Touching Destiny

Touching Destiny 

If I could touch Destiny…

I would touch her face
and run my fingertips along her projecting jaw line
and raise my hand, held out open under her chin
to catch the tears that drip off of it
after lingering, hanging with an insisting refusal.
I would let my hand sting with their touch upon my skin.
I would not gently run my fingers,
ones transfixed to ease suffering,
up her boney cheek to the source of the tears,
where the chill of her skin disappears
and only burning rages on.
I would not gently press my fingers against the depressions under her eyes
to collect and alleviate the stinging sensation about to fall forth.
I would not.

I would run the palm of my hand
along a few strands of her thin, oily hair
to get a little of its sticky moisture
captured in the lines of my palm.
I would not stroke my fingers
through the side of her throbbing scalp,
letting her hair slip in between them,
to massage some of the pulsing vessels to relaxation.
I would not.

I would run the tips of my fingernails
secretively along her pale, shaking arm
and hold the back of my hand against the back of hers
and feel the rush of quivers.
I would not slide down to my knees
and grab onto her hand to hold against my chest
and press my forehead and nose against her arm.
I would not kneel at her slender, blistered feet
at the desperate attempt to revive her with my viability.
I would not.

But what can I do?
As I stand here for so long
looking down into this distant abyss,
over the brim of this precipice,
with all of the possibilities too far, or simply nonexistent,
to let my tirelessly searching eyes rest upon,
let alone comprehend with the limitations of my mind.
My intellect can never answer why.

Every night when the teasing light of the stars
cannot suffice to aid me in my chase,
I turn my back to the edge and face her again,
standing there feebly,
like everything inside of me about to break.

I stand again,
face to face with her,
as I notice a glimmer,
a twinkle seen so often,
I grew accustomed to ignore this minute detail of her appearance.
It came from the adorning stars above.

I look into that sparkle
in an endless black ocean of her eyes,
which tears at my longing gaze
to let go of what I cannot hold.

An appearance such as hers never came to me to redo.
It came as the same way it must go.

If I could touch Destiny…
I would make no alteration to her perfection.

“And with Him are the keys of the Ghaib (all that is hidden), none knows them but He. And He knows whatever there is in (or on) the earth and in the sea; not a leaf falls, but He knows it. There is not a grain in the darkness of the earth nor anything fresh or dry, but is written in a Clear Record.” [Qur’an, Surat ul-An’aam, 6:59]

Streams from Sins

Streams from Sins 

All my cries got muffled
by the thundering around the cage.
And I look down into the Stream at my feet,
to only see the reflection of an animal.

With every cold bullet of rain hitting my skull,
another ricochet of self-hatred stung through the blood in my brain.
Mocking me, taunting me, scorching me
to the ground,
along with the iron weights hanging around my neck,
their cold grip burning into me.
Always the most severe task for me-
resisting became impossible,
and the ground became a mirage of relief
as I stared into the Stream and everything spun around
and the roars of beating rain
began to heighten in intensity and unify with a scream in my mind…

And then I see myself back.
Standing there tall and proud
with “Muslim” written across my tunic’s chest-
the outline of the word gleaming,
always the world in my hands, the expertise in my mind, the praise in my presence–
and nothing in my heart.
And knowing this insufficiency in my heart could cause me to die,
I would creep out every night
when the fog would settle in and the chills would begin,
dressed in a cloak thinking it could keep me a little warm,
and a scarf around my neck, with one end always dropping down,
and covering the chest of my tunic.
I would walk the entire way erasing the footprints I kept leaving,
my hands getting grimier,
and wincing at every sound and shadow, “No one must know…”
Then, I would arrive at my destination,
the place where I would indulge in killing myself every night,
but somehow be alive every morning,
at which point I would go back to my residence,
back to everything,
and everyone handing daggers with which to do my night’s work again.
I only did it for the ephemeral warmth it brought me
because I needed another Stream, even a polluted one, since a Stream of Tears failed to exist.

So here I am. Imprisoned.
I imprisoned myself.
I threw away the key. I put on the iron weights. I left myself under the rain.
I have no way out, so I let myself get pulled down to the ground-
I let this be my final killing…
The weights fall, taking my neck with them,
my surroundings disappear as my view becomes a muddy black earth,
my face smashes into the freezing slime as I yell in pain foreign words, “YA ALLAH!”
… It happened out of my innate nature as a human, I called out.
And He came to me, faster than I, as a human again, can understand.
But I asked Him why He came to me, the animal still staring back in the Stream.
He never answered.
He just brought out the key, unlocked the cage, took off the iron weights…
and made it start raining harder, warmer.
“He is mocking, taunting, scorching me again, setting me free with continuous pain.”
And then I looked down at my hands, and watched the black earth being washed off.
I stepped forward to look into the Stream
and the grime on my face cleansed and fell into the Stream- and dissolved.
I looked up to the sky, the rain cleared it too.
I could walk out, run out, go back to my freedom,
but I knew now my old ways as shackles around my wrists and ankles and neck.
“This servitude to sins must end.”
And then the rain intensified and unified again, but with something else…
And I looked down, however much I could look,
at the new Stream forming on the ground as a result of a vertical river,
originating at my face…

