The Start

He (saws) said to ‘Amr{ra},

Islām wipes away sins,

Hijrah wipes away sins,

And Hajj{mabrūr}wipes away sins.”

Could this be per-chance

An ode to joy. I’m not to

Sing, dance & prance

About. Justice is due.

So ‘Amr took the oath

And pledged his alliance,

He took it in delight

Tis’ witness ‘til our convergence.

A masterful piece,

A statement of divinity.

Curls the tongue, softens the heart

And renders the body immediately

Into raising the name

Of Allāh, Risālah penetrated the hearts

The companions fortified that aim

What’s more important than the start?

“Lā illāha il-Allāh.”

Glossary & Context:

Hijrah = to emigrate (for the sake of God in this context)

Hajj = Pilgrimage to Mecca

Mabrur = Accepted. The Accepted Hajj, therefore is one that is done with absolute sincerity and perfection.

Risalah = Prophethood

The Start that I refer to is a reference of the testimony of faith, it is the first pillar of faith. To repeat these words with firm belief makes one Muslim. This poem is essentially a story about a companion of the Prophet Muhammad (saws), his name was Amru ibn al ‘As. Below is a short narrative of his story.

Ibn Qayyim al-Jauziyah mentions in Kitab ar-Ruh:

Narrated Ibn Shumas Al-Mahri:

We went to ‘Amr bin Al-’As, and he was about to die. He wept for a long time and turned his face towards the wall.

His son said, “O father! Did the Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, give you the tidings of this?”

He turned his face (towards the audience) and said:

“The best thing which we can count upon is the testimony that there is no god but Allah and that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah. Verily I have passed through three phases.

(The first one) on which I found myself an averse to no one else more than I was averse to the Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, and there was no other desire stronger in me than that I should overpower him and kill him. Had I died in this state, I would have been definitely one of the denizens of Fire.

When Allah instilled the love of Islam in my heart, I came to the Prophet, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, and said, ‘Stretch out your right hand so that I may pledge allegiance to you.’ He stretched out his right hand, but I withdrew my hand. The Prophet, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, said, ‘What has happened to you, O ‘Amr ?’

I replied ‘I intend to lay down some conditions.’

He asked, ‘What conditions do you intend to put forward?’

I said, ‘I should be granted pardon.’

He said, ‘Are you aware that Islam wipes out all the previous (misdeeds)? Verily, migration wipes out all the (previous) misdeeds. Verily, the pilgrimage wipes out all the (previous) misdeeds.’

And then no one was more dear to me than the Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, and none was more sublime in my eyes, than him. Never could I pluck courage to catch a full glimpse of his face due to its splendour. So if I am asked to describe his features, I cannot do that for I have not eyed him fully.

Had I died in this state I had every reason to hope that I would have been among the dwellers of Paradise. Then we were responsible for certain things (in the light of which) I am unable to know what is in store for me. When I die, let neither female mourner nor fire accompany me. When you bury me, fill my grave well with earth, then stand around it for the time within which a camel is slaughtered and its meat is distributed so that I may enjoy with your company and ascertain what answer I can give to the messengers (angels) of Allah.”

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

This poem doesn’t actually have a name. This was/is my first attempt at writing an Arabic poem, it was also the first time I had performed one of my poems to an audience. For those of you who cannot read Arabic, I can transliterate it if requested. It’s about matrimony and how it is akin to worship.  I tried to make it all rhyme and synchronise grammatically though there is one word which I think may not be altogether correct but I overlooked that: I think and hope it works. I’m sure someone will tell me if it doesn’t.

As a light-hearted side note, I looked to attach a picture here. They were all so corny that i decided against it!

There is also a translation (into English) that follows, it’s also a poem.

For context: A young beautiful lady and her dashing husband got married in California. The bride was/is my wife’s first cousin. This was one of two poems that I performed.

The portion of the poem in green is a verse of the Quran (Surah Ar-Rahman -The Beneficent ie.God)

قال الله في كتابه

إنّ الزواج من آياته

فَبِأَىِّ ءَالَآءِ رَبِّكُمَا تُكَذِّبَان

و هذه العبادة تملحنا بالسعادة

ثمّ نبلّغ الهناء

                 بالكلمات الكريمة

فأذكروا الله بأسماءه

و سبّحوا بحمده

ثمّ ندعو لهما

              يا الوهاب

في هذه أيام العياد

نسألك أن توفقهما في الزواج

Allah says in the Quran,

From His signs are the endowment of woman & man,

So which of His signs will you deny?

This worship fills us with contentment,

Which we express in delightful sentiments,

So innumerate Allah’s names,

& Glorify His praise,

Then supplicate for the couple,

O you who provides perpetually,

In these days of festivity,

We ask you to grant them success in matrimony.

Bricking it.

Her Smile

There is always something special about someone dear to you, for me it’s my wife’s smile.

There’s not a single part,

Of those lips that part

That I don’t love

Of those Pearly Whites.

It warms her face,

Her cheeks embrace

Those coming signs

Of a glow, ignites.

A comfort in my heart,

From a radiant shine

Buried to mine:

Pleasure overcome:

An abundance, & then some!

Typified it is,

This warmth that exists,

With her breath that quivers;

And stutters & dithers

Arrives in earnest,

Burning this furnace,

That is my heart.

All from…

Those lips that part

Mercies

There’s nothing I can add that will explain what is meant other than for you to read. What I will add, purely for context, is that there is an Islamic thought that states that rain is a mercy from God.

Today I felt as though:

I walked my own line;

Towed my own line

In the confines

of my own mind

There wasn’t a thing that I’d find

To free this blinding vision

That has now risen

Like a thousand mercies

Precipitated.

Images of “The Scream” painted,

Depressing and tainting my thoughts,

I ought to refrain,

And though help was sought

I can’t explain that I’m caught

Between misery and fraught with pain.

I hate it.

Darkness falls on my road

No peaks, just troughs

That goad my soul

But I’m alone.

My path is dark,

Dim lit, the stark-

Stare into neverness

An oversight of bare,

Barren roads:

My despair.

There’s a filter on my lens

That emits a darkened glow,

Emptiness, nothingness

Surrounds me

Comes before me

And follows me:

My broken road.

The clouds are darkened

but the mercies don’t fall.

The Veterans

Too many of the sons of man

Have spent more than ever needed.

And to those who have spent so much,

I salute you.

I’m here because you aren’t.

Salutations to you:

Veterans of peace.

Fight Night

This poem is about boxing, I authored it nearly 6 years ago and consider it my best piece of penmanship (Alhamdulillah). There is a supplement to it, but I’ve never actually typed it up and that inevitably lead to me misplacing it. Oh well, enjoy..

https://i1.wp.com/www.martialartwallpapers.com/Images-01/Muhammad-Ali-Wallpaper.jpg

As you entered the ring

With the fights you fought

And the bravado you brought haughtiness

In your pre-fight talk

But judgment was sought again

As you came to court it ends

With punishment.

You were meant to shine

You said, entertain with a thousand kinds

Of masterful yet mind-

Ful games to cause me to resign

Myself to defeat.

Only one thing shone for you that day:

Those stars circling your head,

From that trash talk you said,

And I baulked at your threats,

As you bleed some red

No nearer alive than dead

& for every drip that you bled

Was relief for me.

My fist to your face,

Pounding with pace,

With contempt, yet grace-

Fully pressing the place

That puts you disgracefully

To that canvas.

And all that talk that you fight with

You think that you might win

But the truth’s that the writing

Is on the wall!

So as I write with my pen

A script that forecasts your end

As the man in the middle,

Will count to ten.