Its yours and it flows where you deem It useful in matters of learning; For some, like a brook; for others a stream; A river for those more discerning. It knows where you are, it can find you And float you to places so far, Beware its reflections may blind you And make you forget who you are. Although through the meadows it goes, To Paradise never it bends, For heaven starts where the sum of what flows From all of humanity ends.
You’re lost, but only lost until you find Your place before the One who’s ever found, So cling to hope, and leave despair behind And be for paradise forever bound. As does the sailor high upon the sea See through the blast of consternating waves And fix his eye on beacon distantly Though what it stands upon be what he craves, So does the slave that seeks by night or day See through the blast of consternating life And fix his eye on him who shows the way No matter the intensity of strife. You have to take the means to reach the end, So seek with sweet remembrance, weary friend.
I fuss over children whose grandfather onceDid dote on my mother, and uncles and aunts;It maybe that one day my grandson will seeThe face of his cousin remembering me,A cousin whose parents and uncles and aunts Will have been who I will have doted on once.
Can never be lost, not easy to share, It fills empty spaces (and I don’t mean air), Preceding the first, succeeding the last, Delaying your death, returning your past; By darkness or light, in silence it lies Where, hidden from sight of all-seeing eyes, Just anything might compel its demise.
Wherever you might be: shun the darkness of despair, and walk in the light of hope. I wish I could smoke it away, This hurt that I feel everyday, No substance may burn the demons that turn My grief into idols of clay. Don’t judge me, you don’t know my pain, I’ve lost what I love once again, Forgotten to smile, the tears run wild, And drain every cell in my brain. I know the despair in my voice Invites the accursed to rejoice For he did attest that he wouldn’t rest Till grief be my singular choice; O Allah, I need to embrace The reason I am in this place, You gave me this pain, again and again That I may now turn to Your face. My hope lies in sabrun jameel, There’s nothing else I need to feel, For Jannah is where my heart will repair And all of my injury heal. So bless my each moment, command My heart to a peace that is grand, You know that my lips are longing for sips To quench all my thirst at the hand Of blessed Rasul al-Kareem, O Allah, make everything seem So easy for me, oh please let me see The Truth, for this life is a dream. Make easy for me that I may now see The Truth, for this life is a dream. O Allah! Enable me to see the Truth as Truth and give me the ability to follow it. And enable me to […]
There is no escape from the lair, This slave cannot flee anywhere, Submitting and peaceful when held in his cage, But out, Is his spear good reason for fear, The harder the combat, the greater his rage; The maddening slaughter he craves, it comes faster, The lair becomes hotter when slave becomes master.
This began as a response to my daughter asking me to write a quatrain describing a beautiful beach. Gull. Wind. Wave. Shore. Flap and blow, Roll and roar. All between heaven and me, Broken on this shore. Heart. Blood. Breath. Door. Beat and flow, Draw, before All between heaven and me Sees me through the door.
Just like a despicable spice That’s tossed on a platter of rice Of which is each grain a morsel of pain, I’m condiment not very nice, So serve me to who you disdain, To watch all their happiness wane; The sultan is nigh, but tea before I May help an illustrious brain.
Five octets capturing this simple yet immensely profound piece of advice given by the Prophet (S) to one of his companions. When the afternoon sun turned the sand into gold On a day in the town of Madina, Did a man then the Prophet of Allah behold Walking on down the street; hadn’t seen a More beautiful sight than the Prophet that day, So he quickened his pace manyfold, Till adjoined with the Messenger set on his way, When the question upon his tongue rolled: “Do give me advice, O Prophet of God, That’s easy on my memory”, All while he beside the Messenger trod With manner so earnest and free; The Messenger spoke with a generous nod, “Do not become angry”, said he, The simple response, it astonished and awed The seeker to such a degree, He fell back, around the Prophet he ran Once all of his senses returned, Repeated himself to politely demand A shred of advice to be learned, Expectant was he of deeper advice, But then the good Messenger turned, “Do not become angry” was all of the grand Advice that the seeker had earned. A little bit upset, a little confused, In front of the Prophet he stood, Who patient, compassionate, slightly amused, Awaited as only he could, A third time the man acceptance refused Determined to take away good, A third time prophetic benevolence oozed So much was it well understood. Your anger is like an ember, he’d say, That fuels the fire […]