Poetry

The silence of the man she loved
Said all she had to know:
No words could take her heart to where
It was destined to go.

With a faith that dwarfed the mountains
Rising all around her, she
Rose up from where her baby lay
With dust for company;

And she ran to the nearest hill she saw,
Climbed up and looked around
For the faintest sign of a caravan
Or a hint of the slightest sound,

Then down she ran and stopped a while
Where the baby kicked and cried
To rush up another hill that stood
Way off to the other side.

She peered again through the scorching heat
For the smallest sign of life,
Then on she ran with the firm and strong
Resolve of a prophet’s wife.

And thus she searched, and so she ran
Till her heels wept streams of blood,
As the infant cried and kicked the sand
When his heels discovered mud,

And the waters gushed and sprung up wild
While the mother rushed to her crying child;
How they washed themselves and drank their fill
And she nursed the babe till their hearts went still.

In the burning desolation
Of that strange and barren land,
Rose a faith that raised a nation
By this blessed mother and

Her child.

There is a face I long to see,
I pray that it will turn to me
The day I dread but hope to free
My lowly soul.

There is a voice I long to hear,
I pray that I will find it near
The day I lose my own to fear
I can’t control.

There is a hand I long to touch,
I long to touch it very much
To drink from it my fill as such;
And I’ll be whole.

There is a man I long to meet,
I long to sit beside his feet,
In timeless moments to repeat
For evermore.

SallAllahu ‘alayhi wa sallam.