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!
Saturday, December 23, 2006
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!"
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.
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.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
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.
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.
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