I'm not that quick
I'm not that smart
No super skills
No fancy art
But I can sit
And I can wait
For goodness tends
To walk in late
And I can wait
Poetry
Sinning
My Lord, how great the sign in every sin
For every sin produces one of two:
A servant humbled by the mess he’s in
Or a wretch preferring darknesses to You
Mami’s Girl
There were many sounds she hated
Words came harsh until the shots ill-fated
Cut her papi down inside a store
But then even harsher did this feel
To be away from that one person
She had never been without before
She thought back to how her mami
Sobbed like she had never seen
When a stranger tore her from her mami’s chest
Maybe this is hell and she had died
And that’s the reason mami cried
If only she had tried to be her best
Now she’s weeping in the dark because
She won’t see papi, heard he was
Sent off to live a happy life up there
She has learned how not to cry
Hoping someday she’ll undie,
Get to smell mami again and touch her hair
And the big man in the way
Makes it hard for her to say
Everything she wants to share but dare not tell
You may even see her smile
Though her wound runs half a mile
All the way from mami’s warm embrace to hell
Perfect
It’s a sign of perfection sublime
To render all things imperfect
As one scene of pleasure
That cools without measure
A heart that is burned by defect
Listening
There’s nothing more active
Than listening
Be totally racked if
You miss a thing
To hear, and to question
What’s made out it’s nest in
A brain that’s attracted
To everything
Bowing
The only one to bow to is One
And if you must know how to become
Unbowing to creation
Then seek that lowly station
Where rivers of humility run
Istighfār
When you think
That you’ve made it
Then something occurs
Reducing your self
In your sight
Know that you
Like all things
Are in the control
Of that One
Indivisible Light
Istighfār is a muscle
That’s often unheeded
So best exercise it
To use it when needed
When Clouds Go By
When clouds go by
I don’t know why
It makes me think
Of how we cry
Perhaps it is
Because we bear
Some semblance of
A grief or care
That we hold in
Till comes the trigger
Makes our burden
Somewhat bigger
There is no planning
When or where
We send those tears
In despair
The clouds will form
The winds will blow
We let them take us
Where they go
You can’t control
Your tears soul
And you dare think
You’re in control
Breathing
Inhale shukr
Exhale ṣabr
Repeat until you
Reach the qabr
Generous
When we consider generosity,
We think of those possessed of wealth and time
Who give with or without the vanity
That often taints a gift with hues of crime.
And then we hear the term afresh from those
Who saw its splendor in prophetic light,
For giving matters when the giver knows
The value of what’s given, all despite
The ignorance and bliss ingratitude
Of them who walk the earth in heedlessness
While harvesting the riches that accrued
Upon the breaths of those who do with less.
SubhanAllah is charity that turns
The world despite the punishment it earns.