Poem on Paradise

Poem on Paradise.

We’ve seen many of those. Perhaps too many. Yet this particular literary work strikes a delicate balance of repetition, truth and imagination. I must say, this is probably my favourite Islamic poem. Favourite. Ever.

“Masha’Allah Tabarak’Allah,” as Sheikh Muhammad AlShareef would say!

A young Muslim and resident of New York City, Ammar Al-Shukri wrote this poem fairly recently and, upon its release, was immediatel circulated all throughout the Muslim community, astonishing many.

How’s that for a Jannah poem? Allahu Akbar, this brother [Masha'Allah] “spits out rhyme like it’s his mother tongue.” May Allah preserve him for our Ummah. Ameen.

That Barren Hill

Do you think father remembers

those tales he used to share? Ancient stories of little boys exchanging salaams and shaloms while figs and olives grew alongside grapes, together, under one sun and one rain shower, serving to nurture old, dampen soil.

That was long ago,

long before we ten children. Long before the earth cracked, giving in to whimpers and screamless voices and the scorching of that barren hill. Decades passed, and now

I remember

how exotic produce still grows from that parched terrain: the luscious leaves of grape vines, the basket of cactus fruit father would bring back after a morning in the market. He is older now, yet streaks of youthfulness parade brightly through his head of grey. He retained his brisk stride, each leg like the root of the firmest olive tree. Do you remember

how, together, we would stand on the rooftop every morning, peering innocently at that forbidden hill. An obsession that occupied our Palestinian veins, now buried under a little boy’s yarmulke, within the bareness of that hill, stained with auburn blood, a hill carrying the life of a single tree. A forbidden tree. Or as we called it, the Rafiki tree.

Remember?

It was like watching the dead
give birth to life.

Lasting

I recall reading this quote almost six years ago, and it has remained in my memory ever since:

“Write the bad things that are done to you in sand, but write the good things that happen to you on a piece of marble.” –Arabic Proverb

The following poem was inspired by these words.

Lasting

some sketch their legacy
on sand beneath feet. sea shells, pebbles,
and marks of existence
dwell lifelessly
on one plane—equated insignificance.
for them, marks are temporary, wavering
as waves wash by.
do you hear them?
fading whispers bleeding through the silence,
eager for listening ears.

I am cautious, noting
errors of my predecessors.
as tonight,
history will not repeat itself.
a mind saturated with aspirations,
I etch my marks in marble
to be witnessed, venerated,
remembered
by generations to come. for tonight,
history will not repeat itself.

Hazel Hues

You are not an extension of your Creator, but a reflection of His greatest signs.

You are terrestrial.

A new birth to our earth and a marvel to mankind.

Hazel hues painted over eyes, alluring, nourishing my longing for beauty. A raw beauty. Like sandy dunes of the Sahara desert–not dry, but moist, as though honey seeps through your pupils.

I think often of your purpose, as you sway back, forth…

…And back again, worshipping, forever in unison with nature. Because yes, even the leaves and trees glorify God.

Dust settles, earthy skin embraces days, months, years–life crawls away with an approaching death as time continues again and again to erode from your existence. Yet I seek comfort in your hazel eyes, as I always have.

Since the beginning of your terrestrial birth.

–To my sister

Wise Words From A Friend

Poem on the Tongue, Independence & a Right to Remain Silent, Untitled

I declare my independence.
Exercising my right to remain silent.
Silence will be my way of defiance.
It’s no computer science.
This muscle laying between my jaws,
Like a rattle snake, it hisses and bites.
Backbiting so-and-so and spreading lies.
The rest of my body pleads for its rights.
Knowing a day will come when it will be super-sized,
Beneath it a fire will ignite.
A fire that never dies,
and the body will speak because it never lies.
Stating what it heard with the ears,
What it say with the eyes,
as my sins accumulate, reaching different heights.
Because of that muscle that lies between my jaws.
Speaking through the many mikes of desire,
One solution to extinguish this fire
Is to hold this tongue and my right to remain silent.
And the tongue never gets tired.
Now tha’s one formulated science.

–Muna Hussein, my beloved sister in Islam

Merciful Exchange

I forgive every mind that belittled me for my flaws, and every tongue that slandered me with cause; I forgive the soul priding itself on my downfalls, and every effort to push me down–to watch me crawl; I forgive the laughters mocking me in my presence, and the egos that grew by occasions of my decadence; I forgive the eyes that gazed at me with lust, forbiddingly; subjecting my body, discounting my internal beauty; those assumptions you harbor of me, too, have been forgiven, as is the baseless bitterness towards me you’ve kept hidden; this dunya and its glitters have caused us all to sin; but with all the filth I’ve given you–innumerate in count, I confess–am I forgiven?

Temporary Absence

Assalamu Alaykum Wara7matullah,

Many of you have probably taken notice of the stagnancy of my blog, BUT there is a reason: I’m currently working on a few individual projects that are taking longer than expected, so I won’t post anything new until a week from now Insha’Allah.

One week…That’s all the time I need to wrap up these few tasks and then I’ll be back, bi’ithnillah.

Jazakum Allah for your patience and understanding!

Wassalamu Alaykum Wara7matullah,
Rania Abuisnaineh