In Praise of الله
a poem
Is it the memory of neighbors past
That stirs my soul and brings forth tears anew?
Or is it breezes from the distant shores,
Or lightning's flash that dances in the night?
What ails your eyes, that tears flow endlessly,
Despite your pleas for them to cease their stream?
What troubles your heart, that it won't find peace,
Though you implore it to regain its calm?
Can love be hidden when the eyes betray,
Shedding their tears, the heart aglow with fire?
Were it not for love, you'd not weep at ruins,
Nor feel unrest at thoughts of cypress trees.
How can you deny the love you now feel,
When eyes and ailment testify so clear?
Love has etched lines of fear upon your face,
Like yellow roses tinged with reddish hue.
Yes, thoughts of the beloved come at night,
Transforming pleasure into sweetest pain.
O you who chide me for the love I bear,
Excuse me, for you know not of its depth.
My state of love is now an open book,
No longer hidden from the world around.
Though you advised me, I did not give heed,
For lovers often turn a deafened ear.
I doubted wisdom in the elders' words,
Yet now I see their counsel held the truth.
Indeed, my soul—though flawed and slow to learn—
Has wandered far beyond what wisdom speaks.
Grey strands have crept like heralds of the truth,
Yet I have smiled and welcomed them with peace.
For every guest that settles on the brow,
Deserves a feast of deeds and glad repose.
Though I have little laid in store for them,
Still do I bless the hour they came to stay.
Had I but known the grace that age bestows,
I would have worn its signs with open joy,
Not covered them with dye or cloaks of pride,
But praised the years that carved them on my face.
And who can tame the soul that leaps too far,
Like steeds unbridled racing toward the wind?
Yet even horses yield to gentle hands—
So too the self, if lovingly restrained.
Indulge not sin to still desire's flame,
For fire feeds on the logs we throw within.
The soul, like children weaned, will learn to rest—
What once it craved, it may grow not to miss.
So train the self as shepherds guard their flock,
Let not its feet stray deep into the wild,
Where pastures green may hide a serpent's tongue
And sweetness mask the bitter taste of harm.
Beware both hunger’s ache and full excess,
For both extremes may blind the path of truth.
Let tears well up to cleanse the vision's wrongs
And guard the gates where glances fall astray.
Oppose the whisperings of pride and shade—
Though clothed as friends, they bear the saboteur.
If they should speak of love, trust not their speech;
For oft the devil speaks in honeyed words.
And if I preach, yet fail to walk the way,
Then hold my words as dreams not yet fulfilled.
A barren field yields not a fruitful tree,
Though seeds of hope were once so gladly sown.
I speak of faith, yet fail to clothe myself
In steadfastness—what profit is this voice?
And as for prayers or fasting done in love,
I have but held to what was asked—no more.
Still, joy remains, for even now I live.
This breath, this grace, this glimmer in the soul—
Let every moment be a gift returned,
A turning leaf upon the book of life.
His birth declared a light from realms unseen—
A flame of peace within a world of storm.
How pure the dawn that broke upon his life,
How great the tale that sang from end to end!
That day, the East, in awe and wonder, stirred;
The palaces of Persia shook with dread,
As if their stones could feel the breath of change—
The tyrant’s walls were cracking into dust.
The throne that once stood proud now knew its end,
And empires faltered at a baby’s cry.
The sacred fires that burned a thousand years
Grew cold, as if to mourn their time was past.
The rivers, once so full and proud with life,
Now wept in silence, grieving at the shore,
While Saawah’s lake—so wide, so deep—was dry,
Its thirst a sign of something vast and new.
The water-bearer turned with empty pail,
Bewildered by the stillness of the stream,
As fire grew moist with sorrow’s blessed weight,
And water burned with joy it could not name.
The jinn cried out in voices sharp and clear,
For light had come, and truth with radiant wings,
Descending not in thunder, but in song—
A brilliance which no blindness could obscure.
The signs were plain, yet hearts refused to see;
The seers spoke, but none would heed their call.
The idols shook and toppled to the ground
As stars fell blazing from the dusky sky.
