Ramblings In Verse

Children of the Year

2011-12-19T21:06:00.000-06:00

How Winter loved his sister, Spring,
Though all that he did well preserve,
(Yes, each and every little thing)
She meddled in without reserve;
But then her sweet and cheery smile
Would melt him in a little while.

Ah! Lovely Spring, a tender heart,
Enlivened all with just her touch,
And wept when Winter did depart,
For he indulged her very much;
Yet how she glowed so bright with glee
When Summer came for company

Because she was her favorite one;
They treasured all the time they spent,
For all that was by Spring begun,
Did Summer sweetly complement,
Until the farewell grackle call
Would welcome in capricious Fall.

Well, Autumn was his proper name,
For Summer leaves where Autumn goes
To huff at those who shun his game,
And shower gifts on whom he chose,
Till Winter comes to calm him down,
And wait for Spring's return to town.

Hanzalah

2011-12-13T10:23:00.000-06:00

Ablution left it all behind,
Refreshed his body, spirit, mind;
He fetched his coat of mail and sword.
With all the love he could afford,

He glanced up at his dear bride,
And caught Jameelah as she eyed
Him longingly from head to toe;
The time had come for him to go.

But as the loom of love would weave,
When he began to take her leave,
She clung to him without a word;
The line 'tween love and duty blurred.

He tarried with his one night bride
Some loving moments by her side,
Then tore himself away in haste,
With not a moment more to waste,

And rushed to his battalion
Of nearly a thousand men,
Against a force ten times its strength
Whose ranks did span a mighty length,

And plunged himself into the heat
Of battle, and his sword did greet
Great numbers of the pagan foe,
Each of them, with a deadly blow.

The gen'ral watched, up from his mound
The scene across the battleground
And saw with his prophetic eye
The silver forms that rose up high

Above the shifting battle sands,
Young Hanzalah in angel hands:
Ablution leaving all behind,
Refreshing body, spirit, mind.

RadhiAllahu anhumaa,
RadhiAllahu anhumaa,
RadhiAllahu anhumaa,
RadhiAllahu anhumaa.

SallAllahu alayhi wa sallam

I Hope You Like Flowers

2011-12-12T17:59:00.000-06:00

I was at the Highland Park Poetry Open Mic last Friday, and got to participate in my first on-the-spot poetry challenge. The theme was Gifts. I managed the below in the eight minutes I had.

It irks me when I
Can't figure out why
I can't think of what sort
Of present to buy.

I know who its for,
And what makes her smile,
Yet this silly task
Is taking a while.

Oh well, I won't sweat it,
I'll settle for flowers;
So much for my 'riginal
Thoughts all these hours.

And if she despises
My gift to her, I'll
Utter these words with
A sincere smile:

And then I ran dry. I was stuck, stuck, STUCK! When Jennifer Dotson called my name, I walked up and recited it, and generated some laughter at my dangling ending. And NOW, three days later, I decided to finish with this...

"I fear to buy
What dazzles the eye
Lest it become to you
Much dearer than I;

But flowers shall wilt
Till they are a mess,
And spare you the guilt
Of loving me less."

... just had to finish what I started.

The Congregation

2011-12-03T10:47:00.001-06:00

At least one hundred thousand men, all standing side by side,
Had gathered in Jerusalem, within that hallowed space,
Behind the man who came to them on his celestial ride,
To lead a congregation so unmatchable in grace.

A timeless prayer by timeless folk compels a timeless night
Transcending spatiality that so frustrates the mind:
And thus this brotherhood had filled that night with so much light,
That all the heavens and that tiny shred of earth combined

To call for Peace and blessings on Aadam, Idris, and Nuh,
Hud, Saleh, Lut, Ibrahim, Isma'eel, and Ishaaq too,
Shu'ayb, Musa, Haroon, Yousha, Dawood and Sulaymaan,
On Zakariyya, Yahya, and the children of Imraan:

Yes, Peace and blessings be upon Isa, good Maryam's son,
And on the others in between, on each and every one,
All standing silently in rows behind their new Imaam,
Muhammad closed the circle which with Aadam had begun.

Oh what a night, that timeless night, in sweet Jerusalem,
Where all the very best of men had met the best of them;
Oh what a night, that timeless night, outside Umm Hani's place,
Where man and angel and their steed abandoned time and space.

Allahumma Salli 'ala Sayyidina Muhammad wa baarik wa sallim.

The Ever Rising Tide

2011-11-28T10:04:00.001-06:00

Your anger is an ocean wave
You cannot leave to rise,
For once arisen must it brave
A path to its demise:

To slowly draw into its breast
Each vessel in its wake,
Then shatter all upon its crest
Before the downward break;

Or swell in silent solitude,
Across the fickle seas
To crash upon your shores and quench
Your grove of poison trees.

So slay no spirit, spare your heart,
And know the ocean wide,
That you may breathe the winds that quell
The ever rising tide.

One Day of You

2011-11-22T13:14:00.001-06:00

To every orphan child, with love.

Up from my mother's arms so cold,
I looked around the room to see
The many faces looking on
My handsome Abba peacefully
Asleep during the day.

I turned to see my mother who
Stood quiet with her statue face,
I put my hands around her neck,
And held her in my baby brace;
Then in the softest tone,

Inquired: "Ammi, Abba get up?"
Her face retained its rocky state,
I slapped her cheeks with both my hands,
And made the room to resonate:
"AMMI, ABBA GET UP?"

And then her face went soft and warm,
She slowly blinked her moistened eyes,
Her lips went tight, and tears streamed;
I thought an Ammi never cries;
My Ammi never cries.

And so I kissed her face and said,
"Ammi, Abba get up" again.
But that just made her weep some more,
To sadly shake her head, and then
To sit upon the floor.