And I dress myself back into the tunic, and the chest gleams in entirety.
My hands at my sides bare and rough,
my mind only containing one Aspiration,
my surroundings a Hell,
and my heart pounding with life again,
as I raise my right foot to step out and leave my cage behind,
and I say, “BismillahiRahmanalGhafur…“

The Whispers and the Blessed Night

The Whispers and the Blessed Night

I slipped through the weighty waves of the silky sounds
like you moving your thick locks out of your eyes-
and I found you in Whispers.

Your Whispers wrapped me in a cloak,
like the ones from Jannah
that sheathe the righteous souls from dead bodies.
But then your cloak became worn, torn apart,
slid off my sulking shoulders,
and shredded away in pieces,
and I could only hold a few icy threads burning into my bare hands-
grasping your Whispers.

Your Whispers always beamed,
like starlight upon a dark desert path,
which lit a Path for me,
except I could not see where your light finished
and the light from Jannah started-
instead, I found they intertwined with each other…
but to my misery I only received a glimpse of you, your exemplar.
And yet, I still have your Whispers.

Even after your body vanished
and I got left here once again,
facing the unbelievable, the inconceivable;
I got left here once again,
alone with shayTaan, with seduction;
I got left here once again,
to drop this life or seal this strife,
and I realized one blessed night would not suffice,
because the heavy breaths from my regaining strength
blew away your Whispers.

Knowing I left them somewhere under the filth and grime of damnation,
my broken eyes- sharp edges of vain-
scavenged through the mountains of dirt I dug up for my grave…
And I ask: CAN I NOT HAVE MORE?
Your smell of musk enveloping all those around you,
your speech lifting the heaviest of hearts from barrens,
your stride in a rhythm with your recitation,
your eyes cascading Jannah wherever your face turned,
your smile just as brilliant in illumination as your eman-
but what of my eman?
It cannot stop shaking, breaking,
it cannot be perfection in the making,
but at the same time
it beats against the confinement of my ribs,
and I find myself trembling with the cave of Hiraa’,
I find my tears gushing with zam zam through the earth,
I find myself exalting our Lord with the prostrating trees…
As I go a little lower,
touch the ground,
touch something higher
and faith I have found-
in imitating your Whispers.

Which I now hear,
through the shrieking of this world,
and I stay with,
through the temptations of this world,
and I adore,
through the discouragement of this world,
because I want to stand close behind your sweet scent,
because I want to enter Jannah by your lead,
because I walk with my feet into your footsteps on this Path,
because I fix my eyes to where you fixed yours…
because in hope, for my nafs I strive
as I hear echoing through every day when the sun blazes high:
“My Ummah, my Ummah!”

 

Dedicated to Ummat Muhammed (sal Allahu ‘alayhi wasallam), you, and someone.

The Blessed Night

The Blessed Night

It blazes brilliantly
inside of me,
this creation

It illuminates my soul,
the growing Endurance
The Endurance that Allah planted in my once dry soil
It became rich with nutrients and moisture that night
when the moonlight seeped through the cracks
disintegrating the scratchy, sharp weeds
that used to scrape away at my soul’s thin, fragile inner walls
Such a blessed night…
When my eyes inundated and blinded with thick masses of salty tears
Such a blessed night…
When I wailed, one last time, to the Highest Throne above the Heavens
Such a blessed night…
When I discovered- the Loving
The Voice came close and warmed me,
held me still to keep me from shaking,
calmed the hot rapids on my cheeks to easy-flowing, cool rivulets
As the Wise whispered inspiration, life, and blessings into my ears, my mind, and my soul
Gently pouring realization of the soft, weightless material that existed all along
And the Eternal will exist for more millennia than the fastest stallion can race through
And for eternity, the Whisper will keep echoing inside of me,
this creation

Alhamdullilah, praise be to Allah
for coming to me in the depth and darkness of that night
all to help this lost and lonely creation of His
because He is the Merciful, the Compassionate
Because He destined me safety and for me to serve with loyalty to my Creator
Who put me together before He released me to come down
Who put me together again that night when blank shattered pieces lay inside of me,
this creation

For who the Guide facilitates this trial
so this beloved creation can keep walking on the straight path, striving for the sake of the One
For in this dunya, that is my task,
to pray, to strive, to pray, to fall, to pray, and repent, and pray, and the Protector raises me up and I pray again
For in this dunya, that is my lifestyle
And I walk with my head held high in front of the residents of this universe
and lowered in front of Allah, as His auxiliary
For in this dunya, that is who I am

 

Dedicated to someone.