The devils fled from truth they could not bear,
As once they swarmed the gates of prophecy.
They scattered like the troops of dread Abrahah,
Who fled from stones that sang in holy hands.
Just as the whale gave up its sacred guest,
So did the world now yield a greater light—
A child, whose name would echo through all time,
A mercy born to lift both flesh and soul.
O joy beyond what speech can rightly hold,
O wondrous birth, that turned the world awake!
A dawn not of the sun, but of the soul—
To walk this earth, yet be from Heaven sent.
The trees responded to his call with joy,
Their branches bowed in praise, their trunks advanced,
As though the bark itself knew whom it served—
Each limb a verse inscribed by love’s own hand.
The winds grew calm and held their breath in awe,
While shadows gathered gently where he stood.
A cloud, soft-footed, followed where he went,
A witness to his worth beneath the sun.
By heaven’s light, the moon was split in two,
Yet each half curved in homage to his heart—
For what is light if not a path to truth,
And what is truth if not revealed through him?
The cave became a sanctuary of grace,
Where silence shielded eyes too blind to see.
Though armies searched, they passed the Prophet by—
Mistaking cobwebs spun by fate for peace,
And doves' still wings for absence, not for love.
No fortress held him, no high wall enclosed—
He bore no shield but that of trust divine.
And when the world grew heavy, I sought him,
And found beneath his gaze a calm so vast
That time itself stood still to bless my soul.
I asked not wealth, yet gained the gift supreme:
The touch of hands whose mercy kissed the earth.
His dreams were not like ours—they bloomed with light,
For though his eyes found sleep, his heart stayed wake,
Alive with God, whom every night unveiled.
And from that hour his message knew no pause,
His words were truth, and truth bore no deceit.
What marvels lived within his blessed hands!
Where madness broke, his gentleness restored,
And hunger ceased when he had whispered prayer.
Rain fell in sheets upon a starving land,
And where his shadow passed, the flowers stirred,
Revived by faith, by joy, by providence—
Like rivers bursting forth to meet the sea.
O joy that flows from him through every age!
The blessings he bestowed outshine the stars,
And time remembers him in every breath,
A mercy not just spoken, but alive.
Permit me now to speak of wonders shown—
Bright signs of mercy drawn from Heaven’s light,
As torches flaring on the distant hills
To welcome those who wander through the dark.
Each miracle he bore was not for fame,
But truth made visible in time and space.
As pearls, though loose, retain their luster still,
So shines his worth beyond the praise of men.
What soul would not desire to lift its gaze
Toward one whose virtues overflow the world,
Whose habits form the pattern of the just,
Whose noble heart bore all with equal grace?
Fresh words from God—eternal in their source—
Descended not with age, but timelessness.
They speak of what has passed and what's to come,
Of vanished tribes, of futures still unborn.
And yet these words remain, unmarked by time,
Unlike the fleeting signs of those before.
This book abides where other marvels fade;
Its proof is in its breath, its pulse, its voice.
No doubt can touch it—no dispute can dim
Its clarity, so radiant and sure,
That even foes were silenced in their pride
And turned away not out of truth, but fear.
Its beauty cast aside their empty words,
As noble hands protect the veiled and pure.
Its meanings rise like oceans at the wind—
Wave upon wave of wisdom, love, and light.
It passes all the treasures of the deep,
And none can count the gems it daily yields.
Though read again and yet again, it gives
New joy, new peace, new purpose to the soul.
Its sound consoles the one who chants its lines,
Who hears in every verse a doorway wide
To mercy vast, to hope that does not fail.
O fortunate the one who grips it firm,
Who keeps it close, and walks within its light.
If fire surrounds you, let these verses pour
Their cooling balm, like rain upon the coals.
It is the fount of Kauthar, where the dark
Is washed from weary hearts with silver streams.
It is the bridge, it is the scale, it is
The breath of justice laid between all men.
No wonder that the jealous turn away,
For blindness often wears the mask of pride.
They mock what they, in silence, crave to know—
Like eyes that squint against the rising sun,
Or mouths that spit sweet water in their thirst.