And that was when I raised my arms,
Before announcing loud and clear:
"Ammi, Abba get up, Ammi,
Abba get up TOMORROW". Dear
Ammi wept on but smiled.
Well said, my little child.

Take heart from what was spoken,
This true reminder token
Of sweet and soothing patience,
Absolutely beautiful:
Tomorrow to be woken.

My child, you live one day of you,
So live your day - gold, green and blue;
But live it right, and live it true,
That when the sun does set on you,

As I did, you may get up too,
Get up to live the rest of you;
Unto the Ever Living Who
Does love you with a love more true

Than mine could ever be for you;
So patience for one day of you,
This day of me and you;
Tomorrow is forever.

The Slave From Abyssinia

2011-11-08T19:07:00.000-06:00

Consumed completely by a word
He managed through his many pains
In spite of which was only heard
That word, now coursing through his veins:

"Ahad! Ahad!", was all he said,
Enduring at Umayyah's hands
For every chilling night with dread,
A day upon the burning sands.

Yet not one mite did he relent
To rocks that pinned his body down,
Or lashes that were freely spent
To bit by bit his spirit drown.

"Ahad! Ahad!", was all he said,
And when he couldn't breathe the word,
He raised his finger up instead;
Then doubled was the wrath incurred.

When Abu Bakr heard about
Umayyah's rabid mania,
He quickly set to helping out
The slave from Abyssinia.

Umayyah turned him down at first,
But as he saw the ransom grow,
His greed outweighed his mindless thirst
To break his slave; he let him go.

And so secured the mighty sum
Bilal bin Rabah's safe release;
With every drought Umayyah come
The rains of Abu Bakr ease.

If the drought were to defeat you,
Know: your rains await to greet you.

Ya Sayyidee, Don't Turn Away

2011-10-19T22:30:00.001-05:00

Ya Sayyidee, don't turn away,
Don't turn away from me;
I've waited long this endless day
For just a glimpse to see.

I know my sinful eyes have brought
Upon my heart disgrace,
But know they have forever sought
The brilliance of your face.

My ears are filled with empty chat
And words of lesser choice,
And now they crave the pleasure that
Accompanies your voice.

My tongue and lips, I fear, have cursed
My self and left me dry;
I beg your leave to slake my thirst
Beside your fountain high.

Ya Sayyidee, don't turn away,
Don't turn away from me;
By Him, the Master of this day,
I love you, my Nabi.

Jameel and Jameelah

2011-10-10T23:50:00.000-05:00

I heard this lovely story, supposedly true; beautiful regardless. I picked the names Jameel and Jameelah for ease.

No man could compare with gracious Jameel,
And there was no lady who was fairer than Jameelah;
Her beauty unmatched and manner genteel
Had earned her the admiration of the whole qabeelah.

So when he made known his noble intent,
The tribespeople feared an immediate rejection.
But when she did bashfully give her consent,
Jameel was commended by them all with great affection.

But He who draws near the ones who love true

Bestows on them roses covered in thorns,

For sweet is the end of the righteous who

Endeavor a peace that trial adorns.

With only a week until the big day,
Jameelah was injured in an accidental fire;
Her beautiful face was burned in a way,
And destined to never be an object of desire.

She sent for Jameel, and fought back her tears,
Determined to free him from a formidable kindness,
But news of Jameel came flooding her ears:
A poisonous meal had just resulted in his blindness.

But He who draws near the ones who love true

Bestows on them roses covered in thorns,

For sweet is the end of the righteous who

Endeavor a peace that trial adorns.

They met, and they wept, and patiently sat

Considering carefully the burdens that they carried.
And all of the tribe was marveling at
The beautiful way in which they happened to be married.

Contented were they in all of their strife,
They raised a sweet child who was as lovely as her mother,
While time gnawed away at their mantle of life,

A mantle they treasured and devoted to each other.

But He who draws near the ones who love true

Bestows on them roses covered in thorns,

For sweet is the end of the righteous who

Endeavor a peace that trial adorns.

Jameel could not stop the flow of his tears,
In patient submission at the grave of his Jameelah;
And after a span of sixty five years,
He thought of the times when he pretended not to see her.

The scars in her face her heart did conceal,
His love went beyond the thing that made him feign his blindness.
How pure was the love of gracious Jameel,
Surpassed only by the likes of his Jameelah's kindness.

And He who draws near the ones who love true

Bestows on them roses covered in thorns,

For sweet is the end of the righteous who

Endeavor a peace that trial adorns.

Phone Pains

2011-09-28T20:20:00.001-05:00

When I was just a child, the phone
Would ring to let you know
That somewhere else a someone sat
Awaiting your 'hello';
You'd pick up the phone, or leave it alone;
And that's how far you'd go.

And then there came the softening blow:
The answering machine,
That played (thanks to your greeting from
Attempt number eighteen)
Each message amassed, the first and the last,
And all those in between.

But Murphy's law had barely seen
The things that we'd bemoan;
We sigh and roll our eyes at each
Reverberating tone;
Our hunger for tools has made us such fools:
Won't leave ourselves alone.

A Lullaby

2011-09-23T15:55:00.000-05:00

I modified this older work and converted it into couplets, each comprising a tetrameter followed by a heptameter. I think it reads better now.

Oh, go to sleep, AbdurRahmaan,

The stars are out, the sun is gone until another dawn,

When a splash of gold on angel wings

Shall wash you in the warmth it brings as its companion sings

A song upon your dew drop face,

Your petal palms and sweet embrace; our fingers interlace.

And then my worries melt away

Like snow that sees a balmy day, when we peacefully lay

Upon the grass so soft and still,
Beneath a leafy bough until a garden on a hill

Is where we find ourselves with glee-

Ful sweet familiarity with our destiny.

