Thus Believers are Saved

As your fate prepares a twister
Twisting thoughts and plans
Allied with your enemies
Throwing darts of tests and tribulations
Fireballs, arrows and tricks
Not to worry!

Have Trust
The Trust that Ibrahim had
Indeed,
Such Trust shall turn a fireball of tribulation
Into comforting cool peace

When you are chased
With unforeseen difficulties
And you have no where to run
Have Courage
The Courage that Musa had
Indeed,
Such courage shall break dry paths
Into deep seas of trouble

When blades of hardship are after you
Have Passion
The Passion that Isa had
Such passion shall turn a cross
Into steps towards the Heavens

When the ones you trust
Turn against you
Have Hope
The Hope that Yusuf had
Indeed,
Such Hope shall save you from the depth of dark wells
Into the heights of royalty and dignity

When you are stabbed
With obstacles
One after another
Without any break
Losing everything
Endure
The endurance that Ayyub had
Such endurance will multiply
what you had lost
replacing them
with the same and greater ones

When whales of regret
Swallow you into darkness of remorse
Have Dua
The Dua that Yunus had
Thus you shall be saved

When you’re overcome by loss
Tears blocking your sight
Complain your sorrow
To your Lord
The scent of Love shall save you
and
Light shall come to your eyes
As it came to Yaqub
From the scent of Yusuf

When fear, uncertainty and deceit
Join forces with evil, disbelief and lies
All attack at the same time
Have Faith
The Faith that Muhammad had
Such Faith shall bring you great victories
Greater than
having the Sun on your right hand
and
having the Moon on your left hand

By sending countless blessings, salutes, and highest regards and prayers upon Muhammad and his household, defeat the darkness that has engulfed you, swim out of the storm, hold on to the Rope of Allah, and stay with the Ark.

You shall be saved!

The Greater

The Kingdom of flaming Sun,
The Flaunt of magical moon,
The Majesty of glamorous Stars,
The Glory of splendid mountains,
The Splendor of prime clouds,
The Pride of soaring Trees,

In humiliating submission,
They plunge
In humbling prostration,

Mankind gathered,
With Jins,
Joined hands
with all creatures

Ink was made of oceans,
Pens were made of every tree,
Pages were made of every leaf

Every crystal of sand,
Joined the effort:

They wrote:
Glorifying You,
Praising,
Adoring,
Thanking You.

The inks finished,
The trees vanished,
The leaves exhausted,
Crystals burned,

The words of Praise did not fulfill
the Praise You deserve,

The Praise,
did not add to Your Glory!

In shame, defeat, humility
All submitted,
bowed and
to Sajdah they dived,
Asking:
"Lord! Forgive us.
Whatever we do, we come short to what You deserve!
Your Glory and Magnificence is Greater
than we ever can achieve
praising.

Allahu Akbar!"

When Two Islams Collide

When the Sun sighed,
and the Moon mourned,

When the wind wailed,
and the mountains moaned,

When the stars sorrowed,
and the skies cried,

When the trust trashed,
and the faith failed,

When the angels angered,
and the devil dared,

It was then,
when
The sinful weapons
were raised,
With the name
of the Greater Guide,

By the shrewd cunning
worst of all mankind

With the Islam of this world,
and a plan of greater divide,

Evil spirit under the banner
of Muslim power and pride,

Fraudulent and dubious flag
with sword and deceit allied,

In the heart of heat
in distant desert,
in waste of water,
to Allah's friends,
thorn supplied

To the thirsty throat,
blade became the bride,

Evil swords broken in defeat,
by Seventy Two blood side by side,

No fear, no regret, no delay
when Noah�s vessel is the ride,

The Light of Allah - the Almighty Guide,
The Islam of Ahmad , Mercy to mankind,
Shall rise -
Faster than flood tide -
When two Islams collide.

After Midnight

With His Name, the Most High

My dear candle, burn slowly, for that I have a long night to endure.
My dear pen, bleed steadily, for that I have a heavy word to bear.
My dear paper, stand firm, for I have a dreadful letter to carry...

My dear candle, I see you melting, giving light, so that I in cooperation with pen
burden this pure white paper with my crumbled words.
That is the ultimate sacrifice. You melt to give light to others.
Or is it?
Sometimes, my dear candle, I wonder. Are you melting and giving light to the blind? Is your flame burning to smoke, for the teasing of mighty clouds? Why such sacrifice?
You melt to vanity, not even knowing what I'm about to write.
That is the ultimate trust. You don't bother checking my work, yet for it, you burn.
Is it really trust? Or could it be an absolute ignorance of yours?
Sometimes, I feel sorry for you.
And I can relate to you so much.

My dear candle.
You are so lonely.
Melting in yourself, with no attention, no friends, no visitors.
Or did you think that the moth is visiting you?
No. The moth is not attracted to you.
The moth is coming to the flame of yours.
Your flame burns you and your only visitor, who's not really there to visit you!
And what's a candle with no flame?

Sigh my dear candle, oh sigh!
Oh sigh to this loneliness, oh sigh!
I can relate to you so much.

My dear pen, I see you dripping your blood, bleeding ink, granting words to my troubled thoughts.
Sometimes, my dear pen, I wonder. Are you giving your blood to words that don't matter?
Or perhaps the words are strong and mighty, but for whom? The blind? Those who can not read?
Or perhaps the words matter, but to those who are dead and wont be able to read?
Regardless, you bleed with no question, with complete trust in me.
Bleeding for what you know not.
Sometimes I feel sorry for you.
And I can relate to you so much.

