Poetry

When Baasha had done his hours of toil,
He walked from his shop through the dirt,
His hands bearing cuts from metal, and oil
Did streak down the sleeves of his shirt;

All traces of weakness fell from his face
To see by the door of his shack
His Rehmet in all her dignified grace
Just waiting for him to get back;

They shut out the twilight, bolted the door,
Then dined upon water and rice,
(The water in fact exceedingly more)
With salt as the singular spice;

Then Rehmet looked up at Baasha and drew
His blistery hands to her face,
To wash them in streams affectionate dew
That rolled down her cheeks in a race;

Ten thousand some miles away in the hour
When dawn is announced by a breeze,
There sitting beneath a clematis bower
Husna and her husband Aziz;

The question that Rehmet hid in her tears
And found not the words to advance,
Her sister in faith presented those fears
In much of the same circumstance;

If you were to die, and I to survive,
Or I were to die leaving you,
I worry the one remaining alive 
May not really know what to do.

Aziz said no words, but dried off her tears,
Did Baasha, to Rehmet, the same;
The darkest of nights eventually nears
The dawn in celestial game.

– – – –

Your marriage is like a stake in the sand
That shifts with your every breath;
As long as you breathe, you must understand:
The thing that cements it is death;

He witnesses you as one, in His name,
As you bear the witnessing high,
Companions in life to always remain
Companions in life once you die.

There once lived a man, so happy and blest
With but little good to his name,
For much he accumulated in sin
By deeds of remarkable shame.

And left he his sons instructions to burn
His body when he will have died;
Thus when came the time for him to return,
His dutiful children complied;

And true to his words, his ashes were spread,
One half of them over the land,
The rest of him went to the ocean instead,
Exactly the way he had planned.

But outside the realm of on-ticking time,
Where even does time have an end,
The Lord gave the earth an order sublime,
Commanding the ocean to send

Before Him the dirt defining the man
Attempting to hide in the earth,
Completing the glorious cycle began
Before he was destined for birth.

Addressing that soul in manner so plain,
The Lord did approach him as one
Who chidingly asks his child to explain
What made him do what he had done.

“I did so, my Lord, from fear of You,
Forgive me, a misguided slave”,
And so shone the Light of mercy and love;
The best of forgivers forgave.

Now, this is a tale, a parable told.
Prophetic, insightful and true,
So don’t you become so foolishly bold:
That man was sincerer than you

And me.

You took away my wealth and home,
My car, my work, my every gain,
You said you care about me, but
I doubt you even feel my pain.

Ordaining with your know-it-all
Demeanor to enrich my brain,
I trusted all my friends but you
Divided us till none remains.

Remember, at the school that day
Could you not stop the stranger who
Took everything away from me?
Was that the best that you could do?

And as I live your complex plan
You sit upon your throne so high
And watch me make my many slips
Until the very day I die.

I think about the wealth I lost,
My pleasures that you took away,
Your knowledge and your power that
Shall hold me to each word I say.

But when my day on earth is done,
With time and all its children dead,
Will I be in your loving arms
And sorry for the things I said?

I’ll never think those things again;
I feel so little when I see
How you bestow your love upon
An undeserving soul like me.

You took away my m-and-m’s,
My snickers, and my candy cane,
You said you care about me, but
I doubt you even feel my pain.

You came in with your know-it-all
Demeanor to enrich my brain,
To turn the television off
While on it all my friends remain.

Remember, at the hospital,
You showed you had no feelings when
You chose to simply stand aside
And watch a stranger prick my skin.

And then you hatched a complex plot
And sat back just to watch the show
Enjoying my mistakes and slips,
All just to say you told me so.

I hated you for all I lost,
My pleasures that you took away,
Your know-it-all demeanor, and
Correcting every word I say.

But when I cuddle up in bed
With Goodnight Moon upon your chest,
I’m cozy in your loving arms
And sorry for the things I said.

I’ll never think those things again;
I feel so little when I see
How you bestow your love upon
An undeserving soul like me.

I wrote this piece to motivate my children to rise before dawn. They helped me with the first two stanzas.

An angel whispers something sweet,
I think it is my name,
I feel a hand upon my feet
And wonder what became

Of angel words, for there I see
Before my sleepy eyes
My mother smiling down at me,
A smile to make me rise.

But when she leaves, I tuck my chin
Into my knees, upon
My bed that feels so cozy in
The early light of dawn.

And now another whisper takes
Me back to yesterday,
To wonder why the heart awakes
Around this time to pray.

I open wide my eyes and think
Of all the peace I felt,
Exchanging sleep’s delicious drink
For thoughts of when I knelt.

