Neither kufr nor shirk nor sin
But rather what we fear
Is our weakness in
Representing who’s held dear
In all of creation
To Him who’s ever near
Poetry
Forthcoming book!
I have some great news. Renowned academic press, Fons Vitae, recently accepted my proposal for a collection of poems. The book is to be titled: In The Warmth Of the Shade
This has been in the works for almost four years now. I heard back from the amazing Virginia Gray Henry last August, and it has been steadily picking up steam ever since. We’re presently working on firming up a final draft. The super talented Sumaiyya Rahman (www.thoughtfoundrie.com) is working on the book cover – to be shared once it’s closer to its final state.
With a foreword by my friend and patron, Umar Shakur, the book will feature forty poems selected from my works. Here’s the tentative book blurb.
In the Warmth of the Shade is a collection of forty poems presented in three sections: Creator, Creation, and The Best of Creation. Some poems are stories or historical accounts, others are supplications, and still others offer a peek into the breadth and depth of the Islamic faith. These poems are composed in a variety of classical forms to honor the form and content that is characteristic of traditional academic Islam. Muslim readers will rediscover the oral Islamic tradition passed down over the generations. Others will find a gentle introduction to Muslim thinking and preoccupation.
Alhamdulillah this is finally happening. This publication wouldn’t be possible without the support of some fabulous individuals. They know who they are, and yes, I will duly acknowledge their support in print :-).
Anyway, I just wanted to share this out. I will keep posting updates as they come in.
If Darkness Be My Fate
If darkness be my fate then let me be
The darkness that had hosted my Nabi
When came the Word, a Light that set me free
Yet let me in linger in that company
How blest the darkness in a silent cave
That welcomes in the Nūr upon a slave
Service
It isn’t really service
If you remind the served
Of all you did and what your service
To their cause deserved
That’s deal-making that splits
Your tauheed into bits
Wake Up
Is this the brand of greatness we desire
Will all this madness make us great again
Dividing hearts and setting lives afire
And separating kids from parents when
It’s hard to find a job and wages slide
While markets are more fragile than before
It doesn’t matter what we claim beside
The daily plight of citizens galore
We’ve fractured every friendship we held dear
And stepped on wounds by elevating tyrants
We’ve seen this all before but now it’s clear
The dream autocracy has broken silence
It doesn’t matter much how great we’ll be
Once we have slaughtered our humanity
Time for a Plan
In the face of forever,
One year, or one hundred,
All amount to the blink of an eye,
The span of a sigh,
Or the time that it takes
For time to go by.
So why then say that it is all over
When cancer claims her
Bullets ravage him
Conspiracy frames you
Or Facebook savages them.
I can see why:
It’s because
You are contained in time,
So it’s hard,
And as my brother says,
Harder to ignore it.
But you didn’t use to be
Contained.
You are built to live
Outside of time.
So, don’t say it is over.
Say instead: it has begun.
It will be over
When the One
Over it says it’s done.
May Yaqub’s sweet patience
Be your balm.
Stay calm
Let’s make a plan,
You, for your troubles,
And I, for mine.
Float
When a leaf begins to blow
It doesn’t know where it will go
But go it does until it comes to rest
So let the winds of destiny
Deliver you to where you’ll be
Cool river’s playmate or warm meadow’s guest
Journey On
As you ascend the rocky hill
Or swim the rushing stream
To get there (because getting there
Is often times the dream)
Just know: your destination
Decides the load you bear;
What matters more than where you go
Is rather how you fare.
The Twenty-ninth of Ramadan
O Allah, help me. Help me get
To where that fountain bursts;
And when I get there Allah, let
Me quench my burning thirst
By him whose hands were raised for me,
O Allah, let me meet
Your Mukhtar. Khalid longs to be
Beside his blessed feet.
The Twenty-eighth of Ramadan
Hope is like the waning moon
That flees the starlit night
But only for returning soon
A floating silver scythe
To cut the ties of apathy
And cast aside despair
Let the ink of tawbah dye
This dark and silent satin sky