In Praise of the Prophet: Poem for the Mawlid

In the Name of God: The Extremely and Eternally Loving and Caring
In honor of the Mawlid of our beloved Messenger Muhammad (pbuh), I penned this never-before-seen poem:


The sun, and day, are hot yet still ’twas dark
The brute and bully reigned with no regard
The lack of light shined forth and was so stark
The lack of light made life so rough and hard

And in this muck of being came His light
Before his coming, father passed away
Along the way, his mother sees great sight
And told to call His Name as she did lay

And then he came, in splendor large and grand
The son of chieftain grand, who basked in glow
As breath was taken slow, she held his hand
And he with Grace and Light of God did glow

“The Praised” became the name of this pure child
At last! The world will bask again in light
On path of Jesus Christ he tames the wild
And brings the Light of God for all in sight

My Lord, My God! I am not worthy true
To have his face become of dust and blood
And yet, shed blood he did as message grew
With wisdom flowing as fast as Great Flood

For God so loved the world that He me sent
A Bearer true, the son of Patriarch
With Word of Truth and Love that can’t be bent
Who calls that we, to God with love, embark

And thus, we must each day to all proclaim
The Grace in which we bask all day and night
And We must never feel at all ashamed
That we are blessed inside Muhammad’s light


Addas: A Poem For The Prophet’s Birthday

In The Name Of God: The Infinitely Merciful and Compassionate Beloved Lord

I saw you there, feet bloodied and raw
Aghast at the display of man’s deep flaw
As you sat there in rest and shade from sun
My master gave me task to see it done

“Take these to him, our distant cousin true.
Do not avoid this task. So see it through.”
And so I brought you grapes, so fresh and sweet
A welcome gift as you – from hate – retreat

As blood and sweat do flow from foot and shin
You take my my gift, still reeling from great sin
Mine eyes do widen when I hear from thee
“In Name of God.” An act with which I agree

“How say this phrase? Your kith this word eschew.”
“From where does brother hail? Please tell me true.”
“From Nineveh do fathers flow in line.”
“Ah! Land of Jonah grand, O friend of mine!”

“How do you know of Jonah? Your kith does not.”
“He is my kin; we both are in God’s lot.”
At once I saw a thing not seen before
A light that shone, so bright, like those of yore

And then I fell to kiss your holy hand
I knew that I beheld a Prophet grand
My masters did then come, with anger bold
“What was this? Your foul move we did behold!”

“The man that sits beneath that tree with shade
His countenance has light that God has made!”
“Leave not your ways!” They say with scorn
“‘Tis best,” they say, “to keep on path that’s worn.”

“But nay! This is the path of light, you see
The path of love, of grace, felicity!”
Though sad, was I, when you did wince in pain
When paths did cross, ’twas my eternal gain!

A Poem For His Birthday

In the Name of the Kind and Beautiful Precious Beloved

On that day, the world was lighted
Darkness was on that day banished
The day bright, Heaven was delighted
The rule of man, at last, would vanish

Balconies and curtains of power shaken
Criers with another book would scream
“O sons of man, your souls awaken!”
For his light on all places would gleam

Family and friend would be utterly amazed
A father twice over was overly pleased
Signs of his greatness continue to daze
His coming is as a cooling breeze

“Continually Praised” is what he was called
A name of grace for all the ages
Forces of evil will forever be appalled
And his wisdom would feed a myriad of sages

Year after year, this day we rejoice
We revel in the knowledge that he came
For he gave our spirits a beautiful voice
And the portrait of Prophets a majestic frame

If They Only Knew…

In the Name of the Kind and Beautiful Precious Beloved

Clearly, those Christian “patriots” who want to silence TLC’s “All-American Muslim” series have no idea what is in our scripture and our faith about Jesus Christ and the Blessed Virgin. Clearly, these people have no idea about Islam in general. Otherwise, they would not try to bully advertisers into dumping “All-American Muslim” for a truly silly reason: that the Muslims on “All-American Muslim” are “too ordinary.”

No, my house is not decked out with lights or a Christmas tree. Yet, I still love Jesus so very much. As this poem I penned attests:


What was it like, when you stood there alone?
Praying in the East, on you His Light ever shone?

What was it like, when the angel came before thee?
Frightening you greatly, shattering your tranquility?

What was it like, when you were told the news:
That unto you was born the Messiah of the Jews?

