Poetry

To whoso I have wronged in ways
That only you can tell
If there be harm that I’ve forgotten
Through time’s onward swell

I’m sorry and I hope you’ll find
Your Garden filled with flowers
Each sprung from my forgetful mind
That thinks of you for hours

The greater challenge now remains
To find the ones i know
Who I have hurt, and use my brains
To have them let it go

Even the wild daisy knows
To lean into the sun
And here I am entombed in apathy

Oh Allah, lift the seal upon
My heart and ears and eyes
That I may take in what I hear and see

Your Word you sent to your habib
Your guidance that is he
To save a hapless mendicant like me

How can I not think back to when
The very best of angels braced
The very best of men

And in that noble heart, he placed
First words of revelation
Expanding the universe within
Priming it to bear
The blessed burden of wahy
So I may have my share
Of pacing about my living room
Reciting it with ease
As if my tongue were endless shore
And the words were seas

So, tell me then:
How can I not think back to when
The very best of angels braced
The very best of men

This bridge is like a wire
I don’t know if I’ll last
Don’t let me lose my footing,
Lord, please help me make it past

I fast a wretched saum
And let my nafs to roam
Deliverance from the fire
Is all I humbly ask

Safe passage to my home

To find yourself
The Night of Power
Lose yourself within it

Recite to make
The darkest hour
Tick another minute

The lost may chance to win it
The lost may chance to win it

Taufīq is when you do not say,
“I did,” but rather shy away
From shame that what you think you did
Was guided by the Hand that’s hid.

It’s given by a Will Divine
To where the Giver’s Nur may shine
And it’s a given that what’s given
May be taken by design.

So say no words of shirk concealed
But seek abasement for your soul
And if you get it, know you’ve failed
If you think you were in control.

It was upon the seventeenth
Some would say long ago
Was only meant to be a simple
Raid, and nothing more

Three hundred and a few
All gathered by the well
Unknowing of a cavalry
Of angels come to help

Listen to the sweet qiraa’ah
Let it fall like rain
On a parched and dusty heart
Washing off the stain
Left by senses waywardly
Till no specks remain
Listen to the sweet qiraa’ah
Let it fall like rain

Every alif is a sword:
Cut into my pride
Shatter what I horde.

There’s a scythe in each lām:
Harvest all my fields
Watered by qiyām.

Every mīm is a cane:
Remind me of his name
And help me rise again.

Beg forgiveness, seek assistance
Every way you can
Give yourself without resistance
Make yourself a plan
For beyond the time and distance
Of a mortal span