The words that I say
The plans that I make
The hands that I play
And the roads that I take
Like leaves in the breeze
That fall from the trees
You reckon they float
To wherever they please
But the random escapes
Every pattern to be
Like a whale on a mission
Deep down in the sea
Rajulun Mu’min
The construct Rajulun Mu’min is full of nūr. You must think about it.
-Shaykh Amin Kholwadia, Tafsīr Surah Ghafir
Heed the nūr that is in
Rajulun mu’min
Had received his lesson
Rajulun mu’min
From the shining yadin
Rajulun mu’min
Kept his faith well hidden
Rajulun mu’min
In a palace of sin
Rajulun mu’min
Heard the tyrant begin
Rajulun mu’min
His nefarious spin
Rajulun mu’min
To come out with a win
Rajulun mu’min
So he came to reckon
Rajulun mu’min
In a swift decision
Rajulun mu’min
Made them all to listen
Rajulun mu’min
To his voice now risen
Rajulun mu’min
And his faith bubblin’
Rajulun mu’min
Like a sweet fountain
Rajulun mu’min
He’s the help from within
Rajulun mu’min
Heed the nūr that is in
Rajulun mu’min
Need the nūr that is in
Rajulun mu’min
Scent
We may be parted
But let’s hang in there
Throw a shirt on my face
Dry away the despair
I’ll meet you again
Just a question of when
In the shallows of space
Or the depths of a prayer
Any peace that you feel
All the peace that you want
Is in ṣabrun jameel
And a scent in the air
But let’s hang in there
Throw a shirt on my face
Dry away the despair
I’ll meet you again
Just a question of when
In the shallows of space
Or the depths of a prayer
Any peace that you feel
All the peace that you want
Is in ṣabrun jameel
And a scent in the air
Fishing
I spend hours thinking
To make me feel smart
Then render my thoughts
Into words, call it art
To exchange it for fame
There’s no shallower game
Than a catch from the deeps
Of my heart
Cure with salt to keep it from rotting
To make me feel smart
Then render my thoughts
Into words, call it art
To exchange it for fame
There’s no shallower game
Than a catch from the deeps
Of my heart
Cure with salt to keep it from rotting
Free
The trap that is hid
In my quest to be free
Is that I can’t be rid
Of the tyrant that’s me
Can only be free
As ‘abd Al-Ghaniyy
In my quest to be free
Is that I can’t be rid
Of the tyrant that’s me
Can only be free
As ‘abd Al-Ghaniyy
Broken Hearts
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
A broken heart
With the strands
Of its tattered soul
But in Your Name
Restore each part
With Your Hands
To a perfect whole
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