InshaAllah
A heart so torn will bleed, and bleeding so congeals That a darkened outer covering will block the touch that heals A heart then stripped will bleed, and with bleeding fingers I Begin to mend again a heart that otherwise would die Because Allah has set no limit on how often I be broken And no promise, no oath, has yet to me been spoken To guarantee that strands of pain, twisted to a filament Won’t lacerate the tender heart around which they are bent But this guarantee, this oath, clearly has been made: My Guardian Lord has promised me gardens in the shade And promised me no burden greater than I may bear So with this thread of hope, I make my small repairs For a heart so torn will bleed, but mended so, no longer And the wounds that made me bleed, only make me stronger. Labels: Autism, Medical Misadventures, Mortal Wounds, Poetry
The believer is not broken by sorrow Any more than a mountain is leveled by wind And neither are battered, but shaped By the force of storms they would weather Labels: Autism, Medical Misadventures, Mortal Wounds, Poetry
Bebe's first Poem
Bap Bap Bap Said the baby With the raisins In his lap Labels: Poetry
Fresh from the Poultry Farm
Carseat Lullabye Cuts and bruises, bruises and scars That we got from toying with other cars When the road was more than enough to share And really, they could have gone anywhere Rather than both try to fill the same spot On a Tuesday so tired when the road was so hot And the glass was all glittery there on the street And the witnesses helpful and caring a sweet And the sky sunny blue and your cheeks teary pink And the spots on my skirt rather fetching, I think And the wail of the sirens not louder than yours That rang from the hospital's ceilings and floors Bruises and cuts and thank God nothing bad (Not like the man in the other room had) Cuts and bruises, bruises and scars Can you keep a secret about other cars? I can see as they speed up to pass from the side That they've hit us again and someone has died The emergency room is now miles away And the scream on your face will not go away Cuts and bruises, bruises and more The hot on my hands is smeared on the door Cuts and bruises, bruises and God- Cuts and bruises, bones and blood The screech and the crash and the pain and then The car finally stops and we're home safe again And I, for the hundredth time, happen to find That we've died just a little, just in my mind. There are some hills over there...Excuse me while I build my ark, I haven't got much time. Fast the flooding waters rise, Go find a hill to climb. Do you mind not standing in my light? Hey, give me back my tools! Must you insist on sabotage? Keep away, you fools! The hand you lend, it hardly helps. I need no Three-Piece Messiah All I need is One Good Lord For when the waves get higher. Don't preach vicarious atonement For when this day is through I highly doubt you will have found Someone else to drown for you. Labels: Poetry
explain thyself
The poem titled 'From the Homely Brother' was not written to be overtly sexual or deliberately offensive, but to explain behavior that is so often misunderstood by people- he doesn't look at her, he must think men are better than women. He walks in front of her, what does he think he is, superior? He won't even say her name, what a religious weirdo! My intention was to show how these behaviors were not callous or extreme or chauvinistic, but motivated by respect and geared towards preventing any debasement of a sister's character. He doesn't look at her because he respects her too much to lust after her. He doesn't walk behind her because he won't leer at her. He keeps his distance out of respect, in spite of the overwhelming emotion he has. It’s for Islam, not spite it
That I will not meet your eye
And it’s not romantic cowardice
That keeps my smiles shyWhen I wrote this poem three years ago, I had been trying to see inside the heart of a person facing temptation in love but resisting for the sake of Allah and for the sake of the sister's dignity. But sister my devotion
To your honor is foremostWe have enough of people giving in to temptation, of letting their desires override their morals and letting love be a higher god, this was supposed to be different. This was a brother dealing successfully and patiently with what he feels, not letting it go towards haram, but waiting to make his relationship halal, and until then, doing his best. So until Allah, He blesses me
And you become my other half
I will always close my ears
To the melody of your laughWhy am I explaining myself right now? Well, apparently this poem has been misunderstood. Because I wrote it, what I meant is crystal clear to me and I therefore had no mental pause about posting this publicly. But the way people have been interpreting it has been very off from what I meant. 'I love you,' is what this brother is saying, 'but for the sake of Allah and Islam and you, I will keep my distance until Allah makes you mine. And until that happens, don't think my behaviour is rude or chauvanistic, I'm keeping my distance out of respect for you.' I seek refuge in Allah and seek his forgiveness for sins I have committed against others or against my own soul. Any good is from Allah and any bad is from shaitan or my own self, astaghfirullah wa atubu ileih. Labels: Poetry
From the Homely Brother