So, go to sleep, AbdurRahmaan,

The stars are out, the sun is gone until another dawn.

A Sonnet To My Children

2011-09-20T10:42:00.000-05:00

Of all the things that make for sunny skies,
And send upon my heart a summer breeze,
I love you child, the coolness of my eyes,
My anchor as I weather stormy seas.

For when I put my arms around you, dear,
And feel the softness of your warm embrace,
It shrouds me in a love that is sincere,
A love that goes beyond this time and place.

But when I gaze into your sparkling eyes,
And see myself in all my vanity,
I gradually come to realize
How superficial a love can be.

Afford me, child, a love like mine for you,
Well found it in a greater love that's true.

Becoming Friends

2011-09-16T17:09:00.001-05:00

Day One: I sow my softest smile,
And reap the harvest wilted frown.

Day Two: I flash that smile and see
Just why the fallen must stay down.

Day Three: my customary smile
Begets a mostly vacant stare.

Day Four: the stare is lessened in
The degree of its vacancy.

Day Five: sweet reciprocity,
As I detect the slightest nod.

Day Six: the nod has swelled to bow,
I marvel at this work of God.

Day Seven: I get greeted first,
We trade our names excitedly.

Day Eight: I sow my softest smile,
And reap the harvest 'bundantly.

Day Nine: we shake our hands to seal
Our warm relationship in style.

Day Ten: my dear friend receives
Me in his arms before he leaves.

And by the bye, know I ain't I,
I'm usually the other guy.

The Tracker

2011-09-08T02:10:00.009-05:00

or Suraqa's Prize

A hundred camels; fair reward,
Thought Suraqa bin Malik, who
Had set his eyes upon that prize,
And knew precisely what to do;

Instructing thus his faithful slave,
He ordered her in secrecy
To go prepare his agile mare,
With the utmost rapidity.

Then Suraqa slipped out of town,
And with the greatest care was bound
For where the bounty hunter's mount
Sat patiently without a sound.

He started from the mouth of Thaur,
And let his heightened senses glean
From every trace in every space,
The path his quarry must have seen.

Into the desert, Suraqa
Picked up on every clue with care
And on he pressed without a rest
To overcome the fleeing pair.

Then as he came atop a dune,
His skill and patience bore him fruit;
For came in sight, to his delight,
The object of his long pursuit.

He gently spurred his trusted mare
To canter at a steady pace,
Then drew his bow, which he held low,
And nocked an arrow, just in case.

But when they came within his range,
The duo swiftly turned around
Which caught the bounty hunter's mount
By such surprise, Suraqa frowned.

He masterfully reined her in,
And forced her round to face the two,
Their noble faces full of grace:
A grace that graces very few.

He drew his breath and shouted out
A call to give in peacefully,
But not a word, not one uttered
By Taymi or by Hashimi.

Then Suraqa, his bowstring drawn,
Attempted to advance his mare,
When unseen hands let loose the sands,
And Suraqa was in despair;

For all his years of horsemanship,
He could not stay the fluid sand,
With little choice, he found his voice,
(And, though he did not understand)

Suraqa promised he would leave
If only he could be set free;
The Prophet prayed; the sand, it stayed,
Releasing him immediately.

But such is the allure of wealth,
That Suraqa forgot his plight,
And sought he then to try again
With all his strength, and all his might.

No sooner had he spurred the beast
Than did the sands return that stalked
The poor bounty hunter's mount,
Who raised his bow with arrow nocked;

And then his eyes went wide with fear,
For all of feeling left his hands,
The tracker's face lost every trace
Of color that a face demands.

And in an earnest, broken voice,
Did Suraqa renew his oath,
To turn away from them that day,
And grant safe passage to them both.

The Prophet raised his hands in prayer,
And that at once allayed the sands,
Which served to spare Suraqa's mare,
And brought back feeling in his hands.

Then did the Prophet give the news
To Suraqa that he would wear
From Khusro's gold, of wealth untold,
The royal bangles as his share.

And so the years went rolling by,
Until that day divinely willed,
When struck with awe, the tracker saw
That strangest prophecy fulfilled.

On Certain Knowledge

2011-09-01T10:38:00.010-05:00

The new anti-depressant pill,
The iron-clad pretexts for war,
That caring education bill,
Those coupons that we line up for,

All make us feel secure until...

You drown your baby in the bath,
You lose your son to smart-bomb wrath,
You ace the test, but get no call,
Our GM diet kills us all.

Our home-grown double-yew-em-dee
Is knowledge without certainty;
And that is no knowledge at all.
Lets read the writing on the wall,

And taste the glory in the shame
Of trying out this simple cure:
As we defend the good we claim,
Could we just mention, "We're not sure"؟

Dissolving the "Leaves in the Wind" Page

2011-09-01T10:36:00.006-05:00

I figure they're all leaves in the wind. I have posted those works here in all their disconnectedness, and I bid that page good-bye.

Furrows in your Brow
Humbling Fatherhood
About Me

About Me

2011-09-01T10:25:00.003-05:00

The more I say, the less you hear;
The less I say, the more its clear,
That wishing for to know me more
Is not a fancy you hold dear.

Humbling Fatherhood

2011-09-01T10:24:00.000-05:00

'Fit weren't for fatherhood

I'd never've understood

That all the hurt my Dad did blurt

Had come from something good

'Fit weren't for fatherhood

I'd never've understood

That every time he lost his mind

He'd done the best he could

'Fit weren't for fatherhood

I'd never've understood

That if I can be half the man

As he, then I'd be good.

