Khalid Mukhtar

Word, like wind, cuts through you / Withers all but true you

Khalid Mukhtar

Elegy To Our Mother

· ·

On the passing of my dear mother-in-law:
Ayesha Fayroze Zamani Begum
(1948 – 2012)
Allahumma Aghfir lahaa


Ammi, I always wished for you
To be a better mother,
To be my wise protector who
Would one way or another
Make all my troubles go away,
Complete my youth with care,
And sigh away my chatter while
You fixed my tangled hair;
Or flush my spirit with your tales
Of wisdom and delight,
That in my older years would serve
Me as a guiding light.
But you had troubles of your own:
Afflictions of the mind;
My oldest memory of you
A thing to leave behind.
I’ve watched you wander in a daze,
And heard you babble what
The medication and the drugs
Did to your every thought.
And most of all I felt for you
Was born of sympathy,
I’ve wondered what the purpose of
Your pointless life could be.
Now after all these heavy years,
Of sickness, and defeat,
You flood me with your wisdom as
I sit beside your feet;
Resounds in all your muted pain
A lifelong dignity,
And in your blinking eyes is plain
Your shining love for me.
My silent tears drain my breast;
As you exhale your last,
I see your glowing face attest
An unassuming past.
And I may never comprehend
This mercy lofty, high,
For in your soft and graceful end,
You’ve shown me how to die.
In all your towering innocence,
You rest within your grave,
A soul without complaint or grudge,
A pure, submitting slave.
O Allah, to You my mother returns,
Through all of her suffering and pain,
Protect her against the fire that burns
Whatever of sin may remain.

And fill every inch of space in her grave
With light of Your mercy kind,
That she may delight in fragrances that
Bring peace to an innocent mind.
Aameen.

Sitting On The Banks Of Reflection

· ·

Your smile, my child, I love your smile,
It takes me to a sunny place,
And if you hold it for a while,
I’ll feel its warmth upon my face.

Your laugh, my child, I love it so,
I’m taken by your mirthful eyes
To where the babbling waters flow
Upon the bed that never dries.

And when our journey is complete,
Will you and I walk hand in hand
With him who all the angels greet
With all the praise his names command,

To, on the lush eternal banks
Of sweet reflection, realize
The golden sunshine of a smile
In silver streams of mirthful eyes.

As we beseech in Paradise:

Ilaahi, send your prayers and peace
Upon the dearest of your friends,
And on his blessed family,
And all of his companions.

Save Your Soul

· ·

Love him that you too may be loved,
Miss him, and you’ll be missed;
Just long to kiss his hand that might
Your longing face be kissed.

Despise him for eternal hate,
And slander him for shame;
Avenging angels long await
Who desecrate his name.

Yet he, without the bounds of time,
Within his place of rest,
Is eagerly awaiting you
To be his honored guest;

For on the Throne encompassing
The seventh firmament
Is One whose love for him exceeds
The sum of all love spent.

Exchange now all your hate for love,
And know the man you don’t,
So that a mercy from above
May save the soul you won’t.

Prairie Flowers

· ·

When sunshine falls upon a spread
Of yellow prairie flowers,
It fills me with that silent peace
That graces morning hours.

The sunshine and the flowers, each,
Impress my mind and sight,
But one without the other tells
The tragedy of light.

To see a mother fondle child,
One nuzzle to the other,
Dispensing freely of the love
That touches every mother,

Is like the sunshine on a spread
Of yellow prairie flowers,
That blends its silence into peace

That graces morning hours.

Pearls

· ·

The poet must swim in the sea of his heart
To scour its bed for the pearls of his love,
And string them in verse that will let him depart
The dark of his soul to the light up above.

But he who recites from the Word of his Lord
Immerses his heart in an ocean of Light,
Illumines the world with the pearls that afford
Us a glimpse of a life of eternal delight.

A Poem

· ·

A poem can be a fancy way
To say a thing well known;
A thing that when presented plain
Is not attention prone;

To take a thought mundane and make
It sweet, romantic or
Just fascinatingly astute,
Is what a poem is for.

