Khalid Mukhtar

Word, like wind, cuts through you / Withers all but true you

Ramadan Archives

I’ll Have A Guest

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One more day… 
I wrote this for the kids. If anyone out there has stanzas to contribute, email me or add in a comment below.
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Let’s tidy home and break the oud
And set its fragrance free,
Let the money flow, and the faces glow
With smiles of charity.

    ‘Cause I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon,
    The Ramadan moon is born,
    Is on its way, and will be here soon
    To mend my spirit that’s torn.

To stay by me through the midday heat,
And to quench my burning thirst
With a drink of Quran to help defeat
Myself when I’m at my worst.

    I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon,
    The Ramadan moon is born,
    Is on its way, and will be here soon
    To mend my spirit that’s torn.

To carry me on a wink of sleep
Through the night until the dawn
And to teach my eye to swell and weep
Before my guest is gone.

    I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon,
    The Ramadan moon is born,
    Is on its way, and will be here soon
    To mend my spirit that’s torn.

To taste that sweet remembrance, comes
In a cool and timeless night
When the wakeful eye of a slave becomes
Awash with eternal light.

    Oh, I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon,
    The Ramadan moon is born,
    Is on its way, and will be here soon
    To mend my spirit that’s torn.

Let’s tidy home and break the oud
And set its fragrance free,
Let the money flow, and the faces glow
With smiles of charity.

    Oh, I’ll have a guest when the Ramadan moon,
    The Ramadan moon is born,
    Is on its way, and will be here soon
    To mend my spirit that’s torn.

The Sixth of Ramadan

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I’m running for cover in the shelter of sky,
When the sprinkler comes on, not a moment is dry,
Playing tag with my sisters and my cousin on the lawn,
Everyone’s getting wet on the sixth of Ramadan:

Getting wet in the kitchen, getting wet on the chair
Getting wet wherever the Quran is in the air,
Mercy rains in the mosque, silent lips sing a song
In the praise of Allah on the sixth of Ramadan.

You Can Tell It’s Ramadan

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When a lazy lout who lumbers
Through his daily prayers can
Worship late before he slumbers,
You can tell it’s Ramadan.
When a good-for-naught reciter
Falls in love with the Quran,
Grows significantly quieter,
Yes, oh well, it’s Ramadan.
When a cold pathetic sinner
Struggling with a simple plan
Finds his sins are getting thinner,
Starving hell; it’s Ramadan.
You can skip the lunar sighting
And just look at me, a man
Who can tender this in writing:
I am proof it’s Ramadan.

Counting Sha’baan Moons

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The cup is full, can take no more,
And each new drop lets to the floor
The stains that show and slowly grow,
The cup is full, can take no more;

I know my tears can wash these stains,
If I could weep till none remains,
I need those nights, despair be gone,
All grief be lost when splash upon

Me mercy waves that wash the shores
Of dark rebellion once more;
Bring me those nights, despair be gone
With your angelic hum of dawn;

I dash my cup upon the floor,
And long for sips of Ramadan.

The Last Ten Days Of Ramadan

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Seek the night of power,
Search until you find
That barakah-filled hour
To leave your past behind;

Deliverance from the fire
Descending from the Throne:
Is there a mercy higher
Than standing up alone

These last ten nights of Ramadan,
The even and the odd,
When in the peace before the dawn
Goes forth the Will of God.

The Second Ten Days Of Ramadan

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Has come the second third now forth:
The moon shall wax before it wanes,
Dissolving mountain sins of earth
In merciful forgiveness rains.
So make the night your begging bowl
And fill it with your burning tears
To beg redemption for your soul
In freedom from despair and fears,
That He who loves forgiving may
Forgive you just as you forgive;
For every self that dies by day
Shall neath the white of badr live.

Ramadan Ajr

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An ajr every fast you keep,
An ajr every prayer;
In alms you give, and even sleep,
There’s ajr everywhere:

For all your pleas and tears at night,
Your constancy at day,
To hear no evil, see no sight,
To go no wayward way;

Yes, every deed attracts reward,
A measure of what’s sown;
All but the fast, for that the Lord
Will make His pleasure known.

The First Ten Days Of Ramadan

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It’s that time of year again
When the nights are filled with light
Penetrating hearts of men
Standing up to pray at night.

As the crescent waxes, so
Do the mercies from above
In their unabated flow:
Every mercy steeped in  love.

Seek all mercies undeterred,
But the greatest mercy might
Be a supplicating word
In the silence of the night.

Lil One, Don’t Break Your Fast

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I wrote a little something to encourage my children to fast this Ramadan. Sixteen hours is a looooong time. 

Come on, lil’ one, don’t break your fast,
The sun will set upon us, soon
All thirst and hunger will have passed,
And you’ll set out to find the moon;

‘Cept you won’t see it every day,
Because the moon and earth and sun
Are steadfast in their patient play;
And patience plays with anyone.

If you pick up a tasty treat
And almost put it in your mouth,
Stand frozen as you point your feet,
The left one north, the right one south.

Don’t take that glass of water to
Your parched and thirsty, fasting lips.
Pretend your left big toe is you,
And let it have a couple sips.

Blah blah buzz buzz ha ha hee hee.
Did you know saum means silence too?
Make like a giant, sprawling tree,
And sway your hands as branches do.

If all this makes you shake your head,
And crave a more rewarding chore,
Then to your blessed path instead;
You’re not so little anymore.

On a Ramadan Morning Getting Ready For Work

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The last drop of water slithers down my throat
And leaves me desiring no more.
Dawn is here.
I have a busy day at work,
So I shower down, and dress up.

As I look into the mirror to comb my hair,
My eyes serve me back a look,
A look that warns me to be wary,
A look that has me looking back, back at it.

Everything before my eyes
Gets to it at the speed of light,
And once I see it, its burned in my head
Like so many a forbidden delight.
But my eyes don’t want to be fed.
Not today, not quite.

As I look away from my reflection,
I can’t help but give a moment’s thought to the blind,
Thinking who was the more blessed
In the light of the thoughts I left behind.

Good men come to mind
And the answer is right there:
It is he who sees, and yet is blind
To the questionable affair.

I smile at the terribly winding path I took
To arrive at this obvious conclusion.
But I’m glad I combed my hair today.