My dear pen.
You are so lonely.
Bleeding by yourself, with no friends or visitors.
Or did you think that the writer is your friend? Taking you as a weapon?
Feel strong by that? Mighty?
Well, don't!
It's not you that the writer wants, my dear pen. It's your ink, your blood.
Your only friend, visitor and companion, bleeds you to death for his own words which you cannot understand or see.
And what's a pen with no ink?

My dear pen, you are so lonely.
Sigh my dear pen, oh sigh!
Oh sigh to this loneliness, oh sigh!

My dear paper.
You must feel very proud.
Proud of your purity, white with no spot.
Ready, bravely, to bear the blood of pen and the message of candle.
Hence, you are the conclusion of candle & pen's sacrifice.
You make it possible for the words to have a place.
If there are no readers now, not to worry; you the paper, will carry the words until someone comes along and reads. Someone who can see, and will read to those who can listen.
Without you, my dear paper, pen's blood and candle's flame have no meaning.
But that's all wishful thinking you have.

My wounded pen bleeding my broken words onto your fragile skin, violating your purity.
For what words?
If the words matter, for what reader?
When will they come along?
Here you are with two choices: remain pure with no spot, which makes you meaningless.
Or, you can stain yourself, ending your innocence, to bear the message of someone you do not know, for words you do not understand.

Sigh my dear paper, oh sigh!
Oh sigh to this loneliness, oh sigh!

Then there is me.
Joining candle, pen and paper and throwing a lonely gathering.
Melting, bleeding, enduring, weeping.
For what people?!

My dear candle, pen, and paper. Is my life, you? Melting away to smoke, dripping blood to ambiguity, and staining my destiny with twisted words� For people who do not see? Do not hear? Do not comprehend?

My Dear candle, you are gone, melted, taking your last light.
My dear pen, you are dead now, all your blood gone.
My dear paper, your innocence, sacrificed for my words.

The night ended.
Dawn is near.
And my pain continues.
It's not the length of night.
It's the length of my story that is too much for the night to carry.

Sun is rising, candle melted, night ended, pen is dead.
What remains is me and you the reader.

Now, it is up to you, to read, comprehend and understand my pain and anguish.
But then, why should you care?
Do I have light to burn for you?
Ink to bleed for you?
Or offer a pure platform, for your thoughts?
But then, that will be about you, not me and my painful complaint.

Sigh oh sigh!
Sigh to this loneliness, oh sigh!

But wait!
One would listen to my grievance.
The One who granted me the light, the blood and the purity.
For that He is of no need, everlasting, listening, responding to the devastated injured slave who calls upon Him.
And such call will give an eternal meaning to the candle, its light, its visitor, and its death.
It will give eternal peace to the pen and its ink, and an eternal purity to the sacrificing paper.
So in Him I shall melt, for Him I shall bleed, to Him I shall sacrifice, and to Him I shall complain.
Afterall, to Him we all shall return.

Fruit of Sajdah

Shall I tell you of my only visitor, my only companion?

I never hated and liked someone at the same time.
But, I do hate her, for that she makes me tired.
But then again I like her,
she provides me comfort.
She is clear and pure.
She is a traveler and many times I miss her.

Glorified is My Lord! The One who created this friend for me.

She is part of me. Never leaves me alone when I’m in pain.
Who is she?
She travels all the way from my heart, to pay me a visit.
She travels through my liver, to my heart, through my throat, silencing my scream, telling me: "Don't yell...you’ll be fine!”
She does not let me shout.
Through the throat,
to my eyes.
So clear is she.
So adorable,
so cute!
In my eyes, she twirls around and tries to wash the sorrows.
Then to my eyelashes,
it’s a comforting dew,
hanging on,
holding tight.
But then she does not understand.
So I hate her.
She makes me tired and embarrasses me.
"Leave me alone" I try to tell her.
But then, being with her is much better than loneliness.

So she jumps on my cheeks. And looks at me amazed.
Looks into my eyes, trying to understand the problem.
"Why so sad, Alidost?"

What a confusion, for both of us.

So I try to explain:

"My dear tear. Leave me alone.
But if you do, whom should I talk to?”

She tries so hard to wash my sorrow and to cheer me up.

My Lord! What a gift You have granted.
Thank You.
You are the Merciful.
Save me from my tears without taking her away!

I don't want her! For that She tires me.

I need her, for that in Your Light, she creates rainbows on my face.

My tear, my only visitor, the fruit of my sajdah to You.

Complaint

My Lord!
The Creator of the Universe.

Tonight,
My sleep has been hijacked
By troubling thoughts
So,
Here I am
In complaint

My Creator.
You are a Witness
That I do not worship anyone
But You
You are also a Witness
to my dedication
and
Love
for Your Messenger and his family.

My Lord!
I will not dare to complain about creating me.
But my Lord, what wrong did my soul commit
so that I be deprived from meeting Your great messenger?!

What sin did I commit, so that I would be banned from talking to him?
Am I that bad, that I am barred from learning directly from him?
Am I that awful, that I had to be imprisoned in this timeline?
Only reading contradictory texts about him, here and there.
Listening about him in lectures, here and there.

While the companions would just walk up to him and talk away.