And seldom can it cause you pain
That makes you frown or curse,
Digesting thoughts that don’t constrain
The words that make them verse;

Like sitting in a carriage that
Is led by handsome steeds,
Unbridled, wont to gallop at
Unregulated speeds.

But if you chance upon a poem
You cannot understand,
Extending it the courtesy
Of silence would be grand.

Companion

· ·

My load is heavy, let me rest
My aching self a bit,
But only for a moment lest
I tarry where I sit.

I know I’ll slip along the way,
And suffer every plight
As I walk in the scorching day
And in the dark of night.

I may not bear the strength to rise
Above my many pains,
For obligation comes to me
In many different strains.

But come now, take my weary hand
Consolingly in yours,
So I may see you understand
What all the world ignores.

And in return, I promise you
With all my heart and mind
A constant love, and every peace
My faithful hand may find.

I pray to Him upon His Throne
That shades all Will Divine,
That I forevermore be yours,
And you, forever mine.

Lil One, Don’t Break Your Fast

· ·

I wrote a little something to encourage my children to fast this Ramadan. Sixteen hours is a looooong time. 

Come on, lil’ one, don’t break your fast,
The sun will set upon us, soon
All thirst and hunger will have passed,
And you’ll set out to find the moon;

‘Cept you won’t see it every day,
Because the moon and earth and sun
Are steadfast in their patient play;
And patience plays with anyone.

If you pick up a tasty treat
And almost put it in your mouth,
Stand frozen as you point your feet,
The left one north, the right one south.

Don’t take that glass of water to
Your parched and thirsty, fasting lips.
Pretend your left big toe is you,
And let it have a couple sips.

Blah blah buzz buzz ha ha hee hee.
Did you know saum means silence too?
Make like a giant, sprawling tree,
And sway your hands as branches do.

If all this makes you shake your head,
And crave a more rewarding chore,
Then to your blessed path instead;
You’re not so little anymore.

The Golden Switch

· ·

I wrote this poem to welcome the wife of my cousin Zubair into our family. Thanks to Abi Mustafa for bringing this poem to life with a moving recitation at the wedding reception yesterday. 
There are footnotes at the end.

Best Wishes to Zubair and Rida on their wedding.

“Unmoor!” It’s time, the whistle blows,

The weather’s bright and fair,
As you begin your voyage on
The Morning Star Zubair.

That’s right, your man is Master of
This vessel wide and long,
She carries all you need within
Her golden hatches strong.

The crew is sharp, the first mate walks
The bridge with eagle eye,
While down below the engineers
Keep engines humming high;

A dozen sailors swab the decks,
The silver taffrails, shine,
While stewards fill your goblets with
Non-alcoholic wine.

Ah! How your taste buds will delight
When foods exotic play
Upon them notes so magical
From Bombay to Marseilles.

And each day as the sun so grand
Sets on the sparkling sea,
Like Jack and Rose, you and your man
Glide in serenity.

And so you sail for days and days
Without a worry till
The seas begin to sparkle less,
The food tastes blander still.

And that is when the tide does turn,
And waves frightfully vie
To splash upon the shiny decks,
While clouds assemble high.

The hull begins to shudder free,
The crew tries hard to mend
The damage, but the boatswain’s luck
Is on a downward trend.

Disease and hardship wrack the crew,
The engines fail to fire,
The first mate tries in vain to steer
Despite the ocean’s ire.

You run to stand beside your man
As he surveys the scene:
His ailing crew, his vessel strained,
And all that’s in between.

You turn to look into his eyes
That show no sign of fear,
And sense a peaceful moment when
He nods with hope sincere,

Then suddenly, he takes your hand,
And to the bridge makes haste,
To find his first mate ‘neath the wheel
Which once his hand had graced.

He presses on with you, Rida,
Still keeping by his side,
And stops before a cabinet
Of tungsten and carbide.

A golden switch sits well encased
In glass so clean and clear,
With shiny letters that proclaim
Its role in times of fear.

