The Butterfly and the Bee

This came out on a quiet Sunday afternoon at the behest of my two little girls. They supplied the words and the scene while I mashed it all together. Quite contrived, but such a fun exercise.

On a bright and sunny morning,
Where the grass grows wild and green,
And the colors of the rainbow
Wash all the flowers clean,

The butterfly came fluttering,
And sat her light self down
Upon a black-eyed Susan's
Crisp and golden crown;

And was about to sample
The nectar, filling, sweet,
When, overhead, she heard the buzz
Of interrupting feet.

"My kindest salutations,
To you my fluttering friend,
I come with hope to partake of
This black-eyed Susan blend."

The butterfly turned to him,
Said with a quick Ahem,
"A hundred others sway here now,

Why don't you visit them?"

Then with a slowly growing smile,

Replied the clever bee,

"A meal is so much better with

The proper company".

The Proposal

The thought had come and swiftly gone
At least a dozen times that day,
Then like a close and dear friend,
It caught itself and chose to stay,

And cause a stir in Ali's heart,
Who gently put his burden down,
Then stretched his sore and ailing self
Upon the parched and dusty ground.

And where he lay upon the dust,
The burning sun shone down upon
The son Medina doted on:
Ali, the soldier, scholar, scribe.

How could a poor man like he
With not a dirham to his name
Aspire so, he shook his head
But considered it just the same.

Good men of higher standing tried,
But everyone had been denied
Their wish to marry Fatima,
Sweet piety personified.

The crisp adhan cut through the air
And shook young Ali from his thoughts,
The lowly water carrier
Broke from his work and made for prayer.

And as he found his lips complete
The call to claim the harvest high,
The indecision left him, for
In every thought does action lie.

The soldier ambled out of prayer,
And saw the man he dearly loved,
The Prophet, making for his home,
His fragrant scent perfumed the air.

With quickened heart and pace to match,
He came to where the Prophet was,
Who turned around and with a smile
Said thus to end the pregnant pause:

"Upon you Peace, Abu Turab",
To which Ali responded and
Proceeded to articulate
His plea for young Fatima's hand.

The smile upon the Prophet's face
Grew brighter as he drew Ali
Towards him, then the words he said
Set Ali's tender heart to race:

"And what shall be my daughter's dower?",
To which did Ali promptly yield,
"The worth of my sole property:
My coat of mail and trusted shield".

And thus a seed of thought had found,
In young Ali, its fertile ground,
Then from it sprung a blessed tree
That bore its fruit for all to see.

Review: "I want to be the spider"

Here is a poem I like very much.

http://www.mhsgc.com/forum/default.aspx?g=posts&m=31&#31

It was composed by an eleven year old child. What I especially like about it is that there is no digression from the main import (which is usually typical of novice attempts at verse, something I still struggle with), and the poem ends with a clear conclusion that ties up beautifully with everything that precedes it. My recommendation to the young poet is to lend the work some structure - maybe give every verse a meter. Start with (given the opening verse):

[da-dum] [da-dum] [da-dum] [da-dum]

[I-want]  [to-be]      [the-spi]  [der-that]

MashaAllah for the clarity of thought that gave rise to this poem.

The Man From Azzulmat

or The Parable of the Penitent Killer

This famous parable comes to verse in this installment.

Note to reader

• Alrajul (pronounced Ull-ruh-jool) is Arabic for 'The man'.
• Azzulmat is a fabrication stemming from the Arabic, Al-dzulumaat (literally 'the darknesses')
• Annour is a fabrication stemming from the Arabic, Al-Noor (literally 'light').

Of Azzulmat's nefarious,

Alrajul was her darkest son,

His crimes were vile and various,

Unparallelled by anyone.

And none could stand his fiery rage,

For when it did its equal find,

Alrajul let it amply wage

Aggression of a deadly kind;

And thus prevailed his violent ways,

Until a hundred men less one

Had tasted well how death repays

The life that ends with life begun.

Yet will divine plays out unstrained,

And sets to work with all its might

To carry out a thing ordained,

As dawn dispels the dark of night.

He took to quiet solitude,

And thought of all the death he wrought,

Then with the faintest hope renewed,

He came upon the thing he sought.

In strong and able counsel lay

The cure to soften savage hearts;

So searched he hard throughout the day

And found the wisest in those parts.

Alrajul told his tale of wrath,

And asked in earnest of the sage,

The way to a redeeming path,

But what he heard revived his rage:

"Your deeds are vile as vile can be,

And sadly your regret is light,

So spare me now your company,

I see for you no hope in sight."

He slew the sage at being spurned,

Then when the flames of anger died,

The once familiar guilt returned;

Alrajul slapped his face and cried.

Then with a growing strength anew,

To douse the fire in his breast,

His soft inquiries led him to

The land of Annour to the west.

He traveled long a steady pace

Through narrow pass and grassy plain,

Then came upon a rocky place,

That rose above the rough terrain.

A thoughtful moment he did spend

To study now this rocky rise,

And then proceeded to ascend,

Not knowing what would meet his eyes.

A band of thieves all crouched in wait,

Alrajul sensed the imminent

And turned around, but just too late;

They grabbed him even as he went,

And dragged him up the sheer rise.

Alrajul fought a violent round,

And that ended in his demise:

They smote him dead upon the ground.

His soul departed but remained

Suspended o'er his lifeless form;

The separation left him drained

Of will, amidst the painful storm.

Two groups of angels flanked him now

One dark to see, the other bright,

They set to ascertain just how

To deal with this uncommon sight.

The leader of the dark host boomed:

"This piece of wretched man is mine,

To dwell with us he shall be doomed,

In fire to rest, on thorns to dine".

To this, the other raised his hand:

"He set out with a good intent,

From Azzulmat, his native land,

A servant, hopeful, penitent".

"So carry out this fair demand

And count his steps from where he lays;

If he be closer to his land,

Then doomed is he, with you he stays;"

"But if the opposite is true

And closer to Annour he be,

Then spare us all further ado,

And know indeed that ours is he. "

With every care they spanned the ground,

For povidence in each step lies,

So was the land of Annour found

One step nearer the rocky rise.

Hassan and The Other Man

In this poem, I have attempted to dramatize a beautiful story

from the life of Hassan al-Basri.

The river broke its rush and slowed,

As frothy waters calmly flowed,

Where olive, palm and fig trees growed,

Stood Hassan and the other man.

And standing thus, Hassan perspired,

The journey had him very tired,

But its completion still required

Engaging with the ferry man.

Then in that good and blessed place,

The other turned his kindly face

And looked at Hassan full of grace,

"What keeps you though proceed you can?"

"The ferry boat is on its way",

Said Hassan with a sweet display

Of gentleness; the long delay

Would have worn down a lesser man.

The other served a rev'rent nod,

And in the name of the one God,

Upon the flowing river trod

While 'neath his feet the waters ran.

Two angel forms did Hassan see,

Make firm the pathway watery,

They kept the other company

Until he did the river span.

Then Hassan went back to his wait;

The ferry boat was surely late.

He then began to contemplate

An alternate to his day's plan.

The sun descended some degrees,

To hide behind the date palm trees,

Then with a mild and balmy breeze,

Arrived the poor, old ferry man.

"You're late, my man. What kept you so",

Feigned Hassan with an angry show,

Then listened to a tale of woe

As only men like Hassan can.

The other man was gaining ground,

When something made him turn around,

And look towards a tasbeeh sound,

That came from where the river ran:

A ferry boat was bathed in light,

Enshrouded in a column white,

Of angel ranks all shining bright,

Each waiting on the waiting man.