Furrows In Your Brow

2011-09-01T10:23:00.002-05:00

It ever pleases me to see
The furrows in your brow
That come about with every pout
Begotten by a row;
So let me plot and fabricate
An argument somehow,
That I may sigh, and gaze upon
The furrows in your brow.

The Man From Nineveh

2011-08-30T16:29:00.006-05:00

Inside the belly of a whale,
Within the belly of the sea,
Is where the man from Nineveh,
Eventually came to be.

And now, recovered from his shock,
He lay against the dismal grime,
And thought about his Ninenveh
For what might be the final time.

There, with his keen prophetic eye,
He plumbed the depths of honest thought,
Of what upon poor Nineveh,
His gross abandonment had brought.

And in a moment of such depth,
The Truth descended on the heart
Of our good man from Nineveh.
Who sat up with a sudden start;

He'd left his people in the dark,
And here he was in darkness cold,
But Nineveh, his Nineveh,
Ought not to feel this loss untold.

He'd set without his Lord's command,
Upon a quest for solitude
(Away from needy Nineveh),
And now with such was he imbued.

His fears turned to love, he wept,
Beseeched his Lord with moistened eyes.
O Yunus, best of Nineveh,
Upon you peace the day you rise.

What Began As An Explication Of Barakah

2011-07-28T00:35:00.008-05:00

The angry weak,
The gentle strong;

The haughty 'right',
The humble 'wrong';

The anxious brave,
The stalwart mild;

The venging just,
The reconciled;

The stingy rich,
The gen'rous poor;

The healthy given to complaint,
The patient ill without a cure;

The celebrated ignorant,
The, though unlettered, wise;

The quick that leave much to desire,
The slow that well surprise;

There's beauty that sets hearts to sway,
And beauty that's sublime;

The first, the second does outweigh,
As substance outweighs rhyme.

The meal that whets the appetite,
The grain that satisfies,

Not more that's less, but less that's more:
Therein the secret lies.

The unforgiving privileged,
The rancor-less deprived;

All deck the rich brocade of life
That Will Divine contrived;

A Will to which all things amount,
Infinitely beyond account,

That fashions, shapes,
Evolves, and makes,

Exalts, bestows,
That gives,and takes,

Provides, sustains
And oft forgives,

That never dies,
And ever lives,

That expedites,
And brings delay,

Restricts, constrains,
Then shows the way,

Encompassing the bounds of time,
And fusing substance into rhyme,

Determines all,
All things directs,

That causes death,
And resurrects,

Like rain upon
The autumn bed,

Gives life unto
The waiting dead.

The Oasis

2011-07-19T00:50:00.033-05:00

Inspired by a motivational talk I heard from the blessed lips of Shaykh Mohammed Amin Kholwadia (may Allah protect and keep him).

I labor through the burning sands
Of plenty and extravagance
Upon this quest my soul commands:
A quest of higher consequence.

I've had my share of food so fine,
Delights that drive me sick and weak,
But now that spread of Word Divine
Is all the nourishment I seek.

In all my waking hours, I
Have some or other beverage nursed,
But none of that can satisfy
My need to slake a greater thirst.

Now as the darkness takes effect,
I plod along a daunting dune,
And glimpse a distant pool reflect
The waning, shining Sha'baan moon.

A clear pool of saum that calms
Its banks of soft tilawah sands,
All shaded by taraweeh palms
Of duly consecrated hands.

My Ramadan Oasis.

Change My Heart

2011-06-07T18:11:00.006-05:00

This du'aa in verse is the original work of the esteemed Shaykh Zulfiqar Ahmed Naqshbandi. It is a beautiful supplication. I wrote this translation at the request of my wife, who loves the original version.

I beg you, Lord, to change my heart,
So steeped in every heedlessness,
Enslaved by passions, avarice,
And vice I shudder to confess.

Your Mercy, Lord: transform my heart,
Bring back to life its every part.

I've tired of my sinful ways,
So cleanse and mend my withered heart,
That I may hear it sing your praise;
I beg you, Lord, to change my heart.

That I might turn my eye away
From what displeases you, I pray
That every moment of my day
Be for your sake: Lord, change my heart.

My every peace and every joy
For something of that solemn grief
That brings with it the sweet relief
Of Your remembrance; change my heart.

I lay, defeated, at your door;
Why am I so, Lord? Change my heart
That I may be for ever more
Your servant, Lord; transform my heart.

My Lord, I beg you, set me free
By making me your humble slave,
For that is all I wish to be.
Lord, hear my plea, and change my heart.

O Light of heavens, Light of earth,
This darkness from my heart dispel;
Replace its grief with lasting mirth,
That in Your Light it might revel.

My Lord, my inward state, reform,
My disposition, well adorn;
My stray and heedless self abate;
Reform me, Lord, and change my state.

Lord, give me from your fount until
Of love for you, I've had my fill.
My inward state, My Lord, reform,
My disposition, well adorn;

Your Mercy, Lord: transform my heart,
Bring back to life its every part.

To the Proud Parents of Sulayman

2011-05-18T13:26:00.012-05:00

For every of his infant cry,
That brings to you a weary sigh:

May your ears be blessed with the music of the angels and the celestial sounds of the divine recitation.

For every moment of arrest:
(It is what Sulaymans do best)

May you roam the grounds of vast, verdant gardens, hand in hand, unrestrained.

For all the suffocating phews,
All brought about by his refuse:

May you smell the varied fragrances of Jannah and ever find yourself in the company of its fragrant dwellers.

For every wakeful night that's spent,
And each arousal inclement:

May you find restful repose without weariness on the warm grassy banks of babbling waters.

May Sulayman be your greatest reward forever, and ever.

