Poetry

May the stench of my sins
Be dispelled
By a fragrant desire
For Your Rahmah, Maghfirah
And deliverance from the fire

The most beautiful distraction
And the most deplorable
All blend into one when compared
With the sweet ikhlās
Of Your remembrance

Master of wind and cloud and rain
And their musical refrain:
May the wind not blow my roof
May the cloud not linger long
May the rain not flood my home
May no music mute my song

I cannot know how many souls I’ve hurt
By words of anger, wit or humor wry
Or through a wretched grimace or a smirk
Or even through a shrug or meaning sigh

Repair those broken hearts beyond repair
In ways that only You can, Ya Rahman
And let myself be fashioned as a stair
For such of Your ‘ibaad to step upon

And into their abode with me in tow
With hope to follow where their footsteps go

Let injuries make me strong
And insults cleanse my ego
Till Your Praise becomes my song
And my company is Regal

The men with Talūt showed us what
Submission is about
You only need one little sip
To put the fire out

One little sip to have you throw
One little stone to slay the foe

I don’t know how to ask for
What I want
I don’t know how to ask for
What I need
I don’t know how to know
What I do not
Lord, I don’t even know how
I should plead

Make it so my sins dissolve
In the surf of Your maghfirah
And take away my pettinesses
As the waters recede, Ya Ghafūr

O Answerer of supplications
Transcending shape and form
O Guarantor of maghfirah
And shelter from the storm

You, and You alone, can bring
My heart and brain and tongue
In line with Your sweet pleasure
Till the words You will are sprung

In a total eclipse of my nafs