To Do

 

So where are you going?

~ (The Qur’an 81:26)

 

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credit: tumblr

 

There are places to go

and things to do

But can you choose your battles well?

 

No but destiny will meet you halfway

Like a burglar

with a family of five to feed

Desperate enough to hurt

But never enough to kill

 

Who knew the ground will conspire to get you down

That you’d be watching your now riderless high horse

All your lesser evils

dragging you to divine abattoirs

vices and all

 

The one with large meat knives

made of loss and hurt and razor sharp darkness

laying your ego on the butcher’s block

 

slicing through all that wronged you

All that you wronged

let the abyss it created

flow till the very last drop is out

 

Now for the spring you must feel

Now for the places you must visit

and revisit

 

 

The masjids

The classrooms

The truth rallies

 

The books

The hearts

The consciences

 

Or again the slaughterhouses?

 

Mecca

Medina

The foot of the Kabah

 

Your grave

Your Maker

Your heaven

In no particular order, in no particular order

 


Eid Al Adha Mubarak everyone! 

Just something I wrote recently inspired by the sight of the kaabah during hajj. I don’t realize how badly I want to go until I see the kaabah this time every year and then it feels just…I am sure that’s how every muslim must feel whether they’ve made the hajj or not.

May we be one of the hajjis soon. Ameen

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Of Solidarity and Holy Seconds

I take delight in being a loner but the otherwise ignored magnitude of Ramadan isn’t lost on me.

Over a billion people fasting round the clock. Always the call to prayer going off, the prostrations, the raised palms, the empty hands somewhere.

The oft repeated invocations, the half remembered duas. The parched throats, sore legs from standing in prayer, the repentances, the remembrances, the recitations, the longing, the free flowing tears, the free falling egos.

Always someone down on their knees and foreheads begging for salvation. Or someone wetting their dry lips, water replaced with perspective.59e956e6f6ac4e4b1a298af663914e3a

Always the millions of those fasting whose fast is only between them and God. No one but God knows if there was a secret bite or a quick sip or the desperation and yet the sacrifice of both. Always someone hungry for food and forgiveness. Or someone holding their tongue, their eyes, their limbs, their whims.

Always the towering gratitude or the ocean deep regrets or the forgotten verses bought back to life, reverberating in now full masjids.

Always the Qur’an being recited somewhere, its pages turning every minute.

The short nights, the relinquished sleep, the exhilaration, the awareness, the generosity, the charity, the feeding of the poor. Or the broken hearts being slowly healed.

Someone always lagging but not the only one to do so, someone learning the intricacies of patience, the joys of delayed gratifications, the learned control. The rows and rows of famished stomachs being replenished at the same time

The transformations, the second chances, the going back, the finding the way. Always the deeds ascending and the Light descending. Infinite.

The acute sense of our humanness, the brokenness, emptiness, the loneliness, the incompleteness, the void, the faults, the flaws, the falling, the rising, the despair. And yet always the unabridged hope. Round the clock, holy seconds ticking by ever so gently, scattering mercy.

The Prophet (saw) said “The fasting person has two occasions for joy, one when he breaks his fast because of his breaking it and the other when he meets his Lord because of the reward for his fast.” (Muslim)

People united in hunger, prostration, goodness. Through ethnicities, generations, color, cultures, countries, continents, age, timezones, differences. Quietly proving God is One

May Allah accept from us. Ameen

The Audacity

“But listen to me. For one moment
quit being sad. Hear blessings
dropping their blossoms
around you.”

~ Rumi

How many times do we go in circles refusing to willingly break free. Until death does the favor or so we think. We refuse to believe in the tangible reality of the hereafter inspite of knowing how unjust and helpless this world is.

We never stop to think that may be just may be the bottomless pit of our desires can only be quenched with something just as endless. Something that is beyond the reach of this fleeting world.

And which isn’t futile to pursue?

We blame God for all the bad around us, for raped dreams, for orphaned ambitions, for oppressed second lives, half dead parenthoods as if its the first time the world has been so brutal.

Fallow stag and flies at dawn.

As if this world was made for anything but this. “Where is God?, for crying out loud,” instead of dear “God, I need you, where should I be?

I am perpetually surprised at our ability to question God when our hearts are contracting but refuse to even acknowledge His presence for every blessing we are savoring, for every step forward, for every kite not yet devoured by the wind it plays with, the missed disasters even when the last recorded sin was not accompanied by a repentance.

The audacity.

But like a too well memorized sonnet we never forget to wonder where He is?

We don’t even feel the burden of our record books on our shoulder forgetting that the pen of the angels never run out of ink. Or deeds to record.

I ask myself why it is so easy to forget that this life and every drop of blood in our veins was accounted for, just like our deeds will be.

I’ve been investigating my jaded criminal nafs across the table. But it won’t confess. It rules me with an iron fist.

“Don’t you taste the regret of pending virtues and of sins committed like clockwork?”

“Almost”