What a pain You have inflicted me.
Every problem
has a solution.
Every pain
has a cure.
Every agony
has an end.

But not this one
This one has no solution or cure or an end
My Lord!

Help me!

This pain of separation from the presence of Your greatest Mercy
This pain of distance from Your greatest creation
Will follow me to the grave.

What a tough luck!

The trees,
the birds,
the horses,
the camels
and even the dust of Medina
were more blessed than me
by having the great honor
of serving the Prophet directly

I would give up my life and anything that I value
For one moment, a fraction of a second, a flash of a sight
To see, to visit, to offer direct “salaams” upon him
Not in dreamland
Not in hereafter
But here, in this world

Your wisdom decided that
I stay in agony of separation from the ones I love.
Your wisdom dictates that
I be stuck here away from
Muhammad and his family
(countless peace and greatest salute upon them).

This complaint is not my fault.
Is it my fault that You have seeded the Love for them in my heart?
Is it my fault that I was born 1400 years later?
Is it my fault that no one understands this pain of mine?

Here they were, Ammar, Abu Zar, Bilal, Jabir, Salmaan, and so many others
Even Owais, who got a chance to at least walk on the same soil as the Prophet

Here I am, surrounded by my sins, pathetic weak faith,
Large number of talkers
Small number of doers

And a never-ending pain.

Just a complaint,
My Lord,
That I can never
For once
meet
The Great Mercy to Mankind
In person
in this world.

You are the most Wise.
I just shed tears
submit to this destiny
be grateful
That at least, You have illuminated my heart
By the Light of their love.

You are the most wise.
I submit to the destiny You have written for me.
But in tears of separation
it is
that I do so.

Before Dawn

Many times I come to You,
with my head,
down,
screaming for help,
from the daggers

of this world
and the thorns
of deceiving flowers.

Other times I come to You,
desperate for pardon
from my ignorant acts
and sinful deeds

Tired of
keeping my head
either in shame,
or in despair,
this time,
I look up
for a change.

And change do I find.
My God!

I see You!

I see You
in the stars,
reminding me of Your Guidance,

I see You
in the full Moon,
reminding me of Your Glory

I see You
in the shooting stars,
reminding me of Your vast
protection

I see You
in the clouds
and the rain

Oh I see You
My Master!

I see You
in the rain!
Mixing with my tears.
Tears that discover
Your vast Mercy,
dancing along
with the merciful
rain

My God!
This time,
I am not asking for pardon,
At this hour,
I am not asking for help,
Not for heaven,
neither am I seeking
shelter
from Hell Fire

My Creator,
keeping my head up,
I ask for Three things:

First,
I ask
For
You!
and a chance to Praise You.

Second,
I ask
for
Your Great Messenger
and a chance to see him.

Third,
I ask
for
Your Messenger’s household
And a chance to Love them.

I keep my head up!
And see You.

And You are so hidden
from
my eyes,
and all eyes
but so close
closer than my jugular vein.
so close to
myself.
Sigh that I am far
and departed
from myself.

Oh sigh to those
who miss this sight.

Oh sigh to those
who miss these tears

Oh sigh to those
who do not see Your Glory

I pity those
who miss the name
Of Your Greatest Mercy
Muhammad
Your greatest Peace and blessings upon him

I mourn those
who miss the
Love
of his great household

So here I am,
screaming Your name:
Allahu Akbar!

Waking all up

Screaming and letting all know,
that
there is none but You,

Waking all up
to this moment
to the name of Your Messenger

Calling all
to the best act
to bow down,
to drag their face
on
mud
in
humility
Praising You
Glorifying Your Name

OH PITY ON
THOSE WHO ARE
ASLEEP!
So I scream

This is far sweeter
than morning sleep

My Lord!

So I keep my head
down
in
prostration.
in
mud,
for that I see You
in the mud, from which
You created me

As I keep my
head up in awe of
Your Creation
or
my head
down in Sajdah
swimming in Your Praise
and
Your Great Mercy,
I forget
all my problems
all my sins
at this hour,
and only
one thing
concerns me,


and that is


You.
====

The Blank Page

I gathered my pen
and paper to join as well

In a journey
that would never end


As I put my pen
on paper,
it broke
into pieces
…shattered

The paper,
ripped
into dust
joining the smoke
of my desperately
burning candle

Neither the pen
nor the paper
could handle
the audacity of baring
what I had to write

The flame of candle
shivering, flimsy
almost dying

“My dear flame!”
I begged…
“Not you! Don’t leave me in the dark.”
but to no avail,
The flame did not
tolerate my rudeness
and chose death
over my offensive choice

So here I was alone
Just me
my thoughts,
and
an agonizing company
my desperate words

But I needed to
accomplish the task

So I found a new pen
a new page of paper
and a candle to lit

But wait?
Only one page?
One pen?
And one lousy
flame of a candle?

“What am I about to write?
Am I for real?”

I tried to get a hold of my thoughts
“But how in the world
am I going to
accomplish this task?
…this writing?”

No. Never.
No paper would ever be sufficient
No pen would ever have enough ink
and no candle would ever have enough capacity
to describe
The sacrifice
The effort
The sincerity
The purity
The love
The dedication
The faith
The trust
The knowledge
The wisdom
The leadership
The glory
The beauty
The kindness
The honesty
The justice
The firmness
The warmness
The light
The courage
And the strength of

The Makki
The Madani
The Hashimi
The Quraishi
The Messenger
of the Lord of Universe
The best creation
The Mercy to all worlds

Abul Qassim Muhammad!