The Qasida of Imam Zainul 'Aabideen

2011-04-25T12:39:00.017-05:00

Here is an attempt to translate this moving qasida by Imam Zainul Abideen (God have mercy on him). I know it has fallen short, for the Imam's Arabic flows so freely even as it stays loyal to the meter. And the meanings of the original words, I am sure, naturally run deeper in a language as expressive as Arabic.

The first stanza of this translation is adapted from Yusuf Islam's rendition as heard in his album, Footsteps in the Light. Thank you, Yusuf Islam.

If you, O winds, happen some day
Upon that garden, sacred, blest,
Then must you my salaam convey
To where the blessed Prophet rests.

Whose splendid face the midday sun,
The full white moon his blessed cheeks,
An ocean wide of gen'rous love,
A light to every eye that seeks,

Who bore the mighty word from high
That shattered all that was before,
And stood alone to clarify
The Truth that no one can ignore.

This separation pains me so:
A dagger pressed into my side;
How fortunate are those who by
That patch of paradise abide.

O Mercy to the worlds who shall
For all his fallen intercede,
Include us in your plea that day
When bare is laid our every deed.

O Mercy to the worlds, I hope
You find me, Zain-Al'aabideen,
I stand alone amongst the crowds
Of tyrants, longing to be seen.

Allahumma salli 'ala Muhammad

On Cancer, Guns, and Hit 'n Runs

2011-02-04T22:53:00.002-06:00

The chemo sessions wore him down,
He so despised the sterile smells,
The chatter, beeps, and flimsy gown,
And then those plain disgusting gels.

But no more thoughts of days gone by,
Of chances lost, of things begun,
And multitud'nous reasons why
Some of those things just won't get done.

No, none of that. He closed his eyes,
And saw with utmost clarity
The very light that clarifies
The meaning of reality.

Deceased, 12-20-88

She wore a smile of gratitude,

And softly blinked to see just how

Her crazy life had been renewed,

Was tumor-free for eight years now.

Her loving husband, bratty child,

A recent job promotion, and

Their town home fashionably styled,

All came together just as planned.

She left her car to cross the street,

When, BANG BANG BANG - no time to dive,

Her body hit the cold concrete,

And sprang the rest of her alive.

Deceased, 8-13-94

Returning from the library,
He tried to navigate his thoughts
From English and Geography
To complicated scatter plots.

He'd battled cancer as a child,
And thought that was his hardest time,
Until that college kid went wild,
And shot him in a tragic crime.

Disease and wounds had left him strong,
And strong he was in times of strife,
But then, that night, something went wrong:
A drunken driver took his life.

Deceased, 11-6-08.

I am amongst you even as
I breathe, and wince, and laugh, and cry;
I've been with you from evermore.
Deceased, mm-dd-yy.

Feather

2010-12-27T12:35:00.009-06:00

Head…pain.

I pull into the parking lot,
And want to shake my head so bad,
But find that I cannot.

Head…pain…feather.

My immobility persists
While I attempt to process why
These words arrest me so.

Head…pain…feather…child.

And then I see inside my head
A scene projected by my heart,
A fascinating show:

A baby in my mother's arms
Is rocking slowly back and forth;
She smiles, she laughs, she imitates
His coos so very well.

And as he rocks and bobs his head,
She's taken by surprise just when
His forehead strikes her in the chest,
How hard, I cannot tell.

But she does seem to wince at that
With baby still held in her arms,
Laughing, then crying out in pain,
And then, laughing again.

I blink to end my reverie.
Feather still eludes me.

Of Tears And Rain

2010-12-21T17:12:00.004-06:00

A year had passed, but not a drop
Of rain had fallen down upon
The land of Makkah, and its crop
Did suffer. And its men were drawn

Toward their kind and noble chief,
Abu Talib, the Hashimi,
Whose charge it was to bring relief
To his ailing community.

He sat upon the dusty ground,
And listened till their tales were done,
Then gathered all the children 'round;
And when he saw his brother's son,

Abu Talib let out a cry
Of pure, uninhibited joy,
To see the apple of his eye:
Abdullah's one and only boy.

He held the child close to his breast
Then stood him 'gainst the Kaaba wall
And gently proffered his request
To pray to God for rain to fall.

Muhammad raised his handsome face
And as he closed his blessed eyes,
He supplicated God with grace,
His heart beyond the cloudless skies.

Then in that moment, Mikail
Released the long-withheld decree,
And angel crowds rushed down to feel
The light of higher company.

A drop upon Muhammad's cheek,
Then silence, as the heavens turned,
To rain upon a people weak
The mercy that their son had earned.

And thus the much awaited rains
Revived the Makkan hearts and crop.
I'd equal all the rains with tears
For something of that foremost drop.

If I Were Time

2010-09-24T22:30:00.010-05:00

If I were time and had my way,

I'd go back to that wondrous day,

When Yousha and his army won,

And then I'd wish I were the sun.

And as the sun, I'd rise and shine

Upon the folk of Palestine,

Where Isa made the blind to see,

And then his blessed breath I'd be,

To gust with winds and blow around

Until I reach that battleground

And let upon AlBadr rain,

Longing to be a man again.

The Tears of Fatima

2010-09-17T18:46:00.013-05:00

Sweet, little Fatima.

Her heavy heart rose in her throat,

And tears began to blur her sight,

To hear them laugh, and see them gloat,

Her heavy heart rose in her throat.

Sweet, little Fatima.

Her eyes went wide, she gasped aloud,

To see her father in that state,

She jostled through the jeering crowd,

Her eyes went wide, she gasped aloud.

Sweet, little Fatima.

She flung herself upon his frame,

As he, in firm sujood, remained

The object of a coward's game,

She flung herself upon his frame.

Sweet, little Fatima.

