These words that rise up from your heart
In sweet remembrances to be
Upon your patient lips departing
For your Garden growing free
Interview
Highland Park Poetry’s Jennifer Dotson interviewed me last week about my book, In The Warmth of The Shade. We talked about how it all began, @FonsVitae, publishing, 9/11, @shaykhamin, @DarulQasim and even about my good friend @ushakur :-).
And I read a few poems from the collection.
Response
But words are such a different projectile
For even do the deadliest of drones
Annihilate the living in a while
But, words: they lodge themselves within a heart
In some dark corner that the jinn know well
And there they linger as a poison dart
Secreting the intoxicants of hell
Remember now when he with tongue so mild
Had turned, a brokenhearted man, to Ṭāʾif
To be rejected, driven and reviled
In what was then his weakest time in life
Yet when the wrath of angel sprang above
He held it back with words of patient love
‘Arsh
There, ‘now’ and ‘instantaneous’
And all things thought spontaneous
Fall short of what His Mighty Qadr brings
For there, no time holds sway upon
The One who lets the dusk and dawn
Be signs for praise a slave of Allah sings
Inspired by Shaykh Amin‘s exegesis on the ‘Arsh
Oxygen
The waters of mirth can stifle the soul
Glide up to the sun, catch a breath
Return to its shores to lie on the gold
And breathe the remembrance of death
Doing
Beware of the times you do good
It comes with a peace as it would
And it fills you with feelings
Delivers you reeling
With joy that you did what you could
But that glee burns a chink in the armor
And the devil does strike where it stings
Then you sweetly impute
All the good that you did
To whatever your intellect brings
Now the meaning I try to convey
Isn’t meant to inhibit the doing
Just know all you do
Is a trial to you
For the Doer is watchfully viewing
Shoveling
The repentant ones know
What to think when they find
Such a volume of snow
On the driveway, but mind
It’s a ploy of the devil
To make you to sigh
Till your hopes all dissolve
In the blink of an eye
But the penitent know
That for every vice
An Astaġfirullāh
On your breath will suffice
So pass on the snowblower
Suit up and start
With your istiġfār shovel
And peace in your heart
Waiting
When the fast slows down
And the night turns to pray
With its children as one
All five moons away
Manner
Consider now “man” an adjective
To mean less a beast and more man
Then take its comparative, “manner”, a proof
That a word comes about by a plan
Dignifying the language of man
Think!
The things that we find mundane
We hear them again and again
Repetitive, boring
And set to inducing
All manners of snoring
Are often all matters decreed
That we may be heedful to heed
What comes into view
Through the lens of tawḥīd