My thoughts ripped into pieces,
My words broken apart and shattered
and my plan, up in smoke

So here I am alone
just me
my paper
my pen
and my candle
with no words
Not even enough tears
to tell
of his glorious
character

the candle not lit
the pen not used,
and the page,

Remains blank,

Just the beat
of my heart
uttering
in submission:

"Allahumma salli ala Muhammad wa aali Muhammad”

The Debt

Oh Allah!
You sent Your best Creation, Muhammad, countless blessings & peace upon
him & his household. You sent him with the clear message and told him to
deliver it, he obeyed.
What a great Mercy you bestowed upon us.
He was fearful, frightened, shivering under his cloak. You told him: "O you who are clothed! Arise and warn, And your Lord do magnify"
Allahu Akbar!
Without hesitation, he stood up against oppression. His beautiful face injured by enemies’ stones. His feet bleeding, his head wounded, his heart broken. Yet, he persevered, for that You ordered: " To this then go on inviting, and go on steadfastly on the right way as you are commanded".
So, he indeed went on steadfastly: "My Lord! Guide my people, they just do not know."
He lost Khadija.
He lost Hamza.
They gave them a choice: accept wealth and position, or face persecution.
He rejected all wealth and power, even if the wealth were the Sun and the Moon.

You gave him the choice: Wipe them out completely and start fresh.
Glorified are You!
The mercy You granted upon us refused to curse his own enemies.
Glorified are You!
Another gentle Isa.
Another strong Musa.
Another wise Solayman.
Another fair Dawoud.
Another daring Ibrahim.
Another patient Nuh.
Another enduring Ayyub.
Another grateful Adam.
Such is the greatness of Your creation, Muhammad.
Peace and salute upon him & his household.

Our Lord!
All Praise due to You alone.
You are One & Unique, as taught by Your final messenger.
You are most Merciful & Just as explained by Your beloved prophet.

He then lost his hometown. Lost his comfort. Lost his sleep. Lost more and more loved ones. All for You, and all to give us a chance.

What would be the reward of such a great man?
Such a great Mercy?
Such a great bounty?
What is the price of all the trouble he went through to give us the good news of Heaven? And to warn us of the pains of Hell?
You are all-knowing.
You said with Magnificence: " That is which Allah gives the good news to His servants, (to) those who believe and do good deeds."
and then You commanded with Glory: "Say: I do not ask of you any reward
for it but love for my near relatives" and You then promised with Might: "..and
whoever earns good, We give him more of good therein; surely Allah is
Forgiving, Grateful" (42:23)

Oh Allah!
Ali, Fatima, Hassan, Hussain.
Love for them, a price for all the trouble Prophet went through?
What an expensive price, my Lord!
You witnessed it all, oh Allah!
Is this how Your Mercy is treated?
Love? Love for whom?
For Ali? Against whom all swords raised from Syria to Medina?
This is how they rewarded Your greatest bounty?
Ali. Whose name still offends people.
Especially when uttered by his followers.

Ali. Ali. Ali.

Whom Your Gift, Muhammad, said about him:
"Ali is with Truth. Truth is with Ali."

But,
Those who killed Yassir and couldn’t wait to kill Ammar,
Children of those who chewed Hamza’s liver and couldn’t wait to chew Ali’s,
Those who used to sharpen sword against Prophet,
and now Ali,
They banned Ali’s name and cursed him on Fridays.
Glorified are You!

What about the rest whom Prophet adored dearly?
And commanded us to love?
Fatima? Who died in mystery and buried in secret.
Hassan? Who was attacked and poisoned.
Hussain? His head cut off, carried on a spear. From Karbala to Syria.

Is this how they paid their love for the near relatives?!

Glorified and High are You.
The Lord of the Universe.

Then, my Lord,
They forbid mentioning their names.
They forbid following their steps.
They forbid commemorating their love, sharing their pain, explaining their mission and teaching them to our children.
Remembering them is "bida".
Shedding tears of love for them is "haram."
Loving them is "shirk".
My Lord!

Their enemies want them dead.
They want their memories dead.
They want their graves unmarked, names unmentioned, teachings forgotten.

But how could someone put off a light which You started?!

Glory be to You.
To Your Glory, There is always hope.
No matter how they label us, we know our duty to pay the only reward that You asked for Your Prophet.

Glorified are You!
You commanded us: "Say: I do not ask of you any
reward for it except love for my near relatives" (42:23) and You also said in
Your beautiful Book: "Say: I do not ask of you any reward for it except
that he who will, may take the way to his Lord" (25:57)
Indeed, I bear witness that I will “take the way” to You!
O Allah! I bear witness there is no god but You.
That Muhammad is Your messenger.
All blessings upon him & his household.
Help us pay this great debt.
Help us love his household with understanding their life and mission.

The Clone

With His Name, the Glorious One

My wife and I took a trip to a portrait studio for a photo shoot. At first, we were nervous about the service, thinking about how to explain hijab and other things to the photographer.

After our arrival and waiting for a few minutes, a lady approached us saying: "Salam Alaikom!�"
We were surprised and relieved thinking that we had found a Muslim photographer, but there were more surprises to come...

"So what can I do for you today?", asked the photographer in a thick Hispanic accent. We explained vaguely what we needed, and were hoping that she could help us out.

