Rainlightenment: A Haiku

Heaven sheds her tears
Still earth in silence mourning
Dies the fire of day

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Passing by Medina

Written during the first few days of Ramadhan 2010 C.E./1431 AH; my first Islamic poem/prose-poem, inspired by the form of the (pre-Islamic) Qasida.

Let us stop for the night right here,
And rest our heads upon these holy ancient sands,
Once on which our noble fathers trod
Whose footprints now have faded long since past

Eternity it seems e’er since we came upon this sacred ground,
Do you recall the wells we drew our water from,
The gardens that we tended with our sweat,
The palm trees that gave us our shade?
What of the ummah that we forged, the atams that we built,
The battles of Badr, Uhud where we shed our blood
The life wherein we lived with him, the last Prophet of God?

Come and let us mourn the passing of those golden days,
For we’re bereft of that abode
Now lost beneath the sands of Time.
We set out for the desert looking for our guide, the Messenger,
Because without his holy wisdom, we are divided, in disarray
Weak and without the unity that only he can give!
And yet Alláh has brought us here, Praise be to Him,
So that we can step onto the sands his Prophet trod,
Follow all the Signs he left, to see it come to pass again,
The miracle that was, and all the grandeur that we had

So let us weep no more, and let us slumber with our dreams
Tomorrow we will take the straight path once again,
There will be no returning here, and the road will stretch on just the same,
But we will read the Signs anew
And see the spirit of our messenger, so that the greatness that we had we will again renew!

– August 14, 2010/ Ramadan 4 1431 A.H.

Psalm 155: The World’s a Work of Art

My Lord, my God, you are a painter
And the world’s your work of art.
The sky’s your canvas, and the sunlight’s your paint.
The divine brush speeds across the heavens,
A stroke for the shadows, and a brush for the clouds
I see the sunset by the beach, who else but thee
Could paint such marvel and beauty?

My Lord, my God, you are a painter
And the world’s your work of art
The land’s your canvas, and the verdant trees your paint
The divine brush sweeps across the azure sky
With a dab for the fresh green grass, and curves for the rolling hills
I see the morning landscape, and who else but thee
Could paint such wonder and majesty?

My Lord, my God, you are a painter
And the world’s your work of art
Life’s your canvas, and our blood the paint
The divine brush grates across our skin
A gush for our tears, and strike for our pains
I see the suffering and cry at the cruelty
Could it be that you painted such pain and misery?

I walk across the world, the greatest work of art
And cannot help be awed and wonder
Though I ne’er grasp the sublimity
Of the gift that’s given free,
I know my Lord, my God, who else but thee
Could paint this masterpiece
Of such beauty and misery?

Tug of Love

I feel a little tug inside of me
And know ‘tis love whose voice I hear within
It beckons me to come and take this path
To somewhere far I know yet still can’t see.
‘Tis not a force that speeds and bids me haste
Instead a gentle prod and tender nudge
That whispers in my ear and spurs my feet
To move me inch by inch and day by day.
I shed and leave behind a part of me
With love to fill and wrap around my soul
It wakes and stirs a binding vow within
To cart me off and carry me away.
Love’s given me a chance to grow and say,
I’ll be a better man with every passing day…