The recent talk by Shaykh Amin on the life of Lady Aasiyah brought me to compose this. And I write it now to celebrate the birth of my niece, Aasiyah Fatimah Mohajir. Congratulations to her parents and grandparents. I welcome you, O Aasiyah And wish for you all good In faith and health and happiness, As all, who love you, would. But do you know, O Aasiyah, The Aasiyah of old, Who lived by gardens of delight In palaces of gold. Was married to a mighty king; She raised a prince who fled Into the wild, returning as A Messenger instead. And when she heard his message, she Submitted with her all, Yet carefully concealed it lest The Messenger may fall; But when her husband set to slay The noble Messenger, Her actions, all his burning wrath, Diverted, as it were: She showed her faith before the king She loved with all her heart, But all of love and mercy did His countenance depart. There is no measure of the pain Her body did endure, Yet in belief she did remain, Immaculate and pure, Beseeching Allah for a home, A mansion by His Throne, To roam the Garden, lofty, high, And as she thought, alone. But little did she know the Lord Would gather all her love, And destine her for marriage in The heavens up above. For do you know, my dear child, Khadeejah did rejoice At who would be fair Aasiyah’s Companion of choice; That Paradise around the […]
You’ve been away for longer now, I cannot count the ways That I, my dear, have missed you. How I’ve missed you all these days. The morning sun inspiring The twitter of the birds, The peace the starry nights do bring, And my pathetic words All grieve the absence of your smile That livens up the air, While gentle scents of chamomile And lavender declare My never-ceasing love for you, My treasured company; In every little thing I do, And every thing I see, I see the mercy of the One Who so my heart inclined, That in my weak affection, His Vast Mercy is defined. It’s true, the heart grows fonder, now I long to see your smile And happily forget just how I’ve missed you all this while.
Inspired by Shaykh Amin’s talk on sahoor from a couple nights ago. There is a moment magical When day breaks free from night, When seed is split and life begins, Witnessing Allah’s Might. But when the hand of man does it, It fashions pain and strife; It takes the Hand of God to split And manufacture life. The use of magical here is deliberate. Shaykh Amin pointed out that the Arabs observed the magic in daybreak, giving rise to sihr and sahoor stemming from the same three-letter root. Fascinating!
One more day… I wrote this for the kids. If anyone out there has stanzas to contribute, email me or add in a comment below. —- Let’s tidy home and break the oud And set its fragrance free, Let the money flow, and the faces glow With smiles of charity. ‘Cause I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon, The Ramadan moon is born, Is on its way, and will be here soon To mend my spirit that’s torn. To stay by me through the midday heat, And to quench my burning thirst With a drink of Quran to help defeat Myself when I’m at my worst. I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon, The Ramadan moon is born, Is on its way, and will be here soon To mend my spirit that’s torn. To carry me on a wink of sleep Through the night until the dawn And to teach my eye to swell and weep Before my guest is gone. I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon, The Ramadan moon is born, Is on its way, and will be here soon To mend my spirit that’s torn. To taste that sweet remembrance, comes In a cool and timeless night When the wakeful eye of a slave becomes Awash with eternal light. Oh, I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon, The Ramadan moon is born, Is on its way, and […]
I entered On The Not So Many Things I Cannot Stand into the poetry pot luck and Bryce J. nailed it. The On-the-spot prompt was Good Advice Gone Bad. I couldn’t come up with any advice, so I decided to call my father before the first event began and asked him to blurt out any advice that came to him. I managed to contrive a Shakespearean sonnet, but I think it lacked the punch needed for a winning performance. I should have gone with a rap. My father, bless him, always used to say, “Son, always mind the company you keep.” I took it in a literal sort of way, Not bothering to wade the waters deep. And so I hung with folks of manner mild, Avoided rubbing tattoo-laden shoulders And chose to steer clear from the wild, Preferring peace among the office folders. And this was how I navigated years, Assuming good was good and flocking to it, Until my poor judgement fell in tears Reminding me how terribly I blew it. I should have listened closer when my Dad Advised me how to tell the good from bad.