"Not a problem, I will take care of you, insha'allah", she assured us.

"Let me see, hmm...here is a catalog of props, but wait, you can't use this and that one, cuz it gots crosses in them�", she smiled, "you don't want that�".
We nodded, still confused about her identity.

She approached my wife pointing to the hijab: "Ma'am, if I take your picture like this, your hair might show, because of your hijab's material. You can change it in the private room, I'll make sure no man goes around there while you're changing hijabs".

Both of us were now smiling, naturally, no need for saying cheese or any other cheesey phrases for a fake smile.

"OK, insha'allah this picture will turn out great...give me a bigger smile please...oh wait, ma'am, put your hands together.. just like prayer...yes, that way...good...now smile gracefully...like a Muslim lady would...good...lots of honor and grace...excellent...one, two, three", CLICK, she took the picture.

While waiting for the instant digital picture to develop on glossy paper, I could not resist to ask: "Are you a Muslim?"

"No", she answered, "I am a Christian from Mexico".

My wife smiled and said: "Then you must have many Muslim friends�"

"No, you two are the first and only Muslims I know."

The puzzle became fuzzier for me, and I had to ask: "Then how do you know so much about Islam and Muslim culture. Do you read a lot of Islamic books�"

"No", she answered in a hurry getting ready for the next customer.

"I'll be right with you sir", she gently told the new customer.

"It's OK, I can wait", replied the customer.

But I could not wait anymore and asked again: "How do you know so much about Islam and Muslim culture? Especially so many Arabic terminologies?"

"Oh, I know a lot of terminologies: alhamdolillah, bismillah, adhan for prayer, month of Ramadhan, iftar...OH LOOK, your picture turned out great!"

I could have cared less about the picture: "Oh nice, but you still haven�'t told me how you know these things? Did you take a class?"

She smiled and sensed my anxious curiosity: "No, no classes. I watch El Clon"!

"El Clon? What the heck is that?", asked my wife.

She still maintained her smile, as if she didn't want us to go away: "El Clon is a Soap Opera, most of it is about a Muslim family leaving Brazil for Morocco. They showed a lady just like you, wearing the hijab the way you do. I think your religion is beautiful, and always wanted to meet a Muslim."

Obviously she thought she had found some celebrities. But neither of us had any time to chat, so we had to say goodbye and leave.

Not only I was puzzled by this experience, I was completely disturbed:
If one Soap Opera that showed Muslims in a positive light had so much of an effect, what about those thousands of films and TV images that show Muslims as the only terrorists in the world?!

If she had seen those images prior to El Clon, would have we received a different service?

Only Allah, the All-Knowing, knows.

Sajdah!

If it were not forbidden
by You
my Lord

I would

grab a garb
white

get a knifie
sharp

toward Qibla
lay a prayer rug

make wudu
in my blood

dive in Sajdah
glorifying You

until

my blood drains
and
my soul sets free

flying toward You.

The Flower

Unforgiving waves
with sinking intentions

Waves’ ally
the angry wind

Concerning sky with ocean
the soaring water spout

On this troubled set
a ship sailing

Broken decks
Wrecked sails

This ship
Has a captain!

Broken heart
Wrecked back

In his heart
Hundreds martyred

Shoulders up
Awakened mind

Fingers thrilling
the ship’s control

Eyebrows shadowing
the hopeful eyes

Voice of hope
a threat to storm

On his tongue,
a red flower

Source of calm
points to peaceful beach

Smells like blood

Recites:

Most beautiful poem:

Allahumma! Salli ala Muhammad wa aali Muhammad!

Doors

In the darkness of jungle,
the tiring silence is broken
by the weeping mothers’ echo

In this dark jungle,
Wolves claim friendship
Pigs claim leadership
Merchants are the lions,
selling kingdom of bravery
to the devil,
dancing to the music of
mourning men

Stranger is the Light
Alien is the Truth

In this dark jungle,
Towering bricks are the trees
Dripping blood is the bloom
The ambiguous fox
the only guide

In this dark jungle
In this deep caging
In this dreadful air,

Praise and thank the Creator,
for the open doors of
Iman!

Allahu Akbar!

The Kingdom of flaming Sun,
The Flaunt of magical moon,
The Majesty of glamorous Stars,
The Glory of splendid mountains,
The Splendor of prime clouds,
The Pride of soaring Trees,

In humiliating submission,
They plunge
In humbling prostration,

Mankind gathered,
With Jins,
Joined hands
with all creatures

Ink was made of oceans,
Pens were made of every tree,
Pages were made of every leaf

Every crystal of sand,
Joined the effort:

They wrote:
Glorifying You,
Praising,
Adoring,
Thanking You.

The inks finished,
The trees vanished,
The leaves exhausted,
Crystals burned,

The words of Praise did not fulfill
the Praise You deserve,

The Praise,
did not add to Your Glory!

In shame, defeat, humility
All submitted,
bowed and
to Sajdah they dived,
Asking:
“Lord! Forgive us.
Whatever we do, we come short to what You deserve!
Your Glory and Magnificence is Greater
than we ever can achieve
praising.

Allahu Akbar!”

It's Friday

(a dedication to the victims of Friday prayer bombing in Najaf, in which Ayatollah Hakim was martyred in 2003)
---

Dark cloud: dripping blood instead of rain,
It’s Friday.

