Ekphrasis of a Vase of Carnations

Vase of Carnations, oils on canvas by A. Chida

You carnations in foster care
Sit splendid in a dwelling where
Your newfound sibling baby breaths
Come forth to decorate your hair;

Like golden pheasants flocking free
Beneath a mercy cherry tree,
Whose fruit descend the leafy steps
In schools of seahorse company.

But for the pheasants fallen dead,
I'd call these creatures heaven-bred,
For how these walls of glass reflect
The heads of children tucked in bed.

In Loss - Part 2

You took away my wealth and home,
My car, my work, my every gain,
You said you care about me, but
I doubt you even feel my pain.

Ordaining with your know-it-all
Demeanor to enrich my brain,
I trusted all my friends but you
Divided us till none remains.

Remember, at the school that day
Could you not stop the stranger who
Took everything away from me?
Was that the best that you could do?

And as I live your complex plan
You sit upon your throne so high
And watch me make my many slips
Until the very day I die.

I think about the wealth I lost,
My pleasures that you took away,
Your knowledge and your power that
Shall hold me to each word I say.

But when my day on earth is done,
With time and all its children dead,
Will I be in your loving arms
And sorry for the things I said?

I'll never think those things again;
I feel so little when I see
How you bestow your love upon
An undeserving soul like me.

In Loss - Part 1

You took away my m-and-m's,
My snickers, and my candy cane,
You said you care about me, but
I doubt you even feel my pain.

You came in with your know-it-all
Demeanor to enrich my brain,
To turn the television off
While on it all my friends remain.

Remember, at the hospital,
You showed you had no feelings when
You chose to simply stand aside
And watch a stranger prick my skin.

And then you hatched a complex plot
And sat back just to watch the show
Enjoying my mistakes and slips,
All just to say you told me so.

I hated you for all I lost,
My pleasures that you took away,
Your know-it-all demeanor, and
Correcting every word I say.

But when I cuddle up in bed
With Goodnight Moon upon your chest,
I'm cozy in your loving arms
And sorry for the things I said.

I'll never think those things again;
I feel so little when I see
How you bestow your love upon
An undeserving soul like me.

Waking Up

I wrote this piece to motivate my children to rise before dawn. They helped me with the first two stanzas.

An angel whispers something sweet,
I think it is my name,
I feel a hand upon my feet
And wonder what became

Of angel words, for there I see
Before my sleepy eyes
My mother smiling down at me,
A smile to make me rise.

But when she leaves, I tuck my chin
Into my knees, upon
My bed that feels so cozy in
The early light of dawn.

And now another whisper takes
Me back to yesterday,
To wonder why the heart awakes
Around this time to pray.

I open wide my eyes and think
Of all the peace I felt,
Exchanging sleep's delicious drink
For thoughts of when I knelt.

And all this thinking makes me long
To feel that love divine,
I stagger through this wake-up song
To make ablution fine:

The water on my hands and face,
The drops upon my head,
Around my feet they stream and race
Till all of sleep has fled.

Responding to the morning call,
I stand prepared to pray,
Then raise my hands and push it all
Behind me as I say

Allahu Akbar.

Still In My Way

The less of you that stands between
Your Lord and what you pray,
The more expanse of fertile green;
For every word you say

Shall root itself in timeless soil
That timeless waters flush,
For all remembrance comes with toil
That tends your garden lush;

Your wretched self need step aside
And let your heart reflect
The Light that ever shines to guide
The lost it may detect.

That all the words of praise that share
Your tear-moistened lips,
Sprout trees of wonder foliage where
The dew of nectar drips.

And when the angels span your spread
One thousand years or more,
They'll marvel at the words you said
That such a wonder bore,

Then rush to splash as waves of light
Upon your heart intent,
Inspiring your inward sight
With some of what you sent;

And thus the intellect of those
Who went before was blest,
For from their nothingness arose
A movement in their breast,

To soar up high on angel wings
And flourish in the land;
It comes with what remembrance brings
With its prophetic brand.

The less of you that stands between
Your Lord and what you pray,
The more expanse of fertile green
For every word you say.

But I'm still in my way.

Inspired by what I heard at a recent reading from Mishkaat Al-Masabih by Shaykh Amin.

Zulfiqar

The Prophet kept an even eye
On Amr, son of Abdi Wud
Who shouted out with every cry,
A word insulting, harsh and rude.

For Amr was a massive man
Who towered well above the rest,
A man of war with scars that ran
Across his bold, embattled chest.