Frantz Fernandas von Anoplura, A grandiose name for a louse, He lived in the hairs of a callous old dame, And often reclined on her blouse In search of a dwelling befitting his name, A filthy yet classier house. He witnessed the innocent act of a thief That brought his unsavory mistress A child, for the want of a rampion leaf, A beautiful creature in distress Confined to a tower, much to his relief. But Frantz had his eye upon this tress For here in the forests of sunshine and gold, There thrived a louse nation of splendor, Amongst them a creature of beauty untold, A lausmaid of opposite gender, Who captured the fancy of Frantz by the fold Of her palpus attractive and tender. And thus he left witch for golden-haired wench And traveled for long on that head, Till came he to face in all of that stench The lausmaid he wanted to wed, The sweet Morgen Myna, oh nothing could wrench Him away from the charms that she spread. So Morgen and Frantz, they married and had The happiest moments together And how they rejoiced, especially glad For times when Rapunzel sent nether Her tresses to help that most elegant lad To climb up in every weather. But one afternoon, on the edge of a hush, Frantz scoured a follicle bare When voices in anger preceded the rush Of a shear that cut through the hair, To send Frantz Fernandas down into the brush On the face […]
My Epistle entry at the June 12 Pentathlon. My Dear Friend,Tell me: can you see that keen bumble beeAlighting itself on a flower,And pray, do you see the flower when sheLooks up in that early dawn hour;Yes, you’ve seen the skies through your weary eyes,How clear and blue they come bowingTo kiss well the trees and the edges of seasWhenever the weather’s allowing.Well, forget all that!You’ll be married in a fortnight, it will never be the same,So be merry now and let your heart to sing,When you see that blasted bee, trust me, all that you will seeIs a buzzing blob of yellow with a sting.And each flower that is born is a reason for a thorn,And the early morning air won’t be so stillWhen you see your day is planned, you’ll be putty in her hand,Losing every day a kilo of your will.When you look up at the sky, you’ll invariably spyClouds of grey and every other darkness form,And the trees, they will (it’s true) be those things that block the viewWhile the seas become an omen for a storm.Then you’ll tell yourself it’s love that takes all of the aboveAnd just blends it all into one toxic smoothie.Drink it up, you poor fool; do it while it is still cool,Every drop you drink will die proclaiming you theJACKASS!But now, if you hang in there, you will see the day you swearThat the jackass in you is a broadway act,For there comes to every man that approaches half his […]
This was my pantoum entry at the June 12 Pentathlon. It is about inspiration. Note that the 2nd and 4th line of each stanza are the 1st and 3rd line of the subsequent stanza with the exception that the 2nd and 4th lines of the last stanza are the 3rd and 1st lines of the first stanza. I know, cool yet crazy. I sense a clear drop of dew,Upon a dry and thirsty leaf,Announce the start of something new.I love a cloud that rains reliefUpon a dry and thirsty leaf Within this wilderness I knowI love: A cloud that rains reliefTo help me pay the debt I owe.Within this wilderness, I know Of wind and rain and songs of birdsTo help me pay the debt I oweMy sanity. Returning wordsOf wind and rain, and songs of birdsThus grace my forests now. And thenMy sanity returns in wordsEach day, and every moment whenDisgraced. My forests now and thenAnnounce the start of something newEach day and every moment whenI sense a clear drop is due.
I went up against some sharp competition Friday night at the Highland Park Annual Poetry Pentathlon. Shout out to Bryce Johnson on a well-deserved victory. There were five events in all (hence ‘pentathlon’): The Pantoum (just google it) The Epistle (letter in verse) Poetry Potluck (perform another contestant’s entry) Fairy Tale Poem (written from the viewpoint of a minor character in a fairy tale) On the spot (prompt provided when you walk in) I’ll publish my entries in separate posts now. Tell me what you think.