You were brave

You have done well in the contest of madness.
You were brave in that holy war.

You have all the honourable wounds
of one who has tried to find love
where the beautiful bird does not drink.

May I speak to you
like we are close and locked away together?

Once I found a stray kitten
and I used to soak my fingers in warm milk;
it came to think I was five mothers
on one hand.

Wayfarer, why not rest your tired body?
Lean back and close your eyes….
Come morning, I will kneel by your side and feed you.
I will so gently spread open your mouth
and let you taste something of my sacred mind and life.

Surely there is something wrong with your ideas of God…
O, surely there is something wrong with your ideas of God…
if you think Our Beloved would not be so tender.

Hafiz

 

A Bookworm’s Poem

An Afternoon In The Stacks

Closing the book, I find I have left my head

inside. It is dark in here, but the chapters open

their beautiful spaces and give a rustling sound,

words adjusting themselves to their meaning.

Long passages open at successive pages. An echo,

continuous from the title onward, hums

behind me. From in here, the world looms,

a jungle redeemed by these linked sentences

carved out when an author traveled and a reader

kept the way open. When this book ends

I will pull it inside-out like a sock

and throw it back in the library. But the rumor

of it will haunt all that follows in my life.

A candleflame in Tibet leans when I move.

Mary Oliver

 

Song for the Seekers

I came across something a little different. I wasn’t sure what to expect of something calling itself British Muslim Song. I’m always a little cautious around English nasheed offerings because so many well-meaning creations are just bad translations with cringe-worthy lyrics. I’m sorry Sami Yusuf, you have a lovely voice and I’m sure you’re a jolly-nice-fellow but some of your rhymes are verging on the criminal.

And then there’s also that British Muslim choir, Harmonia Alcorani, at the opposite spectrum. They have some decent lyrics, but I can’t stand that choir-boy warbling. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not being prejudicialist.  I was once an unlikely member of the school choir myself I’ll have you know, and have squawked my way through many a ‘Morning Has Broken’ and ‘When a Knight Won His Spurs’ (tho you’ll be relieved to hear you won’t catch me auditioning for Britain’s Got Talent,  like some kind of hijabi-Susan-Boyle ::shudder::). All that high-pitched soprano warbling leaves me cold. Deep bass Gregorian chanting is a little more palatable, but I couldn’t take a whole album.

Anyhow, when I came across a free download of  ‘He who Seeks (Nihavend No.34)’, sung by that very-nice-chap Dawud Wharnsby, I was a wee bit wary. At first hearing I mulled over its unfamiliar style and decided that it was different, but I wasn’t sure if I actually liked it. To give it a fair go I replayed it a couple of times…until I finally forgave it its novelty, and found myself truly moved.  I think it hints at folk music rather than straight-up choir, which probably helps. So despite my initial misgivings I have to say it’s really grown on me and I hope there’ll be more to come. Just keep the pitch low and manly, and leave out the nightingales and roasted larks.

 

Reflections of Beauty

Let’s have a little poetic inspiration. Brace yourselves, there’s a rose, and even veils, but no alcohol (metaphorical or otherwise). I declare this poem Halalian:

‘Hidden behind the veil of mystery,
Beauty is eternally free from the slightest stain of imperfection.
From the atoms of the world, He created a multitude of mirrors;
into each one of them He cast the image of His Face;
to the awakened eye, anything that appears beautiful
is only a reflection of that Face.

Now that you have seen the reflection, hurry to its Source;
in that primordial Light the reflection vanishes completely.
Do not linger far from that primal Source;
when the reflection fades, you will be lost in darkness.
The reflection is as transient as the smile of a rose;
if you want permanence, turn towards the Source;
if you want fidelity, look to the Mine of faithfulness.
Why tear your soul apart over something here one moment and gone the next?’

Jami, translation by Andrew Harvey and Eryk Hanut – ‘Perfume of the Desert’

Source: wahiduddin.net

 

Rumi-nating

I love a lot of Jalaludin Rumi’s poetry, but I have to admit some of it is a bit too flowery for my taste. Which is probably why I laughed so hard at this parody by Mr Moo:

Ruminating

When I walked across the leaves to meet your gaze
my socks got wet and I got a cold
when I wandered the desert, drunk on your love
the doctors gave me an IV drip and told me to not do something so silly again

Read the rest here

 

Will you hate me?

Time for another musical interlude. A song from Dawud Wharnsby Ali (a very-nice-chap mash’Allah), called “Will you Hate Me?”. It’s about living honestly as yourself.

You smile in the two- way mirror of my eyes
I put on my faith like I wear a disguise
You can’t see my soul
See the life that I live
Show you the mask of the best I can give
I’ve hid here afraid like a child behind
Truth of my thoughts that clutter my mind.
What if you knew about all that I do?
Things that I think,
The me that is true.

[CHORUS]

 

I am from…

There’s a writing exercise based on a template which helps to explore all those unexpected sources which make us the people we are.

Mr Moo has used it to great effect. I loved reading his post, it reminded me of buried treasures and half-forgotten things.

http://mooslim.com/blog/?p=124

 

A Land Called Paradise

And now for a short musical interlude.

“A Land Called Paradise” by Kareem Salama, with a funny little film by Lena Khan.

Aww, them Amreekan Moslems are so…cute!

 

Poem for Stargazers

Morning be salve to you

On a clear night let the stars be your alibi
Save yourself from yourself by throwing your
Head back, gazing at something many light
Years away, for whatever happens in
This position it is impossible
To cry. Cryers bend forwards, they hug and
They hide themselves, tears leave them ragged, their
Sadness seeps inwards to what’s already
Sodden. At dawn the cocks crow from the grey
Of the orchard you’re leaving; morning be
Salve to you, day be square with you, fair with
You, remember to throw your head back should
Sadness still have its hand on you, for in
This position only the cockerels can cry.

Grace Ingoldby

 

Today

It’s good to leave each day behind,

like flowing water

free of sadness.

Yesterday is gone and its tale told

Today new seeds are growing.

Rumi