Continuity

All dirt and no seeds
My mind is a wasteland of thoughts
Trying to find a dream

Its all in simplicity
One foot after the other
But there are people piling deeds in their sleep

A fool would sprint a marathon
But these idle feet grow restless
And it isn't about shortcuts
Just reassurance that it'll be enough

Dreams elude me nowadays
But I'm searching for a deed so pleasing to God
I think when I find it
I won't tell a soul
About the gardens in my heart


Reported by ‘Aisha (RA): Allah’s Apostle (peace be upon him) said, “Do good deeds properly, sincerely and moderately and know that your deeds will not make you enter Paradise, and that the most beloved deed to Allah’s is the most regular and constant even though it were little.”
Bukhari

The Messenger (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) said: “When a man dies, his good deeds come to an end except three: ongoing charity, beneficial knowledge and a righteous son who will pray for him.”
 Muslim, 3084. 

“Amazing is the affair of the believer, verily all of his affair is good and this is not for no one except the believer. If something of good/happiness befalls him he is grateful and that is good for him. If something of harm befalls him he is patient and that is good for him” Saheeh Muslim #2999

A Gift

Bought on whim
It reminded me of you for
All the wrong reasons
Means meet ends behind
A small silver box

Associations taint our spirits
Sins said with our names
Till we forget the sting of unfamiliarity

Forgive me but the only gift worth giving
Is taking you by the hand and running
But how limp are our hands
We're packaged in lies
We suffocate

I'm sending empty parcels to God
Hoping he will fill these void vessels
With lightened chests and a once lost innocence

"When the servant performs a sin a black spot appears on his heart, and if he seeks forgiveness this black spot is removed, and if he returns to sin the black spot grows until his heart becomes black, and this is the 'Raan' about which Allah said, 'On their hearts is the covering of sins (raan) which they used to earn.'" (Qur'an, 83:14)
(Hadith An-Nasa'i and Al-Tirmidhi)

Epidemic

There is an onset of fever
Brewing within a timid heart
My silence left incomplete without
A few paltry lines
In dedication to people who'll seldom read

There is a heaviness of undone deeds
Of pulling words that were never said
Till all that is left is the fabric of life
Exposing the raw mistakes of cold limbs

Shall I smile because I cannot cry
Shall the names be changed
Whilst stories remained untouched

It's not raining, it's not Friday
But history has taught me
That it doesn't need to be

All these half words lodge in my throat
There is an discomfort to this familiarity

I'm on the wrong side of the street

It is reported that Al-Fudayl b. ‘Ayyād – Allāh have mercy on him – said:Whoever sees a wrongdoing from his brother and then laughs in front of him has betrayed him.

Abū Bakr Al-Daynūrī, Al-Mujālasah wa Jawāhir Al-’Ilm 5:115

Good News

She tried to write with rain
Though her reflections ran true
I am lack of sincerity
Muddled advices
And time in the pursuit of you

She tried to write with rain
Cup destiny in the palms of her hand
Tired limbs regress
Pillows find heavy heads

She tried to write with rain
But words morph
Mercy paints masterpieces
Across open horizons at dawn
I asked for little
And I got more

I tried to write with rain
Time passes slowly
Around familiar streets
Plot twists weave in and out of hearts
I watch your life turn
Almost a stranger traverses traffic
Open arms
I hear the final chapter play

You don't need to do any more

By the forenoon
And by the night when it is still
Your Lord (O Muhammad ()) has neither forsaken you nor hated you.
And indeed the Hereafter is better for you than the present
And verily, your Lord will give you (all i.e. good) so that you shall be well-pleased.
Did He not find you (O Muhammad ()) an orphan and gave you a refuge?
And He found you unaware and guided you?
And He found you poor, and made you rich ?
Therefore, treat not the orphan with oppression,
And repulse not the beggar;And proclaim the Grace of your Lord Surah Duha 

Frozen

It would be a dream to say
The pages of my book drew dust
That nothing passed in my absence
If life was to freeze on peace
Are my hands too numb to read
All the things I've written

So tell me about my departure
Oh but how could it be
When you were on my lips
My hands cupped
Towards a Lord of all the Lords
Upon a throne,
Within a night
Amongst the rain
I hope that some things
Would never change

If I was an ice sculpture
In that moment
All I am in need of
is shade

Jabbir reported :I heard Allah's Apostle (ﷺ) as saying. Every servant would be raised (in the same very state) in which he dies
Sahih Muslim 2878

There are seven whom Allah ill shade in His Shade on the Day when there is no shade except His Shade: a just ruler; a youth who grew up in the worship of Allah, the Mighty and Majestic; a man whose heart is attached to the mosques; two men who love each other for Allah's sake, meeting for that and parting upon that; a man who is called by a woman of beauty and position [for illegal intercourse], but be says: 'I fear Allah', a man who gives in charity and hides it, such that his left hand does not know what his right hand gives in charity; and a man who remembered Allah in private and so his eyes shed tears.' 
Narrated by Abu Hurairah

Sahih al-Bukhari & Sahih Muslim 

Train Ride

It feels as if noises accumulate
Like falling snow on shoulders jutted
Outwards with pride , inwards with
Nothing much, masks the sound
Of passersby
One face ticks over to the next
And you'll see them filling time
Filling boxes on crosswords
Reading headlines that
Few make time to do anything about
And the worst thing is
When you see eyes in thought
Quiet crawling on the skin
The lids they
Close
How strange? How ajeeb
Over the most beneficial thing
They choose sleep
Truly, did he think that he would not have to return (to Us)!
Surah Inshiqaaq

One Autumn Later

Surpassed Part II

She was a winter coat, a long scarf and boots reaching her knees under her abaya. Her gloved hands gripped an oversized folder and occasionally a thermostat filled with coffee . She was the type to stay late at the library , typing furiously, finishing biro pen after biro pen, one job to the next. She was also the type to wait until the librarian was preoccupied and climb two flights of stairs, to walk back and forth between the shelves , just to admire long forgotten books. You’d seldom know she was there at all save for the occasional dusty finger print.

It was 4:07 when she left the house that morning, an old backpack slung across her shoulders. Less thought more walk.  There was dawn not quite sprawled across city pavements and a girl walking with such determined footing you’d never guess.

A small, black stairwell opposite the park.

It didn’t take much, just the kick of a heel, her boots flung surprisingly neatly into a corner, her bag much the same, with a small chink –a bracelet she didn’t have the heart to throw away.