We poets play with words and beats
Like children do with building blocks
Arranging them upon their feet
To soar in anapestic flocks
The clever turn of verse like rain
How sweet the rhyme and meter fall
The music in the short refrain
Enjambment breaks to dazzle all
And when it’s done we walk away
The poet and the audience
Returning to our dreary day
To mine more words and cobble sense
Contrast this to the Word Divine
That came upon a heart karīm
The flex in every alif spine
Each lofty lām, majestic mīm
Repose, release, revive, unyoke
From darknesses, ‘arab ‘ajm
Remember when the prophet spoke
The final verse of Al-Najm
The Makkans gathered all around
They hailed from each Qurayshi clan
Depressed their faces to the ground
Except for one rebellious man
Who rubbed some dirt upon his head
For that he could not be without
“This is enough for me,” he said
How poets bathe in swamps of doubt
Attend khalid to what Amīn
Is saying at the Sunday scene
Inspired by Shaykh Amin’s tafsīr of Surah Al-Ḥāqqah
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