Thursday Riddle (March 27, 2014)

Its yours and it flows where you deem

It useful in matters of learning;

For some, like a brook; for others a stream;

A river for those more discerning.

It knows where you are, it can find you

And float you to places so far,

Beware its reflections may blind you

And make you forget who you are.

Although through the meadows it goes,

To Paradise never it bends,

For heaven starts where the sum of what flows

From all of humanity ends.

Beacon

You're lost, but only lost until you find

Your place before the One who's ever found,

So cling to hope, and leave despair behind

And be for paradise forever bound.

 

As does the sailor high upon the sea

See through the blast of consternating waves

And fix his eye on beacon distantly

Though what it stands upon be what he craves,

So does the slave that seeks by night or day

See through the blast of consternating life

And fix his eye on him who shows the way

No matter the intensity of strife.

You have to take the means to reach the end,

So seek with sweet remembrance, weary friend.

Grandlove

I fuss over children whose grandfather once
Did dote on my mother, and uncles and aunts;
It maybe that one day my grandson will see
The face of his cousin remembering me,
A cousin whose parents and uncles and aunts 
Will have been who I will have doted on once.

Thursday Riddle (March 20, 2014)

Can never be lost, not easy to share,
It fills empty spaces (and I don't mean air),
Preceding the first, succeeding the last,
Delaying your death, returning your past;
By darkness or light, in silence it lies
Where, hidden from sight of all-seeing eyes,
Just anything might compel its demise.

Song of the Despondent Slave

Wherever you might be: shun the darkness of despair, and walk in the light of hope.

I wish I could smoke it away,
This hurt that I feel everyday,
No substance may burn the demons that turn
My grief into idols of clay.

Don't judge me, you don't know my pain,
I've lost what I love once again,
Forgotten to smile, the tears run wild,
And drain every cell in my brain.

I know the despair in my voice
Invites the accursed to rejoice
For he did attest that he wouldn't rest
Till grief be my singular choice;

O Allah, I need to embrace
The reason I am in this place,
You gave me this pain, again and again
That I may now turn to Your face.

My hope lies in sabrun jameel,
There's nothing else I need to feel,
For Jannah is where my heart will repair
And all of my injury heal.

So bless my each moment, command
My heart to a peace that is grand,
You know that my lips are longing for sips
To quench all my thirst at the hand

Of blessed Rasul al-Kareem,
O Allah, make everything seem
So easy for me, oh please let me see
The Truth, for this life is a dream.

Make easy for me that I may now see
The Truth, for this life is a dream.


O Allah! Enable me to see the Truth as Truth and give me the ability to follow it. And enable me to see falsehood as false and give me the ability to refrain from it.

Thursday Riddle (March 13, 2014)

There is no escape from the lair,
This slave cannot flee anywhere,
Submitting and peaceful when held in his cage,
But out, Is his spear good reason for fear,
The harder the combat, the greater his rage;
The maddening slaughter he craves, it comes faster,
The lair becomes hotter when slave becomes master.

Between Heaven and Me

This began as a response to my daughter asking me to write a quatrain describing a beautiful beach.

Gull. Wind.
Wave. Shore.
Flap and blow,
Roll and roar.
All between heaven and me,
Broken on this shore.

Heart. Blood.
Breath. Door.
Beat and flow,
Draw, before
All between heaven and me
Sees me through the door.

Thursday Riddle (March 6, 2014)

Just like a despicable spice

That's tossed on a platter of rice

Of which is each grain a morsel of pain,

I'm condiment not very nice,

So serve me to who you disdain,

To watch all their happiness wane;

The sultan is nigh, but tea before I
May help an illustrious brain.

The Advice

Five octets capturing this simple yet immensely profound piece of advice given by the Prophet (S) to one of his companions.

When the afternoon sun turned the sand into gold
On a day in the town of Madina,
Did a man then the Prophet of Allah behold
Walking on down the street; hadn't seen a
More beautiful sight than the Prophet that day,
So he quickened his pace manyfold,
Till adjoined with the Messenger set on his way,
When the question upon his tongue rolled:

"Do give me advice, O Prophet of God,
That's easy on my memory",
All while he beside the Messenger trod
With manner so earnest and free;
The Messenger spoke with a generous nod,
"Do not become angry", said he,
The simple response, it astonished and awed
The seeker to such a degree,

He fell back, around the Prophet he ran
Once all of his senses returned,
Repeated himself to politely demand
A shred of advice to be learned,
Expectant was he of deeper advice,
But then the good Messenger turned,
"Do not become angry" was all of the grand
Advice that the seeker had earned.

A little bit upset, a little confused,
In front of the Prophet he stood,
Who patient, compassionate, slightly amused,
Awaited as only he could,
A third time the man acceptance refused
Determined to take away good,
A third time prophetic benevolence oozed
So much was it well understood.

Your anger is like an ember, he'd say,
That fuels the fire of hell,
So guard it before you rise on the Day
Lest that it increase in its swell,
For once it escapes in all of its sway,
Its winds are the hardest to quell;
"Do not become angry" in any which way
Is all that you need to be well.