Did you not know, that you were more than worthy?
That God chose you above all, that He favored you greatly?

Did you not know, that before you came to be,
The Lord already declared that magnificent were thee?

What was it like, when the Spirit was blown:
When our master was conceived, a miracle to be shown?

What was it like, as you left in fear?
Afraid of the slander that may be placed in the ear?

How did it feel, when the pangs came in earnest?
Did you feel deserted, that the Lord had no interest?

What did it sound like, when our master to you spoke?
How soothing was his voice, covering you like a cloak?

How sweet was the fruit that fell from the tree?
Did it comfort your mind, fill you with tranquility?

How sharp were the stares when, with him, you arrived?
Did their shock give you pain, that they would think you would connive?

How powerful was his voice, when he proclaimed the truth?
Were they amazed by his grace, as he shattered the lies of the uncouth?

O Blessed Mother, upon you I perpetually pray for peace.
And also upon your son, I pray blessings cover him as a fleece.

And if, O Blessed Soul, I get a chance to kiss your hand,
It would be the most honored place I could ever stand!

Read more:

What Is The Matter With Thee?

In the Name of the Kind and Beautiful Precious Beloved Lord

What is the matter with thee?
Why the dread and melancholy?
Simply because you must go without food?
Your disposition sours and dark is your mood?

What is the matter with thee?
Why from this blessed month do you flee?
Simply because from drink you must abstain?
You shake in fear and grimace in disdain?

It is only for a time that is truly short
That you must fast and wait in this sort
Do not fear, my weak and pathetic soul
You will have your drink and dinner roll

Yet, don’t you see and actually realize?
Don’t you stop and think to recognize?
That as you frown because you can’t take a sip,
You will embark on an everlasting sacred trip?

Don’t you see and pause to think?
That beyond that sweating, ice-cold drink
Is a world of blessing as far as you can see
Full of His Bliss, Grace, Love, and Mercy?

So stand up tall, my weak and pathetic friend!
As all good things, Ramadan will eventually end
But, endure the pain with grace for just a while
And our Precious Beloved will look down with a smile

So, my soul, what is the matter with thee?
Why shake you in dread and melancholy?
This is the time to live in His Love and Mercy
And for our struggle, the Precious Beloved will set us free

Book Signing at ISNA

In the Name of the Beautiful, Kind Precious Beloved Lord

God willing, I will be signing copies of my book, Noble Brother: The Story of the Prophet Muhammad in Poetry, at the Soundvision booth at the Annual Conference of the Islamic Society of North America in Rosemont, IL. This will take place Saturday July 2, 2011 from 6-7:30 PM. Hope to see you there!

How Did You Do It?

In the Name of God, the Kind, the Beautiful

How did you do it, My Beloved King?
How did you manage to hear the birds sing?
When the pain of their loss would always ring,
In the evening, and in the morning, first thing?

How did you do it, my Knighted Captain?
How did you hide the grief you were in?
How did you manage to bring laughter and grin,
And not allow the torture push you into sin?

How did you do it, my Saintly Master?
How did you let the grief take you faster
Back to the Precious Beloved Master,
And not let anyone in on the pain to infer?

Did you think about Al Qasim as you entered the City?
Did you marvel at the color of his eyes, so pretty?
Did you clutch at your chest and resist the self-pity?
Or let a tear flow down your face in the midst of felicity?

Did the image of Abdullah oft enter your mind?
Could you almost see him when you would look behind?
Was his face and smile ever so kind?
Did the grief of his loss almost make you blind?

What was it like to bury Ruqiyyah, your daughter?
How was the pain in your heart as you held her?
How was it that you did not ever falter?
And let the torture change your faith or alter?

And then, you had to bury another ever so quickly.
Yet, warmth and light still came from you freely.
Did you think of her often, when the silence fell so slowly,
And there was none but you alone, thinking of her dearly?

I think of my heart, all torn without a seam.
And sometimes, I think I am in a dream.
But then I am awed by your amazing gleam,
For you buried Zainab without ever a scream.

How badly did it hurt to hold Ibrahim, so lifeless?
And clutch him in your arms, hold and caress?
How badly was was the torture of his egress?
How many more days did his loss bring distress?

How did you do it, my Beloved King?
How did you manage to hear the birds sing?
When the pain of their loss would always ring,
In the evening, and in the morning, first thing?