Beyond the wide, forbidding trench,
Stood Yathrib's best, but even they
Perceived the words of Amr wrench
A bit of their resolve away;

But when the challenge to a duel
Rang in the still and silent air,
Ali advanced with manner cool,
And sought the Prophet's leave to dare.

The Prophet swiftly turned it down
When he said, "This is Amr", and
Ali withdrew without a frown
While Amr's mount swept up the sand.

"Is there no man a match for me?"
He boomed across the great divide,
While those he had for company
Rejoiced in laughter at his side.

Ali advanced again to ask
The Prophet to allow him fight
The giant Amr, but a mask
Of declination met his sight.

And so Quraysh persisted in
Their condescending ridicule,
Insulting who were once their kin
For failing to accept a duel,

Upon which Ali, somber, grim,
Again approached the Prophet who,
Saw, when he turned to look at him,
Deep in his eye, a sight he knew.

The Prophet's face grew soft with care,
He gave Ali the leave he sought,
And made his dear cousin wear
The blessed turban, then he brought

His double-bladed Zulfiqar,
And girding it 'round Ali's waist,
The Prophet prayed, his heart afar,
And bade Ali descend with haste.

Ali got down and stood before
The steed upon which Amr sat,
While Amr's folk let out a roar
Of laughter at a sight like that.

But Amr's face went soft, as he
Did Ali's father well recall;
And he said, "I wish not to be
The one to make your honor fall",

Ali bin Abi Talib said:
"It is my plan to strike you dead",
Which made the giant's face go red,
For off he leaped and stood up tall,

And in a show of might, hamstrung
His horse before he onward sprung,
Attacking hard the shorter man
Who moved as only Ali can.

So on they fought till Amr slowed,
When Ali in a lightning flash
Threw down the giant whom he owed
The promise of a deadly clash,

And straddling thus his barrel chest,
The hands of Ali closed around
The neck of Amr, and depressed
The rest of him into the ground;

No matter all the strength that he
Exerted, Amr could not check
The steely hands of brave Ali
That slowly tightened round his  neck.

And keeping thus his grip, Ali
Drew forth his dagger, let it dance
Impending death unless there be
Surrender, giving peace a chance.

But Amr's pride was wounded much,
And he rejected compromise,
So when he felt the dagger touch
His neck, he brought his head to rise,

Then spat upon his captor's face,
And closed his eyes to feel the brace
Of icy death, but all he felt
Was ease in warm release's melt.

For tall above him stood Ali,
Restored his dagger by his knee.
"I fought you for my Lord", said he,
"But when you chose to spit on me,

My anger sought my self to please,
And that begot your here release."
But Amr reeled from all this shame,
He gathered up his massive frame,

Then grabbed his fallen sword and brought
It smashing down on Ali's shield,
While Ali rolled to reach the spot
Where Zulfiqar lay. As he kneeled,

He thrust with all his strength and speed
The double headed scimitar
Which found its mark and brought to bleed
The fallen giant, caused a stir.

Then rang aloud a takbeer wave
From every rank of archers awed
By what they witnessed of a slave
Who came to be the lion of God.

Elegy To Our Mother

On the passing of my dear mother-in-law:

Ayesha Fayroze Zamani Begum

(1948 - 2012)

Allahumma Aghfir lahaa

Ammi, I always wished for you

To be a better mother,

To be my wise protector who

Would one way or another

Make all my troubles go away,

Complete my youth with care,

And sigh away my chatter while

You fixed my tangled hair;

Or flush my spirit with your tales

Of wisdom and delight,

That in my older years would serve

Me as a guiding light.

But you had troubles of your own:

Afflictions of the mind;

My oldest memory of you

A thing to leave behind.

I've watched you wander in a daze,

And heard you babble what

The medication and the drugs

Did to your every thought.

And most of all I felt for you

Was born of sympathy,

I've wondered what the purpose of

Your pointless life could be.

Now after all these heavy years,

Of sickness, and defeat,

You flood me with your wisdom as

I sit beside your feet;

Resounds in all your muted pain

A lifelong dignity,

And in your blinking eyes is plain

Your shining love for me.

My silent tears drain my breast;

As you exhale your last,

I see your glowing face attest

An unassuming past.

And I may never comprehend

This mercy lofty, high,

For in your soft and graceful end,

You've shown me how to die.

In all your towering innocence,

You rest within your grave,

A soul without complaint or grudge,

A pure, submitting slave.

O Allah, to You my mother returns,

Through all of her suffering and pain,

Protect her against the fire that burns

Whatever of sin may remain.

And fill every inch of space in her grave

With light of Your mercy kind,

That she may delight in fragrances that

Bring peace to an innocent mind.