A caring love so pure avails:

The little girl began to clean

The heap of animal entrails,

A caring love so pure avails.

Sweet, little Fatima.

Her sobs and whimpers cut the air,

As tiny hands lightened the load,

The Prophet rose to end his prayer.

Her sobs and whimpers cut the air.

Sweet, little Fatima.

Did renewed strength her grief replace

To set her tired eyes upon

Her father's calm and peaceful face,

Did renewed strength her grief replace

Sweet, little Fatima.

The Prophet looked down at his child,

To see the pain that lined her eyes,

Then Father, daughter gently smiled.

The Prophet looked down at his child,

His sweet, little Fatima.

The Butterfly and the Bee

2010-08-30T00:15:00.006-05:00

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

2010-08-25T16:32:00.023-05:00

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"

2010-08-22T19:33:00.008-05:00

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

2010-08-18T18:40:00.036-05:00

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

2010-08-02T09:55:00.027-05:00

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.

Inspired by the 'Dedication' of 'Bismi And The Secret of The Kohinoor'

2010-06-27T01:31:00.004-05:00

I really like this story, and the author's Dedication note is touching. It inspired the below.

I thank His Grace for you, my dear,

For you, my dear, have taught my heart

To spring a fount of love so clear,

That falls unto your garden green,

Unstrained and unabated, pure,

And washes all your flowers clean;

So flourish under summer skies,

Where drops of morning dew reflect

The colored wings of butterflies.

And this, beloved, is my prayer

That such a love spring from your heart

To wash another garden fair

Before it leaves the verdant scene

And flows into the ocean love

Of Sayyidi al-Mursaleen.

sallAllahu 'alayhi wa sallam

I Love You

2010-03-15T12:36:00.011-05:00

I love you. As my day unfolds,
Your angel face my eye beholds,
And painful though the parting be,
I brave it hesitatingly.

I love you. When my day weighs down
Upon me and you're not aroun',
I close my eyes and there you are,
So very close, yet very far.

I love you. As the setting sun
Reminds me that my day is done,
I long again, with longing new,
For you, my love. I so love you.

A Tale of Three Good Men

2009-03-10T16:14:00.032-05:00

Now hear this tale of three good men,

Who set out on a journey when

They chanced upon a gentle soul,

Who gave them from his tasty sweet

(Although he little had to eat),

A major portion of the whole.

They praised and thanked the gen'rous man

Who gave as just a good man can,

And safely stocked the sweet away;

Then travelled with the scorching sun

Until was half their journey done.

They set up camp without delay,

And chatted up the twilight hours,

Delighted in the shade and flowers,

And dined under a half moon sky.

It was then time to rest, retire,

So One set to put out the fire,

While Two ventured in his voice high:

"The sweet! I think its time for that".

Which made Three stand from where he sat

And softly whisper his protest:

"It was given to me, you know,

This here dessert, it should be so",

And One was not the least impressed.

"Could we not share the sweet my friends?"

"Too little to, but it depends

On what you mean when you say 'share'."

And so they spent another hour

In contesting the ball of flour,

And magnified the small affair.

So tiring had been their day,

That when they heard one of them say

"I'm overcome, let us retire",

They happily agreed to it,

And packed away the sug'ry bit,

Then lay down to, some sleep, acquire.

And so, the veil of night did lift

To usher in another gift

Of day, to which our friends awoke.

So upped and readied and prepared,

Our friends broke camp, when Three declared

(He flashed a smile before he spoke):

"I happened, in my sleep, to see

My master, who encouraged me

To judge between men just and true.

And so I think it would be best

That I put this matter to rest."

And now it was the turn of Two:

"It is amazing what you say,

And more so since my heart did play

A dream so much like you relate;

For I did see my master who

Did solemnly order me to

Lead fair and to facilitate."

Then One arose with great esteem:

"A vision great! a worthy dream!

With no such honor was I bid;

But in the darkest hour, I

Was 'wakened when an inner cry

Said: eat the sweet! and that I did."

On a mother's perception of her child's perception of death

2009-03-09T16:11:00.038-05:00

This endearing post by a mother inspired the below.

She lifted up her little head,
Looked up at me like never before,
“Mommy”, she said, “if you get dead,
Then I won’t have a Mom anymore.”

My heart leapt up into my throat,
My heavy hands dropped to my knees,
I strove to catch up and devote
My mind to say something with ease.

But speechless was, and stayed that way
Until I said “Who told you that?”,
And thought in vain what to convey
In words to my precocious brat.

I could have said so many things,
So many things about death, to see ‘f
She'd comprehend the peace it brings,
As does pain's companion, relief;

That death completes all we begin;
For every kiss upon on her face,
And every time I cradle her chin,
And every warm and snug embrace,

There is a kiss yet to be planted,
A cuddle her chin has yet to feel,
A warm, snug hug yet to be granted
Through an application of death’s dark seal.

“I made it up myself”, came the response,
And I, by now, had had enough;
She went back to her squiggly fonts,
I, to my laundry, and other stuff.

Upon seeing a drop of water on my windshield

2009-03-02T09:37:00.031-06:00

I see you form a lens on my windshield

As I stop at a red light,

Lone clear drop of water.

A few of your companions fall around you,

But you have captivated my interest:

A perfectly round drop of water

Deposited by your angel escorts

Upon my windshield.

Have you memories, water drop,

Of your past descents, each ending a cycle

That all began with glorious creation itself?

Have you memories?

Were you amongst the drops that swallowed up

The world of Nuh?

Or did you land upon his strong and noble shoulder,

And stay there for a while?

Or were you a drop that clung to the hair of Jonah

As he came to his senses in the repulsive darkness?

Did you slide down his cheek and mix with his tears

As he turned in humility to his, and your, Master.