And all this thinking makes me long
To feel that love divine,
I stagger through this wake-up song
To make ablution fine:

The water on my hands and face,
The drops upon my head,
Around my feet they stream and race
Till all of sleep has fled.

Responding to the morning call,
I stand prepared to pray,
Then raise my hands and push it all
Behind me as I say

Allahu Akbar.

The less of you that stands between
Your Lord and what you pray,
The more expanse of fertile green;
For every word you say

Shall root itself in timeless soil
That timeless waters flush,
For all remembrance comes with toil
That tends your garden lush;

Your wretched self need step aside
And let your heart reflect
The Light that ever shines to guide
The lost it may detect.

That all the words of praise that share
Your tear-moistened lips,
Sprout trees of wonder foliage where
The dew of nectar drips.

And when the angels span your spread
One thousand years or more,
They’ll marvel at the words you said
That such a wonder bore,

Then rush to splash as waves of light
Upon your heart intent,
Inspiring your inward sight
With some of what you sent;

And thus the intellect of those
Who went before was blest,
For from their nothingness arose
A movement in their breast,

To soar up high on angel wings
And flourish in the land;
It comes with what remembrance brings
With its prophetic brand.

The less of you that stands between
Your Lord and what you pray,
The more expanse of fertile green
For every word you say.

But I’m still in my way.

The Prophet kept an even eye
On Amr, son of Abdi Wud
Who shouted out with every cry,
A word insulting, harsh and rude.

For Amr was a massive man
Who towered well above the rest,
A man of war with scars that ran
Across his bold, embattled chest.

Beyond the wide, forbidding trench,
Stood Yathrib’s best, but even they
Perceived the words of Amr wrench
A bit of their resolve away;

But when the challenge to a duel
Rang in the still and silent air,
Ali advanced with manner cool,
And sought the Prophet’s leave to dare.

The Prophet swiftly turned it down
When he said, “This is Amr”, and
Ali withdrew without a frown
While Amr’s mount swept up the sand.

“Is there no man a match for me?”
He boomed across the great divide,
While those he had for company
Rejoiced in laughter at his side.

Ali advanced again to ask
The Prophet to allow him fight
The giant Amr, but a mask
Of declination met his sight.

And so Quraysh persisted in
Their condescending ridicule,
Insulting who were once their kin
For failing to accept a duel,

Upon which Ali, somber, grim,
Again approached the Prophet who,
Saw, when he turned to look at him,
Deep in his eye, a sight he knew.

The Prophet’s face grew soft with care,
He gave Ali the leave he sought,
And made his dear cousin wear
The blessed turban, then he brought

His double-bladed Zulfiqar,
And girding it ’round Ali’s waist,
The Prophet prayed, his heart afar,
And bade Ali descend with haste.

Ali got down and stood before
The steed upon which Amr sat,
While Amr’s folk let out a roar
Of laughter at a sight like that.

But Amr’s face went soft, as he
Did Ali’s father well recall;
And he said, “I wish not to be
The one to make your honor fall”,

Ali bin Abi Talib said:
“It is my plan to strike you dead”,
Which made the giant’s face go red,
For off he leaped and stood up tall,

And in a show of might, hamstrung
His horse before he onward sprung,
Attacking hard the shorter man
Who moved as only Ali can.

So on they fought till Amr slowed,
When Ali in a lightning flash
Threw down the giant whom he owed
The promise of a deadly clash,

And straddling thus his barrel chest,
The hands of Ali closed around
The neck of Amr, and depressed
The rest of him into the ground;

No matter all the strength that he
Exerted, Amr could not check
The steely hands of brave Ali
That slowly tightened round his  neck.

And keeping thus his grip, Ali
Drew forth his dagger, let it dance
Impending death unless there be
Surrender, giving peace a chance.

But Amr’s pride was wounded much,
And he rejected compromise,
So when he felt the dagger touch
His neck, he brought his head to rise,

Then spat upon his captor’s face,
And closed his eyes to feel the brace
Of icy death, but all he felt
Was ease in warm release’s melt.

For tall above him stood Ali,
Restored his dagger by his knee.
“I fought you for my Lord”, said he,
“But when you chose to spit on me,

My anger sought my self to please,
And that begot your here release.”
But Amr reeled from all this shame,
He gathered up his massive frame,

Then grabbed his fallen sword and brought
It smashing down on Ali’s shield,
While Ali rolled to reach the spot
Where Zulfiqar lay. As he kneeled,

He thrust with all his strength and speed
The double headed scimitar
Which found its mark and brought to bleed
The fallen giant, caused a stir.

Then rang aloud a takbeer wave
From every rank of archers awed
By what they witnessed of a slave
Who came to be the lion of God.