I want you too much to take you And cherish you too much to cheapen So sister accept my distance And watch my love slowly deepen I am but one man among many Who longingly thinks to savor Your warmth, your eyes, your smile, And wonder at its flavor My place among them is common Of merits, I cannot boast But sister my devotion To your honor is foremost And I alone among them Nearly burst with wrath When he of lusting eyes Stood and blocked your path When he of thieving hands Stole a caress from yours When he stood damn close to you As he would with common whores As I stood in my rage You stood in virgin shame I’d come to your defense If you’d only call my name If only you would see me As more than just a beard If only you could think of me As more than religiously weird It’s for Islam, not spite it That I will not meet your eye And it’s not romantic cowardice That keeps my smiles shy It’s not because I fear you That I will not call your name And when I call you sister I’m trying to be tame It’s not that you’re inferior It’s just that I’m so base I haven’t the control To gaze into your face Without my heart missing beats Without forgetting to be ‘brother’ Without wishing your love Was for me, and no other So until Allah, He blesses me And you become my other half I will always close my ears To the melody of your laugh I will always close my eyes To the beauty of your face. I will kindly ask my heart To beat at normal pace. I will walk a step before you And cast no looks from behind I will move my lips in zhikr To keep yours off my mind. For I want you too much to take you And cherish you too much to cheapen Sister, accept my distance. Sister, watch my love deepen. -Zeba Khan (Dec 7,2002) Labels: Poetry
Rubaiyaat xiii-xv
xiii- (Regrets)To think that I have wept for the fourteen hundred years That have passed between the time of the Messenger and I Yet spent my night in play while he in longing tears Lord guide me by his piety before I too should die. *** xiv-If ever you should find me In prayer, in tears, at night Don't ask me what's wrong For once, things might be right. *** xv- (The intellectual is sometimes suffocated under the weight of his own arguments)Seek seek seek, and man says ye shall find But man for all his seeking has left his faith behind Swiftly how he races now in philosophical discontent Tightly how his eyes closed now to plain truths that his Lord has sent. i-vvi-xiiLabels: Poetry
Rubaiyaat iix-x
Faith need only whisper
Lips need barely part
The angels of your Lord
Write the longing of your heart
***
Place gently, my young worshipper
Your head upon the floor
God asks that you be humble
Not limb-weary and sore
***
Kneel gracefully, young worshipper
For it is no less than art
And the motion of submission
Is a still and restful part
-Abez Labels: Poetry
Rubaiyaat vi & vii
Ramadan
I seek refuge in Allah
From evil and my self
Being this month same
And I alone to blame
***
Arms, legs, limbs
Arranged around a hole
And still the empty body
Not as hungry as the soul.
Rubaiyaat i-iii
Rubaiyaat iv & vLabels: Poetry
Rubaiyaat iv & v
Let all vice be abolished
I say we need it not
I do not need to burn myself
To know that fire's hot
You say I cannot know
Unless I partake as well
I say I can know heaven
Without being first in hell Labels: Poetry
Rubaiyaat i-iii
All Praise is for Allah
Who burdened me with pain
And bent my stiffened neck
Into sajda once again
The weight upon my shoulders
Pushed me closer to the floor
Facedown on the earth
I found refuge once more
***
All praise is to my Lord
Who permitted me to sin
I thank Him for repentance
And the love I found therein
- Abez
Labels: Islam, Poetry
There
There
There is a nagging gnawing on the inside of my self
It’s the feeling of my body giving up before its time.
In the quiet twilight hours between one prayer and another
Once I prayed for health
Now I pray for peace.
There is a writhing moaning in the deepness of my heart
It’s the devil down within me who wants me to complain.
But I have built a fortress with the patience of my faith
And I will shelter there
However harsh the pain.
There is a desperate longing in the reach of my embrace
For life and love and happiness and gentle many years
But I shall fold my arms around the comfort of my prayer
And I may often cry
But never bitter tears.
Labels: Poetry
The gears that should be working
Should be cranking out the stuff
But they’re busy turning turbines
And they have no time for fluff
So forgive my lack of update
And instead accept this rhyme
And if you enjoyed reading it
And if you have the time
Feel free to leave your own verse
Don’t feel shy you guys
It’s Sensei’s Rhyming Rumble,
And you may win first prize!
(wah wah wah)
(mukarrar mukarrar)
And to get the poultry…err…poetry juices flowing, here are some classic poems that have been recited in my house since time immemorial. Well, here are two that don’t require too much censoring anyway… What can I say, I have two brothers. :p
There once was a man from Pakistan
Who had six fingers on each hand.
He said, “This is great,
But I’d rather have eight!
If I cut two in half, then I can.” - Aniraz/Momma
There once was a man from ‘Pindi
Who habitually et too much bhindi*
And too many greens
And way too much beans.
Of course, they made him, uh…you know.
He broke his wudu a lot, ok? – (Anonymous)Labels: Poetry
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Abez Is... 