Laughing loud: devil in mud celebrating pain,
It’s Friday.

A red shroud: soaked in blood not in vain,
It’s Friday.

A mother proud: tears in flood hopes slain,
It’s Friday.

Sacred shrine: believers’ sight
Holy ground: believers’ heart
Divine dome: Believers’ hope
Blessed rainfall: believers’ blood

It’s Friday.

Juma, Khutba, Imam, Unity, Blast, Blood, Shaheed,
Seventy Five
In Heaven.
It’s Friday!

After Midnight

My dear candle, burn slowly, for that I have a long night to endure.
My dear pen, bleed steadily, for that I have a heavy word to bear.
My dear paper, stand firm, for I have a dreadful letter to carry...

My dear candle, I see you melting, giving light, so that I in cooperation with pen
burden this pure white paper with my crumbled words.
That is the ultimate sacrifice. You melt to give light to others.
Or is it?
Sometimes, my dear candle, I wonder. Are you melting and giving light to the blind? Is your flame burning to smoke, for the teasing of mighty clouds? Why such sacrifice?
You melt to vanity, not even knowing what I�m about to write.
That is the ultimate trust. You don�t bother checking my work, yet for it, you burn.
Is it really trust? Or could it be absolute ignorance of yours?
Sometimes, I feel sorry for you.
And I can relate to you so much.

My dear candle.
You are so lonely.
Melting in yourself, with no attention, no friends, no visitors.
Or did you think that the moth is visiting you?
No. The moth is not attracted to you.
The moth is coming to the flame of yours.
Your flame burns you and your only visitor, who�s not really there to visit you!
And what�s a candle with no flame?

Sigh my dear candle, oh sigh!
Oh sigh to this loneliness, oh sigh!
I can relate to you so much.

My dear pen, I see you dripping your blood, bleeding ink, granting words to my troubled thoughts.
Sometimes, my dear pen, I wonder. Are you giving your blood to words that don�t matter?
Or perhaps the words are strong and mighty, but for whom? The blind? Those who can not read?
Or perhaps the words matter, but to those who are dead and wont be able to read?
Regardless, you bleed with no question, with complete trust in me.
Bleeding for what you know not.
Sometimes I feel sorry for you.
And I can relate to you so much.

My dear pen.
You are so lonely.
Bleeding by yourself, with no friends or visitors.
Or did you think that the writer is your friend? Taking you as a weapon?
Feel strong by that? Mighty?
Well, don�t!
It�s not you that the writer wants, my dear pen. It�s your ink, your blood.
Your only friend, visitor and companion, bleeds you to death for his own words which you cannot understand or see.
And what�s a pen with no ink?

My dear pen, you are so lonely.
Sigh my dear pen, oh sigh!
Oh sigh to this loneliness, oh sigh!

My dear paper.
You must feel very proud.
Proud of your purity, white with no spot.
Ready, bravely, to bear the blood of pen and the message of candle.
Hence, you are the conclusion of candle & pen�s sacrifice.
You make it possible for the words to have a place.
If there are no readers now, not to worry; you the paper, will carry the words until someone comes along and reads. Someone who can see, and will read to those who can listen.
Without you, my dear paper, pen�s blood and candle�s flame have no meaning.
But that�s all wishful thinking you have.

My wounded pen bleeding my broken words onto your fragile skin, violating your purity.
For what words?
If the words matter, for what reader?
When will they come along?
Here you are with two choices: remain pure with no spot, which makes you meaningless.
Or, you can stain yourself, ending your innocence, to bear the message of someone you do not know, for words you do not understand.

Sigh my dear paper, oh sigh!
Oh sigh to this loneliness, oh sigh!

Then there is me.
Joining candle, pen and paper and throwing a lonely gathering.
Melting, bleeding, enduring, weeping.
For what people?!

My dear candle, pen & paper. Is my life � you? Melting away to smoke, dripping blood to ambiguity, and staining my destiny with twisted words�for people who do not see? Do not hear? Do not comprehend?

My Dear candle, you are gone, melted, taking your last light.
My dear pen, you are dead now, all your blood gone.
My dear paper, your innocence, sacrificed for my words.

The night ended.
Dawn is near.
And my pain continues.
It�s not the length of night.
It�s the length of my story that is too much for the night to carry.

Sun is rising, candle melted, night ended, pen is dead.
What remains is me and you the reader.

Now, it is up to you, to read, comprehend and understand my pain and anguish.
But then, why should you care?
Do I have light to burn for you?
Ink to bleed for you?
Or offer a pure platform, for your thoughts?
But then, that will be about you, not me and my painful complaint.

Sigh oh sigh!
Sigh to this loneliness, oh sigh!

But wait!
One would listen to my grievance.
The One who granted me the light, the blood and the purity.
For that He is of no need, everlasting, listening, responding to the devastated injured slave who calls upon Him.
And such call will give an eternal meaning to the candle, its light, its visitor, and its death.
It will give eternal peace to the pen and its ink, and an eternal purity to the sacrificing paper.
So in Him I shall melt, for Him I shall bleed, to Him I shall sacrifice, and to Him I shall complain.
Afterall, to Him we all shall return.

