It has a remarkably large appetite For what is entirely waste, yet it might Present to a mother the help that she seeks As softly together they kiss baby cheeks.
Inspired by this moving Friday sermon by Shaykh Amin… There’s a crisis in our homes, In our neighborhoods and schools, As we labor hard to tell Intellectuals from fools; Tweets and faces tell a story Floating in a sea of doubt, What was true is now a rumor, But the word’s already out; All the passion that we swallow And the knowledge we receive Come from places that are hollow Upon tongues that don’t believe, Ignorance once had a father And its words are rich and red Like the wine that taints the blood Of all the offspring that it bred; Yes, the captain burned the village And the village burned all night, But the hearts of all the children Went on carrying the light. As the blood upon the sands Becomes tears in your eyes, Let your tears become blood for Each believing heart that dies. It’s the crisis in our homes In our neighborhoods and schools, Beat a path to the fountain Down where certain knowledge rules. Listen to the weeping warner Shout out to the hearing few: If you do forget the Lord, The Lord will make you forget you.
A lunchtime sonnet to parents out there getting anxious about their babies’ walking/talking abilities :-). Why all this haste to see a baby walk! Are you somehow disgusted by its crawl? Why all this haste to hear a baby talk! You tired of its babbling and all? Slow down and look around, my frantic friends: The flower blossoms first before the fruit, The quality of which so much depends Upon the bond that flower makes with shoot; And every fruit bursts forth from fertile flower Like every speech springs sweet from subtle sounds, Each bursting and each springing takes its hour, So kiss the hues with which the bloom abounds And kiss the infant stumbling on its feet; There will not be a dearth of fruit to eat.
I’m running for cover in the shelter of sky, When the sprinkler comes on, not a moment is dry, Playing tag with my sisters and my cousin on the lawn, Everyone’s getting wet on the sixth of Ramadan: Getting wet in the kitchen, getting wet on the chair Getting wet wherever the Quran is in the air, Mercy rains in the mosque, silent lips sing a song In the praise of Allah on the sixth of Ramadan.