Micropoetry

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

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

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

Thanks to my dear friend, Ibn Turab, for bringing up this poem by Sayyidanā Hassān, RadhiAllahu anhu.

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

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

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

It’s harder to constrict the airways
Of an exasperated plea
For the fundamentally free
Human right to dignity

Get off your blasted knee

May we speak in even Adamic tones
May our thoughts be clearer
Our words descend crisper
And our speech be freed
Of the demon’s need
To thunder or whisper

To be fulfilled, I think
We should pursue goals
The way angels follow souls:
Leave the ones that stink