Or do you trace yourself to a proud parentage

Of one that sprung from the muddy heels

Of Ismaeel, as he lay on his back, a crying infant?

Did you quench his thirst, and make his dear mother

Weep with joy?

Or did you find yourself in a pail with little Yusuf,

When they hoisted him out of a well?

Cold and lost, but reassured.

Were you there, dear drop?

Or were you a party of those that splashed upon

The shores of the Red Sea, as Musa called upon his Lord?

Or were you perched up high on a liquid wall,

Atop all your companions;

Or down, at the bottom, watching his blessed feet

Lead the rest across a damp sea bed?

You cannot hold on, as forces break the tension and

Pull you down in a streak, just a little bit.

Weary drop: have you a memory of quenching the thirst

Of a righteous soldier of Talut,

Slithering down his parched throat?

Were you bid that honor?

Or did you babble in the stream that noble Maryam drank from,

And did you witness the sacred birth?

Did you touch litle Isa, little drop?

Were you a comfort to him and his mother?

Were you?

And when my Prophet rested at Badr,

Did you come down and wet his beautiful face?

Did you feel his love as he rubbed you into his beard?

Did your escorts stay by your side

A little longer than usual that time?

Were you bid that honor, my dear little drop?

Were you?

And now, as you slide down my windshield:

Does this my encounter with you separate

Your past glories from your future ones?

The honor is mine.

How Dear You Are To His Beloved

2008-12-08T06:59:00.022-06:00

On the streets of Chennai, half covered by a discarded shawl

Trying hard to sleep on the cold pavement,

Trying hard to forget it all,

Dear child: how magnified you are in the sight of Allah,

And how dear you are to His beloved.

In the camps of Kigali, staring blankly into the sand,

Trying hard to stay awake

As you hold your sister's cold hand,

Dear child: how magnified you are in the sight of Allah,

And how dear you are to His beloved.

In your cozy Chicago home, surrounded by stuffed toys,

Feeling your heart rise up in your throat,

Feigning sleep to tune out the noise,

Dear child: how magnified you are in the sight of Allah,

And how dear you are to His beloved.

The Snake

2008-09-22T07:36:00.051-05:00

On a warm afternoon, in the shade of a palm,
Speckled with the sun's golden light,
The companions stood behind their Imam,
The Prophet of God, dressed in white.

The journey was ending and home was near,
Near enough to long for its joys;
As the second salaam sealed the prayer,
The Prophet smiled, and looked for the boys.

How strong was their stand when they had been told
By their father and mother to forgo the ride;
The command only tightened their hold,
Determined to remain by their grandfather's side.

Thus were the two little darlings counted
Among this group leaving their ground,
The horses were saddled, the camels mounted;
But not one trace of the boys was found.

Now let us visit our two little friends
Who wandered away, away from camp
Into the desert where the sun descends
Over the sands like a crimson lamp.

Down a dune they rolled and leapt
And wrestled playfully each other,
While nearby a someone crept,
Unknown to Hassan and his brother.

The snake, she started from her rest
And spanned her length towards the boys
To vehemently stage protest
With all the strength a snake employs.

The children's eyes went wide with fear
They clutched each other, set to bound,
But stopped to see the snake so near,
And that was when they looked around.

They sobbed aloud, their tears flowing
And darkening the twilit day,
The snake inched forward, not knowing
What sense to make of this display.

Back with the Prophet and his company:
They searched everywhere, yet could not find
A clue as to where the children might be,
Despite their frantic efforts combined.

The Prophet looked up at the darkening sky,
Then down at the earth respectfully,
And taking the name of his Lord most high,
He bid it show what he wished to see.

And the earth did respond to his blessed request,
For to his good eye, the desert sand shifted,
Till the land was flat with its dunes depressed,
And the boys far and low were near, lifted.

Their crying had grown louder and louder,
Causing the reptile ready itself,
To strike; but then a sensation cowed her
Pinning her down to the sandy shelf.

A fragrant scent filled the air
That wrapped the boys in hope and strength;
They turned their heads with the greatest care:
Their grandfather at a hand's length.

The Prophet motioned them to stay,
And stepped toward the confounded snake,
"Leave my grandsons and be on your way".
And she vanished for the Prophet's sake.

The children cheered, and jumped and flew
To hold and kiss the Prophet's face,
And he in turn did kiss them too,
Then thanked the Lord for His grace.

This is where our story runs dry,
So moisten your eye and send down a rain
Of prayers and blessings of God most high
Upon the Prophet, Hassan, and Husayn.

On a Ramadan Morning Getting Ready For Work

2008-09-14T17:36:00.021-05:00

The last drop of water slithers down my throat
And leaves me desiring no more.
Dawn is here.
I have a busy day at work,
So I shower down, and dress up.

As I look into the mirror to comb my hair,
My eyes serve me back a look,
A look that warns me to be wary,
A look that has me looking back, back at it.

Everything before my eyes
Gets to it at the speed of light,
And once I see it, its burned in my head
Like so many a forbidden delight.
But my eyes don't want to be fed.
Not today, not quite.

As I look away from my reflection,
I can't help but give a moment's thought to the blind,
Thinking who was the more blessed
In the light of the thoughts I left behind.

Good men come to mind
And the answer is right there:
It is he who sees, and yet is blind
To the questionable affair.

I smile at the terribly winding path I took
To arrive at this obvious conclusion.
But I'm glad I combed my hair today.

Ghazwah

2008-05-13T16:18:00.023-05:00

The sand shifted silently
Like an amused spectator, curious.
Both sides had fallen into quiet observation.
My companion and I witnessed
From our vantage point atop a rock
The traditional advance of a trio, and its match.
The blows are symbolic, portending something.
Something.
The fallen are carried back to their mourning kin.