Aameen.

Sitting On The Banks Of Reflection

Your smile, my child, I love your smile,
It takes me to a sunny place,
And if you hold it for a while,
I'll feel its warmth upon my face.

Your laugh, my child, I love it so,
I'm taken by your mirthful eyes
To where the babbling waters flow
Upon the bed that never dries.

And when our journey is complete,
Will you and I walk hand in hand
With him who all the angels greet
With all the praise his names command,

To, on the lush eternal banks
Of sweet reflection, realize
The golden sunshine of a smile
In silver streams of mirthful eyes.

As we beseech in Paradise:

Ilaahi, send your prayers and peace
Upon the dearest of your friends,
And on his blessed family,
And all of his companions.

Save Your Soul

Love him that you too may be loved,
Miss him, and you'll be missed;
Just long to kiss his hand that might
Your longing face be kissed.

Despise him for eternal hate,
And slander him for shame;
Avenging angels long await
Who desecrate his name.

Yet he, without the bounds of time,
Within his place of rest,
Is eagerly awaiting you
To be his honored guest;

For on the Throne encompassing
The seventh firmament
Is One whose love for him exceeds
The sum of all love spent.

Exchange now all your hate for love,
And know the man you don't,
So that a mercy from above
May save the soul you won't.

Prairie Flowers

When sunshine falls upon a spread
Of yellow prairie flowers,
It fills me with that silent peace
That graces morning hours.

The sunshine and the flowers, each,
Impress my mind and sight,
But one without the other tells
The tragedy of light.

To see a mother fondle child,
One nuzzle to the other,
Dispensing freely of the love
That touches every mother,

Is like the sunshine on a spread
Of yellow prairie flowers,
That blends its silence into peace
That graces morning hours.

Pearls

The poet must swim in the sea of his heart
To scour its bed for the pearls of his love,
And string them in verse that will let him depart
The dark of his soul to the light up above.

But he who recites from the Word of his Lord
Immerses his heart in an ocean of Light,
Illumines the world with the pearls that afford
Us a glimpse of a life of eternal delight.

A Poem

A poem can be a fancy way
To say a thing well known;
A thing that when presented plain
Is not attention prone;

To take a thought mundane and make
It sweet, romantic or
Just fascinatingly astute,
Is what a poem is for.

And seldom can it cause you pain
That makes you frown or curse,
Digesting thoughts that don't constrain
The words that make them verse;

Like sitting in a carriage that
Is led by handsome steeds,
Unbridled, wont to gallop at
Unregulated speeds.

But if you chance upon a poem
You cannot understand,
Extending it the courtesy
Of silence would be grand.

Companion

For Imran: God bless you and your bride.

My load is heavy, let me rest

My aching self a bit,

But only for a moment lest

I tarry where I sit.

I know I'll slip along the way,

And suffer every plight

As I walk in the scorching day

And in the dark of night.

I may not bear the strength to rise

Above my many pains,

For obligation comes to me

In many different strains.

But come now, take my weary hand

Consolingly in yours,

So I may see you understand

What all the world ignores.

And in return, I promise you

With all my heart and mind

A constant love, and every peace

My faithful hand may find.

I pray to Him upon His Throne

That shades all Will Divine,

That I forevermore be yours,

And you, forever mine.

Lil One, Don't Break Your Fast

I wrote a little something to encourage my children to fast this Ramadan. Sixteen hours is a looooong time. 

Come on, lil' one, don't break your fast,
The sun will set upon us, soon
All thirst and hunger will have passed,
And you'll set out to find the moon;

'Cept you won't see it every day,
Because the moon and earth and sun
Are steadfast in their patient play;
And patience plays with anyone.

If you pick up a tasty treat
And almost put it in your mouth,
Stand frozen as you point your feet,
The left one north, the right one south.

Don't take that glass of water to
Your parched and thirsty, fasting lips.
Pretend your left big toe is you,
And let it have a couple sips.

Blah blah buzz buzz ha ha hee hee.
Did you know saum means silence too?
Make like a giant, sprawling tree,
And sway your hands as branches do.

If all this makes you shake your head,
And crave a more rewarding chore,
Then to your blessed path instead;
You're not so little anymore.

The Golden Switch

I wrote this poem to welcome the wife of my cousin Zubair into our family. Thanks to Abi Mustafa for bringing this poem to life with a moving recitation at the wedding reception yesterday. 
There are footnotes at the end.

Best Wishes to Zubair and Rida on their wedding.

"Unmoor!" It's time, the whistle blows,

The weather's bright and fair,
As you begin your voyage on
The Morning Star Zubair.