When Two Islams Collide

When the Sun sighed,
and the Moon mourned,

When the wind wailed,
and the mountains moaned,

When the stars sorrowed,
and the skies cried,

When the trust trashed,
and the faith failed,

When the angels angered,
and the devil dared,

It was then,
when
The sinful weapons
were raised,
With the name
of the Greater Guide,

By the shrewd cunning
worst of all mankind

With the Islam of this world,
and a plan of greater divide,

Evil spirit under the banner
of Muslim power and pride,

Fraudulent and dubious flag
with sword and deceit allied,

In the heart of heat
in distant desert,
in waste of water,
to Allah�s friends,
thorn supplied

To the thirsty throat,
blade became the bride,

Evil swords broken in defeat,
by Seventy Two blood side by side,

No fear, no regret, no delay
when Noah�s vessel is the ride,

The Light of Allah - the Almighty Guide,
The Islam of Ahmad � Mercy to mankind,
Shall rise -
Faster than flood tide -
When two Islams collide.

Crescent, Before It Sets!

It was a strange dream. It felt so real. Perhaps, it was not a dream. Maybe it happened when I was too young, and I remember pieces of it as my memory tries to put the broken parts together like a crumbled mosaic.

He packed his bags, nothing much in it really. Some books, water, and a pen.
He took the bag on his shoulder, it seemed heavy on him, although not much in it.
“Heavy on you?” I asked.
“Yes, the books contain Truth!”, he replied with a smile.
It was none of my business, but I had to ask, and one question lead to another:


“Are you going somewhere?”
“Yes.”
“Well, where?!”
“Heading West.”

He never talked much. It was hard to get information out of him. Communicating with facial gestures, eyebrows and smiles seemed to be the only language he knew.

“West, where?”
“The other side of Mercury, catching the crescent before it sets.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ll know, when your heart grows up.”
“When you come back, tell me about your journey”
“I’m not coming back”
“Then I must come with you or see where you’re going so that I can catch up with you when I grow…”
“No”, softly with a smile, “It‘s too dangerous“, he paused, dropped his head down, went into a deep thought, “but I can show you the way”
I was excited, thinking that when I grow up I can go where he’s going, and meet him again.
We walked together. It was a short walk.
We reached a road, it seemed it was heading to a desert!
“This is going nowhere!”, throwing my hands in the air in disappointment.
“This is how it seems, don’t let the appearance fool you.”
“Oh wait! I can see flowers on this road”
“No. Careful! Those flowers have poisonous thorns.”
“At least I can see some trees, with shade”
“Don’t get too excited, under each tree, there is a snake”
“Tell me more about this path”
“Well, my little friend, when your heart grows up, you have a choice to take this path, or stay home where you are.”
“I said, tell me more about this road”
“Your only shade, is the sun.
If you see a traveler, careful, it will only slow you down.
On this road, loneliness is your only companion.
The birds are mute, no chirping can be heard. Only the whispers of the devils.
If anyone offers you water, beware! It is the master-deceiver of this path.”
“Who is master-deceiver?”
“ He rides a horse, bigger than an elephant, and a black dog accompanying him, bigger than a horse.
He shows compassion but intends harm.
Speaks of peace while drinking blood.
Claims humanity while decorating his throne with human skulls.
His face is covered with a brown hood. He hides his face, because if you see it, you can see falsehood written all over it.
If he offers water when you’re thirsty, just throw the water at his face.
The master-deceiver is a weak one. Don’t let the size fool you.
He is weak, and deceives the weak.
So, be strong.”
“How can I get strong?”
“With the pen, like the one I carry.”
“What if I’m thirsty?”
“Take water, like I did”
“What if I get lost and master-deceiver offers direction?”
“Silly! That’s why I have the books.”
“Tell me. Is this journey worth it?”
“Yes. It leads to the Beloved. Hundreds take this path.”
“Hundreds? That’s not too many!”
“Yes. The grateful lovers are small in number”
“Why are YOU taking this path? Seems too dangerous.”
“I have to, I am the guide, that‘s my job.”
“You are the guide?” I asked in shock.
“Yes, you look surprised.”
“Well, are you qualified?”
“That’s not up to me to decide. What makes you think I‘m not qualified?”
“Well, age for one thing. Such a road, with so many creeps and dangerous weirdoes, heck! You got to have some experience.”
He looked at me and smiled.
It was then when I realized that this man was not in his 20s like I thought.
He was so old. In fact, so old that his skin was turning green! But his spirit was so young that it overshadowed everything.
I got confused, dazed a little. Even started getting a headache.
He interrupted my thoughts:
“You’re not ready. When your heart grows up, you can take this path.”
“How can I find you?”
“If your heart is grown, you will find me.”
He looked at the road, took a deep breath:
“This.”, pointing to the road, “Is the path of Love. When you take this path, be prepared for the worse, and have courage.”

His words stopped and his steps carried the talking. Never seen such sincere steps.
So he went, on the road, to be found, by hundreds of lovers to take this path.

And now, I’m waiting, for my heart to grow up, so that I can take that road, find him, and get to the crescent before it sets.

A Discussion

Note: a version of this is already circulating around the Net.