The next moments are cold and long,
Pregnant with a charge so strong.
I see a youth and his friend
Toss their meal to just belong,
And join in earnest to defend
The Truth, as they did comprehend.

One thousand, armed and confident,
Facing a third, weary, spent.
The battle lines are straight and taut.
The bow of faith and the bow of naught,
Strung and drawn by the sage fingers
Of generals once bound in clanship,
Now split by the sting of truth's whip.

A soldier strutted and spanned the ranks,
Flashing his blade in haughty stride,
Raising resolve on the one side,
Causing the other's eyes go wide.

The cavalry is on a canter,
Chilling battle cries ensue.
My friend and I are cold with awe
As blade and armor clang a charge,
The likes of which I never knew.

The walls of men are closing in,
Spawning swirls of sand, the din
Is deafening, its source unclear;
For to the scene, we are not near.

Then did our wrinkled brows unfold
As phantom armies now showed bold.
The sand around the charging groups
Spiralled to enormous hoops
Of presences.

Yes, presences. Their nature eludes me;
Horsemen gliding on an iron cloud, led by
One, a sun for his turban high.
I hold my breath as my ears are filled
With this clamor. And my peeled eyes
Are flooded by the scene thus willed.
And I know I live though my heart denies
It; my companion is by all this killed.

At the airport

2008-04-27T13:50:00.007-05:00

I recline in a welcoming leather seat

At Phoenix's Sky Harbor, Terminal 1, Gate 3.

My flight is delayed, again.

But I shall stand the fleet.

I shake my head at the cheesy wordplay; go figure!

I tear myself from my read to take in

The noisy sights around me.

A few co-hobbyists do the same,

Others choose to ignore the din.

The line by Gate 2 is growing fast now

For a flight to Denver delayed by a greater degree than mine.

I venture to let the makers of that line enthuse me,

Each different from the other in every way,

And all quite eager to board.

There are the patient by nature and the patient by choice.

I count:

A talkative yuppie in love with her voice,

A blissful custodian of wandering eyes,

A self-engaged preener, a gum chewing scribe,

A hasty to finish his burger and fries,

An exhausted merchant tapping his wares,

The lost in chatter, the longing to rest,

All masters of vacant stares.

And these would be broad categories at best.

As I meander out of my rhymelet,

I twitch my lip in hosting the thought

That each linemaker is at his own vantage point,

And I am just a mentionable in her verse,

Whatever the rendering be.

But I'm not going to Denver.

My thoughts are with my family now;

I wonder if the cactus jelly and prickly pear syrup

Will disappoint.

The Host

2008-01-25T23:45:00.012-06:00

Adi, the son of Haatim Al-Tayy, was a leader among his people, a Christian from the proud tribe of Al-Tayy. His sister was among the notables who were captured in a battle between the people of Al-Tayy and the Muslim army. When the Prophet learnt that she was the daughter of Haatim, renowned for his generosity, he let her go, as he did all of her people. And he paid tribute to Haatim's character. Adi had fled with a small group following the battle, but when his sister bid him return and advised him to go to the Prophet, he relented. And he set off for the City of the Prophet. And his life changed...

A few words pass between them

They walk now, the pace compelling the guest to lag.

The host is brisk.

I squint past the body of people bustling about the busy day

To catch a glimpse.

As they draw closer, I am hit by a first wave of what I see;

And it amazes me.

A questioner enters my scene and stops my party in its advance.

He turns towards the source of this interruption

And engages in dialogue, guest in wait.

Questioner, host and guest, they all interest me;

I focus on the host to use my chance,

The entirety of his features weigh down on me,

Driving me into the earth beneath my feet,

As if to underscore my presence there with the ink

Of inconsistency sweet.

His face is brilliant,

Hair, black and curling some at the shoulders,

A lock floating, now wafted up by a stray breeze,

Eyes round and wide and attentive,

Skin smooth and soft, if only I could touch it, please!

I give a moment of thought to the men and women

Who would gladly give their lives,

Merchants their stock,

Scholars their thoughts,

Mothers their children,

All for my host kept from his walk.

And the angels flock to his aid, offering service

Before the softest sigh may escape those lips,

Only to find them thankful, never complaining,

So much to complain about, but never complaining.

Bless the hearts of hate that turn over

Into hearts of love,

Some when they see,

Others when they hear,

Others when they touch.

And now Adi.

The host returns to his guest,

A brief word, and the walk resumes,

Now abreast, now lagging again,

Despite the effort the guest assumes.

Destination mud house behind me.

A scent fills my being as my party is ever so close.

I do not doubt its source, and inhale,

Seemingly forever.

They have now reached my stand.

They step on my shadow

And vanish behind the doors of the mud house.

The crowds are gone,

My shadow is gone,

My shoulders are heavy,

My fancy wanting,

My eye wet.

SallAllahu 'alayhi wa sallam.

My Foes

2007-11-10T13:59:00.009-06:00

I have two foes I much despise,
One to crush, the other to curse.
They fill my eyes with poison dyes,
Cloud my ears with trifle fears,
And nibble at my rope of hope.

For when they set to play their wile,
They find in me such easy game,
Heedless to their simple guile.
I slap my face in horrid shame
When I see the one and I are same;
The other wears a gleeful smile.

I mend my rope, and clear my ears
And wet my eyes with penitent tears.
I now have one I so detest,
The other now my helper best.
I take my oath to never rest,
To never rest, never rest.

My first message

2007-11-01T07:00:00.005-05:00

Welcome to my blog.

Over the next few days, I plan to post poems I have written in the past. Once I've done that, I will continue posting my new works as they come to be.

And I welcome all kinds of feedback, of course :-).