The word of God
is not a captive of the pulpit’s thunder;
often it arrives unannounced,
a quiet breath wandering
through the still corridors of the pews.

For truth is older than the preacher’s voice
and wider than the walls that house it.
It borrows the lips of the ordinary,
and sometimes the trembling tongue
of those who never learned the language of sermons.

The word of Allah
does not sleep only in the sacred ink of the Koran;
like the wind over deserts and oceans
it travels without passport or permission,
resting in the counsel of a friend,
in the warning of an enemy,
in the strange wisdom of a passing stranger.

For the Divine Word
is not merely the music of comfort.
Sometimes it is a storm over conscience,
sometimes a mirror before the soul,
sometimes a blade of light
that tears the fabric of our cherished illusions.

Truth is a wanderer.
It refuses captivity in temples,
escapes the custody of doctrine,
and laughs softly
at the arrogance of those
who claim to be its only messengers.

It appears where humility bends low enough to hear,
and vanishes where pride builds thrones for itself.
It rises in unlikely mouths,
and settles in unexpected hearts.

For the word of God
is not a possession to guard,
but a mystery to encounter,
a living echo moving through creation,
older than scripture,
deeper than religion,
and wider than every pulpit
that dares to contain it.