Another Friday here, there’s nothing new But words of hate and death and plans to kill All justifiable by parties who Have pawned their souls to execute their will Who measure justice, let oppression rain Who ought to love their neighbors, want them dead Who swore submission, fight for petty gain Who long for peace, burn children still in bed It’s time we turned to where our faiths still stand Abandon feeling good about our states Because if feeling good is all we’ve planned Then we have crystallized our rotten fates Humanity, all, at a banquet rests Let’s eat what’s served and spare the other guests
I enter where the cries of children sound And therein dwell until they die away Where mothers’ soft embraces can’t be found And fathers’ mighty hands may hold no sway; And though my anger swells, I have no leave To act till comes to pass the death of time, But well I see the the stricken when they grieve And well I study souls that fashion crime. My day will come, and when it comes, the damned Will find their hearts within my horrid clasp When all their hands had wrought, their necks, shall brand Until escapes their lips a wretched gasp. I weigh, withhold, withdraw to watch and wait For when inversion bears the damned their fate. – – – – – – – – – – Even the lowest angel forms are an intelligent force to reckon with, sworn to justice, unwavering, serving only The Muntaqim. Preserve us, O Rahmaan, in Your Love and Mercy.
I guarantee you do not need a cellphone, A bag of fries, unopened can of pop, A passenger behind you raising hell, drone About your driving with no plan to stop; A toddler trying hard to lose his harness Or children crying out to have their say Mixed in with whines complaining of the farness Of wherever you’re headed to this day. You do not need these things to be distracted Although they’re bound to help without a doubt, If you won’t rest until your life’s impacted By injury that glamorizes gout, Just tell yourself that you’re distraction-free, Then watch yourself distract you totally. This truly is intended as a public service message. (The cynical tone is deliberate but NOT meant to make light of the matter.) Distracted driving is a hazard Thoughts can distract just as much as anything else Don’t let your guard down Focus on what matters!
Is happiness some quarry we pursue Embedded in material desires? When did it cease to be a part of you And turn into an object that requires Pursuing? Is our devolution done? Do we exert ourselves from dawn till night That we may travel miles to find the sun Then swim a sea of gadgets for delight? I understand that leisure must be earned But let there not be madness in such earning Before we find our minds and bodies burned For such pursuit has elements of burning. How odd to be pursuing what is found With us if only we would look around. – – – How happy are you in your pursuit of happiness? – Sh. Amin Kholwadia
He labeled every Mexican a rapist, And blacks and immigrants as murderous tramps; He mocked a disability, will stay pissed At Muslims who he wants to put in camps; He said a fellow-candidate was ugly, And spoke about a moderator’s menses, Said P.O.W.’s were lesser, smugly, And wants to stand up walls and barbed wire fences; He quoted Mussolini; he has stated He’d lose no backing if he’d kill a man; I could go on about the stuff he’s hated, But wonder in conclusion if he can Convert the greatest nation on this earth Into a land of negligible worth.
I just learned about the tragic passing of an old friend’s little son. Tears. We come from The Ever Living, and to The Ever Living we return. I still remember wondering about Whence came this little sapling in my care, I planted it with all my love without Withholding any love that I could spare. I’d tend to it each morning when the dew Exchanged itself for drops of golden sun, And as the nightly veil of darkness drew, I’d gaze upon the beauty I’d begun. But yesterday, a storm aroused my fears And tore my little sapling from the earth, And all my loving care and streams of tears: All proved to be of very little worth. I saw last night within a timeless hour My sapling blossoming a fragrant flower.
The signs to love God and His beloved are everywhere. Looking over the prairie on a gloomy Saturday, I felt this rush of words fall in a sonnet. SallAllahu ‘alayhi wa Sallam. My heart is as the prairie, dry and dead; Though withered by the kiss of autumn winds, It welcomes drops of rain that fall instead Reminding me of my surviving sins. But somewhere through the prairie flows a stream Of sweet remembrances: a name, a face, A man whose love for me surpasses dream, A love that thrives beyond all time and space. All death is winter, silent, cold and still, All life is spring where hearts revive, immersed In love and faith, beat patiently until The waters of the fountain slay all thirst. I long to drink my fill from hands I know Will take me to my Lord, won’t let me go.
To see a flower open into sun, To hear the crack of dawn in sparrow’s tweet, To breathe the sounds of children having fun Through syncopated pats of toddler feet; And then to leave that all behind to join The wheel that swallows everything it finds To spin its labor straw into a coin As shiny as its meal of chewed-up minds; It’s hard upon a silent, weary eye That misses hearts long dead and longer cherished, That knows no inability to cry And cries so long as longing hasn’t perished. The solemn rite of weeping in the rain Is all a fool for love can hope to gain.
Part 1: She She tuned out all the noise around her to Resolve the last equation in her head. It is a thing resourceful students do To bide their time on school bus rides instead. She owed her sanity to math and shop The numbers and the wood were her recourse From arguments at home that wouldn’t stop And parents inching closer to divorce. But how she loved her sister very much, Her twin, her friend for life, it made her smile To feel her sister’s hand reach out and touch Her own, they sat together for a while. They left the bus and parted ways for class, That’s when she saw him standing on the grass. Part 2: He The grass was wet, but he was feeling dry, Although he hadn’t slept the night before, He didn’t spend a moment thinking why: That ship had sailed and left behind, the shore. He’d known the combination all along And found in there the fully loaded Glock He’d long believed that he didn’t belong The time had come to break free from the flock. He chucked the cigarette and made his way Across the yard without another thought Then walked right in (was just another day) Without the slightest care he would be caught. He went straight down the hallway and began To execute more than his deadly plan. Part 3: They She set the papers in the usual place As tiny feet tapped syncopated beats To send a golden sunshine […]
I’m on my back, and staring into spaceAnd though my eyes seem vacant, they are filledWith broken spirits from another placeWhere mothers watch their children being killed.It doesn’t matter who the killers are,It doesn’t matter who the bleeding be,What matters is that although I am far,I feel the dark effect it has on me.For laying frozen on my bed, I stareAs if each passing second is my toilAgainst this grave oppression laying bareMy shallow games of empathy that spoilAn evening of laughter, games and fun,And lists of silly things that must be done.