Let me not mend
A broken heart
With the strands
Of its tattered soul
But in Your Name
Restore each part
With Your Hands
To a perfect whole
Archives for June 2020
Paradox
Paradoxes line the path
Of the seeking soul:
The more it learns
The less it knows
The more it toils
The less it makes
The longer the journey
The farther it goes
The more it has
The less it takes
The less it wants
The more it gets
The more it has
The less it needs
The greater the trial
The lesser it frets
The more it follows
The more it leads
And the humbler it grows
The humbler it grows
Till the humbled array
In the straightest of rows
And all that is left
Is a soul that is blessed
With the world at its feet
And it couldn’t care less
Of the seeking soul:
The more it learns
The less it knows
The more it toils
The less it makes
The longer the journey
The farther it goes
The more it has
The less it takes
The less it wants
The more it gets
The more it has
The less it needs
The greater the trial
The lesser it frets
The more it follows
The more it leads
And the humbler it grows
The humbler it grows
Till the humbled array
In the straightest of rows
And all that is left
Is a soul that is blessed
With the world at its feet
And it couldn’t care less
In Defense of Ibn Turab’s Verbosity
You tell me that I use a word too many
But words are much like colors, don’t you see
How pleased or how offended we’re by any
Diverging value or intensity
You paint a wall a certain shade of sky
Alaskan, Early Morn or Shooting Star
They’re blue if you just plan on getting by
But color-wise you won’t go very far
So when I use a hundred words to say
What you think just requires twenty five
You’ve only heard the quarter of a gray
That I relayed four times intensified
Our wordiness is hard on one who rues
The value and intensity of hues
But words are much like colors, don’t you see
How pleased or how offended we’re by any
Diverging value or intensity
You paint a wall a certain shade of sky
Alaskan, Early Morn or Shooting Star
They’re blue if you just plan on getting by
But color-wise you won’t go very far
So when I use a hundred words to say
What you think just requires twenty five
You’ve only heard the quarter of a gray
That I relayed four times intensified
Our wordiness is hard on one who rues
The value and intensity of hues
Teardrop Mercy
This hurt won’t go away
This agony won’t stop
While there’s acres of a garden
Watered by a teardrop
There’s a greater love that lies
In the ocean of your eyes
Such a rahmah never dies
This agony won’t stop
While there’s acres of a garden
Watered by a teardrop
There’s a greater love that lies
In the ocean of your eyes
Such a rahmah never dies
Created
واحسن منك لم تر قط عيني
و أجمل منك لم تلد النساء
خلقت مبرأ من كل عيب
كانك قد خلقت كما تشاء
– حسان بن ثابت
There is none handsomer I’ve seen than you
No woman beauty bore more celebrated
Created without trace of fault or flaw
As if you chose how you would be created
– Hassān bin Thābit
Thanks to my dear friend, Ibn Turab, for bringing up this poem by Sayyidanā Hassān, RadhiAllahu anhu.
No woman beauty bore more celebrated
Created without trace of fault or flaw
As if you chose how you would be created
– Hassān bin Thābit
Divide
You split people for control
Just as you split the Divine
But how can you turn a soul
That’s committed to align
With the order of The One
Just as you split the Divine
But how can you turn a soul
That’s committed to align
With the order of The One
To The Worlds
If you’re down to understanding
Rahmatan lil-‘aalameen
Think about the bloodied sandals
And the valley lush and green
In the palm of angel anger
Stayed to spare the
jaahileen
That they live to see a Garden
That no mortal eye has seen
Rahmatan lil-‘aalameen
Think about the bloodied sandals
And the valley lush and green
In the palm of angel anger
Stayed to spare the
jaahileen
That they live to see a Garden
That no mortal eye has seen
Sajdah
The noise is slow to fade
The dust is slow to settle
The lead and rubber riddle words
Infused with burning metal
The silence becomes louder
Than the pounding on the door
Let hope return a forehead
To the dust upon the floor
The dust is slow to settle
The lead and rubber riddle words
Infused with burning metal
The silence becomes louder
Than the pounding on the door
Let hope return a forehead
To the dust upon the floor