I�'m so tired�
�Tired of what?�
�Of all these people judging me.�
�Who judged you?�
�Like that woman, every time I sit with her, she tells me to wear hijab.�
�Oh, hijab and music! The mother of all topics!�
�Yeah! I listen to music without hijab�haha!�
�Maybe she was just giving you advice.�
�I don�t need her advice. I know my religion. Can'�t she mind her own business?�
�Maybe you misunderstood. She was just being nice.�
�Keeping out of my business, that would be nice...�

�But it'�s her duty to encourage you do to good.�
�Trust me. That was no encouragement. And what do you mean �"good" ?�
�Well, wearing hijab, that would be a good thing to do.�
�Says who?
��It'�s in the Qur'�an, isn�t it?��
�Yes. She did quote me something.�
��She said Surah Nur, and other places of the Qur�an.��
�Yes, but it�'s not a big sin anyway. Helping people and praying is more important.�
��True. But big things start with small things.��
�That�'s a good point, but what you wear is not important. What'�s important is to have a good healthy heart.�
��What you wear is not important?��
�That�s what I said.�
��Then why do you spend an hour every morning fixing up?��
�What do you mean?�
��You spend money on cosmetics, not to mention all the time you spend on fixing your hair and low-carb dieting.�
�So?��
�So, your appearance is important.�
�No. I said wearing hijab is not an important thing in religion.�
�If it'�s not an important thing in religion, why is it mentioned in the Holy Qur�an?�
�You know I can'�t follow all that�s in Qur�an.�
�You mean God tells you something to do, you disobey and then it�s OK?�
�Yes. God is forgiving.�
�God is forgiving to those who repent and do not repeat their mistakes.�
�Says who?�
�Says the same book that tells you to cover.�
�But I don�t like hijab, it limits my freedom.�
�But the lotions, lipsticks, mascara and other cosmetics set you free?! What�s your definition of freedom anyway?�
�Freedom is in doing whatever you like to do.�
�No. Freedom is in doing the right thing, not in doing whatever we wish to do.�
�Look! I�'ve seen so many people who don'�t wear hijab and are nice people, and so many who wear hijab and are bad people.�
�So what? There are people who are nice to you but are alcoholic. Should we all be alcoholics? You made a stupid point.�
�I don�t want to be an extremist or a fanatic. I�m OK the way I am without hijab.�
�Then you are a secular fanatic. An extremist in disobeying God.�
�You don�t get it, if I wear hijab, who would marry me?!�
�So all these people with hijab never get married?!�
�Okay! What if I get married and my husband doesn�'t like it? And wants me to remove it?�
�What if your husband wants you to go out with him on a bank robbery?!�
�That�s irrelevant, bank robbery is a crime.�
�Disobeying your Creator is not a crime?�
�But then who would hire me?�
�A company that respects people for who they are.�
�Not after 9-11�
�Yes. After 9-11. Don�'t you know about Rayhana who just got into med school? And the other one, what was her name, the girl who always wore a white hijab�...ummm��
�Yasmeen?�
�Yes. Yasmeen. She just finished her MBA and is now interning for GE.�
�Why do you reduce religion to a piece of cloth anyway?�
�Why do you reduce womanhood to high heals and lipstick colors?�
�You didn�t answer my question.�
�In fact, I did. Hijab is not just a piece of cloth. It is obeying God in a difficult environment. It is courage, faith in action, and true womanhood. But your short sleeves, tight pants��...
�That�s called �fashion�, you live in a cave or something? First of all, hijab was founded by men who wanted to control women.�
�Really? I did not know men could control women by hijab.�
�Yes. That�s what it is.�
�What about the women who fight their husbands to wear hijab? And women in France who are forced to remove their hijab by men? What do you say about that?�
�Well, that�'s different.�
�What difference? The woman who asked you to wear hijab...�she was a woman, right?�
�Right, but��
�But fashions that are designed and promoted by male-dominated corporations, set you free? Men have no control on exposing women and using them as a commodity?! Give me a break!�
�Wait, let me finish, I was saying��...
�Saying what? You think that men control women by hijab?�
�Yes.�
�Specifically how?�
�By telling women how and what to wear, dummy!�
�Doesn�'t TV, magazines and movies tell you what to wear, and how to be �attractive�?�
�Of course, it�'s fashion.�
�Isn'�t that control? Pressuring you to wear what they want you to wear?�
Silence
�Not just controlling you, but also controlling the market.�
�What do you mean?�
�I mean, you are told to look skinny and anorexic like that woman on the cover of the magazine, by men who design those magazines and sell those products.�
�I don'�t get it. What does hijab have to do with products.�
�It has everything to do with that. Don�'t you see? Hijab is a threat to consumerism, women who spend billions of dollars to look skinny and live by standards of fashion designed by men� and then here is Islam, saying trash all that nonsense and focus on your soul, not on your looks, and do not worry what men think of your looks.�
�Like I don'�t have to buy hijab? Isn�'t hijab a product?�
�Yes, it is. It is a product that sets you free from male-dominated consumerism.�
�Stop lecturing me! I WILL NOT WEAR HIJAB! It is awkward, outdated, and totally not suitable for this society ... Moreover, I am only 20 and too young to wear hijab!�
�Fine. Say that to your Lord, when you face Him on Judgment Day.�
�Fine.�
�Fine.�
Silence
�Shut up and I don�'t want to hear more about hijab schmijab Punjab!�
Silence.

She stared at the mirror, tired of arguing with herself all this time. Successful enough, she managed to shut the voices in her head, with her own opinions triumphant in victory on the matter, and a final modern decision accepted by the society, rejected by the Faith: "Yes" to curls on the hair, "no" to hijab.
�"And he[/she] is indeed a failure who stunteth it [the soul]"� Holy Qur�an, 091.010