That's right, your man is Master of
This vessel wide and long,
She carries all you need within
Her golden hatches strong.

The crew is sharp, the first mate walks
The bridge with eagle eye,
While down below the engineers
Keep engines humming high;

A dozen sailors swab the decks,
The silver taffrails, shine,
While stewards fill your goblets with
Non-alcoholic wine.

Ah! How your taste buds will delight
When foods exotic play
Upon them notes so magical
From Bombay to Marseilles.

And each day as the sun so grand
Sets on the sparkling sea,
Like Jack and Rose, you and your man
Glide in serenity.

And so you sail for days and days
Without a worry till
The seas begin to sparkle less,
The food tastes blander still.

And that is when the tide does turn,
And waves frightfully vie
To splash upon the shiny decks,
While clouds assemble high.

The hull begins to shudder free,
The crew tries hard to mend
The damage, but the boatswain's luck
Is on a downward trend.

Disease and hardship wrack the crew,
The engines fail to fire,
The first mate tries in vain to steer
Despite the ocean's ire.

You run to stand beside your man
As he surveys the scene:
His ailing crew, his vessel strained,
And all that's in between.

You turn to look into his eyes
That show no sign of fear,
And sense a peaceful moment when
He nods with hope sincere,

Then suddenly, he takes your hand,
And to the bridge makes haste,
To find his first mate 'neath the wheel
Which once his hand had graced.

He presses on with you, Rida,
Still keeping by his side,
And stops before a cabinet
Of tungsten and carbide.

A golden switch sits well encased
In glass so clean and clear,
With shiny letters that proclaim
Its role in times of fear.

*******************************
Pause for effect, mood changes to mild comic irony
*******************************

"Mummy Hona" ¹, you read the words
A bit questioningly;
Zubair smiles back as if to say:
"My darling, you shall see."

With one hand holding yours, he grips
The lever with the other,
And pulls down on that golden switch
To beckon to his mother.

The vessel starts to shudder now,
Its ribs moan shallow, and
The Master and his lovely bride
Look out from where they stand.

A rumble low accompanies
The sight before your eyes,
A golden hatch slides open to
Reveal a golden prize.

"Salaam alaykum" everywhere,
"Salaam" that fills the sea;
And thus emerges from the hatch
Zubair's good family,

His mother leads them all as they
Proclaim the greeting high,
Her hands do bear a tray of her
Best anday ki mithai ².

And even as she draws up close
And holds you in embrace,
The family of good Zubair
Sets off to work a pace

Of restoration everywhere;
Jenan assumes command,
Her father in the engine room,
With wrench and more in hand.

Ali gets on the radio
That Tariq works with speed,
While Zohra stirs a blend of Bel-
Ladonna and seaweed

Which Nadiah dispenses to
The sailors, some of whom
She carefully helps get into
The operating room.

Where Saqib and his father work
To render every care
And get those sailors up to run
The Morning Star Zubair.

Samina Chachi oversees
The scrubbing of the decks
And brings those sailors to their knees
With her repeated checks.

Tahseen restores the cabins, makes
Them cozy, warm and trim;
Maryam, Iman and Zaynab sing
A Dawud Wharnsby hymn.

And Salim Uncle at the helm,

To get her back on course,
Amin at radar, Sulayman
On charts; oh what a force!

And all of this is possible
As Javed babysits
Noor, Ibrahim, and Mustafa
With toilet humor hits.

And then, Rida, you look around,
And all over you see
A fleet of submarines with the
Remaining family;

All standing by and waiting for
A sign they can't ignore:
Mohajir, Chida, Mehkri,
Ghias, Papa and more.

The vessel sets to float anew,
In even better form:
A crew and craft to weather yet
Another crazy storm.

The kitchen and the galleys burst
Biryani, halwa and
A host of other dishes of
The grand Navaitha ³ brand.

*******************************
Pause for effect, return to reality
*******************************

And as niwaalas⁴ supersized
Of meetha⁵ fill your mouth,

*******************************
Pause 3 seconds
*******************************

You wake up from this dream, Rida,
A little farther south.

*******************************
Pause 3 seconds
*******************************

...In Frankfort.

*******************************
Pause for effect, concluding verses
*******************************
There's no condition, Rida, and

There is no moment which
You need await to pull down on
That "Mummy Hona" switch.

But this is all you'll ever need
On any given day:
Love God, and love the one He loves,
(SalAllahu 'alayhi wa Sallam)
And you'll be on your way.

