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
Perfect
Poetry
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.
Vision, Green and Clear
Let’s put on our tauhīd glasses
(Of course they’re tinted green)
And maybe we’ll see glimpses of
The things that Khidr’s seen
Thinking
The more I think,
The more I think
The world should be protected
From my thinking.
The more I think
The world should be protected
From my thinking,
The more I think.
Harvest
Every dhākir knows
What a dhākir sows:
Where your tasbīh goes
There your garden grows