to themselves: “My life, I can be anything I want to be.”
- To let others live in happiness and glee,
- To flee the terrors of their past
- To know that life-long learning isn’t confined to the class
I want my spirit to soar and blast to the moon,
to imagine crazy wild shit of how great life can be— like I were high on shrooms
To sweep away negativity like a broom,
to remember that I am the groom
of my bride
my life, my wife, my soul.
Cindy, you mean to everything to me in the world.