*******************************
Pause for effect, mood changes to mild comic irony
*******************************

“Mummy Hona” 1, you read the words
A bit questioningly;
Zubair smiles back as if to say:
“My darling, you shall see.”

With one hand holding yours, he grips
The lever with the other,
And pulls down on that golden switch
To beckon to his mother.

The vessel starts to shudder now,
Its ribs moan shallow, and
The Master and his lovely bride
Look out from where they stand.

A rumble low accompanies
The sight before your eyes,
A golden hatch slides open to
Reveal a golden prize.

“Salaam alaykum” everywhere,
“Salaam” that fills the sea;
And thus emerges from the hatch
Zubair’s good family,

His mother leads them all as they
Proclaim the greeting high,
Her hands do bear a tray of her
Best anday ki mithai 2.

And even as she draws up close
And holds you in embrace,
The family of good Zubair
Sets off to work a pace

Of restoration everywhere;
Jenan assumes command,
Her father in the engine room,
With wrench and more in hand.

Ali gets on the radio
That Tariq works with speed,
While Zohra stirs a blend of Bel-
Ladonna and seaweed

Which Nadiah dispenses to
The sailors, some of whom
She carefully helps get into
The operating room.

Where Saqib and his father work
To render every care
And get those sailors up to run
The Morning Star Zubair.

Samina Chachi oversees
The scrubbing of the decks
And brings those sailors to their knees
With her repeated checks.

Tahseen restores the cabins, makes
Them cozy, warm and trim;
Maryam, Iman and Zaynab sing
A Dawud Wharnsby hymn.

And Salim Uncle at the helm,
To get her back on course,
Amin at radar, Sulayman
On charts; oh what a force!

And all of this is possible
As Javed babysits
Noor, Ibrahim, and Mustafa
With toilet humor hits.

And then, Rida, you look around,
And all over you see
A fleet of submarines with the
Remaining family;

All standing by and waiting for
A sign they can’t ignore:
Mohajir, Chida, Mehkri,
Ghias, Papa and more.

The vessel sets to float anew,
In even better form:
A crew and craft to weather yet
Another crazy storm.

The kitchen and the galleys burst
Biryani, halwa and
A host of other dishes of
The grand Navaitha 3 brand.

*******************************
Pause for effect, return to reality
*******************************

And as niwaalas4 supersized
Of meetha5 fill your mouth,

*******************************
Pause 3 seconds
*******************************

You wake up from this dream, Rida,
A little farther south.

*******************************
Pause 3 seconds
*******************************

…In Frankfort.

*******************************
Pause for effect, concluding verses
*******************************
There’s no condition, Rida, and
There is no moment which
You need await to pull down on
That “Mummy Hona” switch.

But this is all you’ll ever need
On any given day:
Love God, and love the one He loves,
(SalAllahu ‘alayhi wa Sallam)
And you’ll be on your way.

*******************************
Pause for effect
*******************************

Welcome to the Morning Star Zubair.

*******************************
Pause for effect, read slowly.
*******************************

Welcome to… our family.

———————————————————————————–

Footnotes

1 I want my Mommy
2 A family specialty
3 The name given to our larger family
4 Mouthfuls
5 sweets

The Fewston Reservoirs

· ·

I am in beautiful Leeds visiting with my brother, and enjoying the English countryside. Today, I accompanied my brother and my lovely nieces to The Fewston Reservoirs. We each got an ice cream cone/bar and hiked through the trails. I can’t explain how beautiful this place is. I was compelled to write a little something about it all.

The swirling, moisture canopies
That speckle blue vanilla skies,
The honeysuckle-scented breeze
That, definition, well defies,

The bashful bluebells bowing low
Along the chocolate marshy sands
Where Otley and her sisters flow
To flush these lush West Yorkshire lands.

I’ll miss the Fewston Reservoirs
For more than what I’ve said above,
They soak my plains of memoirs
With drops of who and what I love.

(The ‘vanilla’ and ‘chocolate’ references were clearly a product of the quality ice cream we consumed on the hike 🙂