Friday, 12 October 2012


There is a hook in the top drawer by the mirror,
Wrapped in off white thread and from its tail grows
An unfinished kufi crocheted.

I deliberated much on what to make him.
If he was a girl frilly frocks would look so cute
And for a time I settled on baby shoes but alas he did not have
Two left feet as the looping of this thread lacked the expertise.
A bib made lovingly with these hands would do but
I couldn't bear to have my labour of love dribbled on.

So I though about his gift like you would do a name,
Something he could live up to , that encourages with sweet whispers
Of I have hope in you.
This Kufi was meant to be a gift that was too big
For his wide eyed head to fit into.
This kufi was meant for him aged 22 standing in front of
The kabaah on the 27th night of Ramadan leading taraveeh.

The thing about dreams is they take you to places unexpected,
They are a culmination of thoughts, feelings, actions and raised palms
We hold onto them in the quiet moments because
The world and everything in it is beneath the decree
It is when we turn to God , hurt and bruised for things greater
Than you or I, There are times in life when we must clean these worn eyes
To see the world as it really is, it is then I wonder
For that little boy asleep in a hospital bed
And I will dream for him tonight.
Of kufis and tranquility.

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