You're well into This month to give You fell into This well to live Another chance To give your best Give your thirst Give your hunger Give your each desire Give your hours Give your nights In that sweet tilaawah Give your wealth Give it well Give it till your giving Seems like madness In the air To all creatures living Give your kindness Send a flood Into grieving others Give your patience Not a word Spent dividing brothers If your giving Makes good sense Give some more Until It doesn’t No rhyme or reason It’s Ramadan
Song
What’s wisdom but a generous word That when it’s kindly spoken It soon repairs an ailing heart That someone else has broken For every heart has chambers which Receive the Name Divine To resonate its praises through An intricate design That when one breaks it interrupts The orchestra of souls And notes that rise to heaven rise Despite the many holes Yet words of kindness well restore The timbre and the tone To send the human song of praise Unto the highest throne And that in turn supplies the nūr Whence gentle words are spoken But how could such a wisdom be If hearts were never broken
Change of Address
One of the greatest signs of Allah’s lordliness is to watch his rahmah unfold upon his unassuming slave, most notably in how the man welcomes death. All his life this man lives simply. He is no scholar. He is no philosopher. He can barely articulate his thoughts. Every time he disagrees with someone around him, he finds himself corrected by a dozen other voices. Yet, he gifts the last word to anyone who is in conversation with him. He does this with kindness, even gratitude. Every time. So much so that you might think him a nobody. What you may miss is that he is very good at being that. Here now, in his final moments, so efficient is his economy with words, so powerful his choice in them, so frequent his recitation of the only word that matters, and so thorough his mending of fences with all his kin, that a lifetime of scholarship and pontification may be sacrificed for the nūr that illuminates his face. Much intellect shines now through the humor in his eyes. His eagerness to meet his Lord is tangible, electric, in the air, betrayed only by his brow dancing ever so slightly in response to an oft raised index finger. If we could see a man’s true worth as he dies we can begin to make sense of his life because what he has truly accomplished is now before our eyes What a man!
Sweet Taxes
It's chilly, must be time to pay my taxes
To fund the schools to do their saintly deeds
Get roads repaired and trains back on their tracks: Is
The park in need of shears to trim the weeds
Help libraries build wings so patrons fly
And help the good police have stronger knees
Give judges seats to let them ponder why
That billionaire needs help to crush his lease
I'm good with all this goodness every year
Though half the good I pay for I don't use
But that should never bother me my dear
And here's three dollars so the man don't lose
The shredded children dangling from a pole
Less hideous than our collective soul
Meadow Green
You look at yourself and you find The pain is just too much to bear It's shattered your body and mind And pounded you into despair Your words don't come out as they used to Your thoughts are not formed as you like But know each contender you lose to Is bracing you for the big fight Recline on the truth that all things All come from a singular source Each joy and each grief that life brings Is for you intended of course So give your attention to Him Who's turned His attention on you And fill up your heart to the brim With patience-infused gratitude There's comfort for you in your tears So cry up a bountiful stream And soon you will see your boat nears The sands on the shores of a dream Then life as it must be will be More real than you've ever seen And in a lush meadow you'll see Her waiting to meet you - your queen Salawaat helps the meadow stay green.
Staying Warm
I wonder at this huddle of sparrows in our lilac bush It’s ten degrees below but that does not deter their spirit They puff their coats up proudly till they look like mud- streaked snowballs Like Gazan hearts in a cold world
Thinking About Chivalry
Spare me your chivalry If it means you’ll hold a door open for the lady behind you Only to ogle her as she walks in Spare me your chivalry If it means you’ll help an elder cross the street But only when it doesn’t dent your schedule or go unnoticed Spare me your chivalry If it means you won’t hit a man when he’s down in a brawl But will cheer the cowardly slaughter of fleeing innocents Spare me your chivalry If it means you will let your friend have the last word, well, Only to go home and give your family hell All that chivalrous behavior we exhibit We barter it for attention: To be known To be seen Seen by others but more dangerously By ourselves For nothing is more delicious than worshipping That handsome idol of the self Moulded with the clay we selected so carefully From the river banks of our toadying consciousness Glistening from generous coatings Of the “it feels good to be good” glaze It does feel good to be good And that’s alright But it’s fickle: You see, when we change and grow The idol morphs and scales There is no telling what we’ll change into Yet the idol prevails Let’s turn to the constant deity Who Ever Was Who Ever Will Be If we can serve to ONLY be seen By the One our eyes cannot see Then that may be The truest brand of chivalry Then hang the axe around the neck Of your idol, saying: He did it
Ummah
his ummah is one body respiring shukr perspiring sabr each part heals that the body may thrive till it reaches its qabr so khalid when you are wracked with a trial turn to your Lord and repent and when you see your brother wracked with a trial turn to your Lord and repent
On Things Promised
The nature of something Promised to you Is: it's given to you as a gift It's reserved for you Well-preserved for you That its transfer to you may be swift And the giver ensures That the gift they are giving Is pure and pristine and intact Untainted by blood Or the cries of the living To whom it was given in fact I guess what I'm trying to say with these words is: Rockets and bullets and gases and booms Of phosphorous white that melts aways skins And bulldozing babies inside sacred wombs And gunning down kids seeking shelter in bins Are proof that the gift you are killing to get Was promised to humans more worthy than you
For Me
For me
Everything is for me
Nothing is for him or her
Or them
It’s all for me
The sunrise
The sunset
The rain
The drained cup
The laughter
The anger
The tears
The cuss words
The breath of a baby warming her father’s neck
The cold
The heat
The accident that occurred on my street
Or the seven car pile-up three seas away
If I know of it
It is for me
And me alone
So when a video makes its rounds
Plinking into my notifications
Showing a Palestinian man
Make his ablution in the freshly fallen water
Welled into the worn canvas top of his tent
That is for me
For me to see
And see again
For me to ponder
For me to feel the salty waves
Of helplessness wash over me
Then recede
Like the shadow of the ‘asr prayer
He chased
And reached
For me