*******************************
Pause for effect
*******************************

Welcome to the Morning Star Zubair.

*******************************
Pause for effect, read slowly.
*******************************

Welcome to... our family.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Footnotes

¹ I want my Mommy
² A family specialty
³ The name given to our larger family
⁴ Mouthfuls
⁵ sweets

The Fewston Reservoirs

I am in beautiful Leeds visiting with my brother, and enjoying the English countryside. Today, I accompanied my brother and my lovely nieces to The Fewston Reservoirs. We each got an ice cream cone/bar and hiked through the trails. I can't explain how beautiful this place is. I was compelled to write a little something about it all.

The swirling, moisture canopies
That speckle blue vanilla skies,
The honeysuckle-scented breeze
That, definition, well defies,

The bashful bluebells bowing low
Along the chocolate marshy sands
Where Otley and her sisters flow
To flush these lush West Yorkshire lands.

I'll miss the Fewston Reservoirs
For more than what I've said above,
They soak my plains of memoirs
With drops of who and what I love.


(The 'vanilla' and 'chocolate' references were clearly a product of the quality ice cream we consumed on the hike :-)

Maryam Says You Can Do It, Zaynab

As you lay on your belly and wonder
If you can just crawl to the end
Of the carpet so you can reach under
What covers your toy ducky friend,

Maryam says you can do it, Zaynab,
You can do it Zaynab, yes you can,
Just the way you did it the other day,
Got to finish this thing you began.

When you try hard to reach for the light switch
Standing tall on your tippy toes,
But it seems that it's always an inch away
No matter how high your hand goes,

Maryam says you can do it, Zaynab,
You can do it Zaynab, yes you can,
Just the way you did it the other day,
Got to finish this thing you began.

As you sit back for fun with Dick and Jane,
Touch the letters with your fingertips,
Trying hard to string them up just to bring
Forth a word with your weary lips.

Maryam says you can do it, Zaynab,
You can do it Zaynab, yes you can,
Just the way you did it the other day,
Got to finish this thing you began.

When you try out your bike with no trainers,
And you zigzag so fearfully,
'Cuz you can't bear the thought of the pavement
Kissing you in the head or the knee.

Maryam says you can do it, Zaynab,
You can do it Zaynab, yes you can,
Just the way you did it the other day,
Got to finish this thing you began.

And Maryam, you're right every time, now
You too may need Zaynab some day
Just to stand by your side helping you how
You help her to get on her way.

Zaynab says you can do it, Maryam,
You can do it Maryam, yes you can,
Just the way you did it the other day,
Got to finish this thing you began.

Got to finish this thing we began.

I was recently informed of being awarded second place for Highland Park Poetry's 2012 Poetry Challenge. The theme was Seasons/Siblings, and my entry, Children of the Year was judged in the Seasons category.

Familiar Friend

I saw a man the other day,
Somewhere in Bolingbrook,
Who curiously sent my way
A long and knowing look.

And I in turn stared back at him,
For surely I did see,
Deep in his eye, a trace of dim
Familiarity.

He looked away, a bit incensed
By my alacrity,
So I broke off my stare, but sensed
His gaze return to me.

We nursed this blend of sweet and sour
As we checked out our goods,
Before we left to make for our
Respective neighborhoods.

Of all the glimpses we did plot
So surreptitiously,
I won't forget that one I caught
Of him catch one of me.

I strained to think where we had met;
The library? The bank?
The traffic signal pause beset
By stares that weren't that blank?

I could have, and I should have asked,
But then it was too late
To see the face of chance unmasked
By helping hands of fate.

Or could it be that we have shared
A word that binds us both,
When in the Garden we declared
That sempiternal oath?

It is my hope that we will meet
In time or timeless end;
Until then, mine is patience sweet.
Farewell, familiar friend.

Recite!

Recite, beloved child, I pray,
With all your heart, recite,
That all your recitation may
Become for you a light,

For you to carry in your heart,
Illuminate your face,
Your hands, your feet, your every part,
With dignity and grace.

Recite with care, recite with love,
Recite with reverence,
So that a mantle from above
May shroud your innocence,

As it once shrouded and caressed
Our blessed Muzzammil,
Upon whose heart Jibreel impressed
This Ever Living Will,

Whose hand shall rest upon your head,
God willing, on the Day
When you face all you've ever said,
And all you'll ever say;

So say much from these pearls that shine
And glow with guidance bright;
Recite and love this Light Divine,
Recite by day and night,

And It, in turn, shall bring you cheer,
With all that's good and nice,
Your Light shall be the carrier
Of you in paradise.

And I'll be waiting near.