O you, the noblest one to whom men turn,
Their hopes like rivers seeking out the sea,
They ride swift camels over blazing sand
To reach the threshold of your radiant grace.
You are the sign for those whose hearts still seek,
The lesson writ in glory for the wise,
The bounty vast for souls that make it theirs—
A mercy flowing wide across the world.
You journeyed through the hush of sacred night,
From holy ground to holier ascent,
As full moon sailing through the starless dark,
Your light unchallenged in the silent sky.
You rose until you touched the veiled unknown,
Where no foot ever pressed, nor dream could reach—
The nearness of “two bows” from the Divine,
Beyond the grasp of word or intellect.
The prophets watched in awe your honored place,
As servants gaze upon their sovereign’s face.
You bore the banner past the seventh gate,
While stars stood still in breathless wonderment.
No rival dared approach that blessed path,
For you surpassed all heights with silent ease.
All stations yielded to your higher rank,
Invited to the Throne beyond all thrones.
There, secrets folded deep in light were shown,
What eyes could not behold, your soul perceived.
And you returned with every grace bestowed,
With ranks so high they rest beyond all reach,
And gifts no scale could measure nor contain—
O joy for us who stand beneath your shade!
Rejoice, O souls within the fold of faith,
For by God’s grace we hold an anchor firm—
A pillar that no storm shall ever move.
When God proclaimed His truth through you, His call,
The world was drawn toward love’s highest light.
And by the noblest Messenger we rose
To be the noblest people in the world.
The hearts of those who bore him enmity
Were seized with dread upon his rising star,
As sheep that stray and start at sudden sound,
Not knowing whence the fear, yet still they flee.
He met them not with hatred, but with truth,
Which cut more cleanly than the sharpest blade.
And where the lances danced upon the field,
Their pride was humbled like meat laid for crows.
They longed for death, more dear than shameful life,
And envied even corpses borne by birds.
They wandered nights unmarked by calendar,
Unless those nights bore peace of sacred months.
It seemed as though the truth had entered in—
A guest within their house, both bold and kind—
With warriors who yearned to serve the Lord,
And tasted faith more sweet than mortal bread.
He rode before them like a sea in flood,
A tide of strength on steeds that thundered loud,
And struck as if a mountain cracked the sky.
Each soul who fought for him did so with joy,
Not for the world, but for a higher wage:
To break the back of falsehood and despair.
Islam, long exiled from its native hearth,
Returned as daughter to her father's home,
No more bereft, no longer dressed in grief,
But cherished as a bride by noble hands.
If doubt remains, then ask the ghosts of war:
Of Badr’s plain, of Uhud’s rocky flanks,
Or Hunayn’s echo, where the earth drank blood.
Death touched them harsher than a plague’s embrace,
Their shining swords were dipped in enemy,
Their arrows carved on flesh like lines of verse—
No poet could outwrite their calligraphy.
Distinguished were they, marked like flowering trees
Whose scent declares them even to the blind.
The wind of heaven bore their fragrance forth,
Each warrior blooming like a hidden rose.
They seemed like vines upon the mountain crest—
Not frail, but firm, not placed by bridle's grip,
But rooted deep in valor and resolve.
The hearts of foes would flutter into ash,
Confused by how so soft a voice could roar.
The one with him could face a lion's den
And find the beast retreat with humbled heart.
He never left a friend unguarded once,
Nor faced an enemy who stood for long.
His people rested safe within his care,
As cubs within a lion’s steady gaze.
So many minds were turned by sacred words,
So many doubts dissolved in light divine.
Behold: a man unschooled, yet wise as time,
An orphaned youth, yet crowned with noble grace.
What miracle more wondrous could there be—
Than perfect knowledge blooming from no book,
And flawless conduct born from solitude?
I served him well with praises from my soul,
And through such service seek my Lord’s pardon
For all the days I gave to lesser things—
To fleeting verse, to honor bought with breath—
These acts, like garlands on a sacrificial beast,
Now circle me with fears I cannot flee.
In youth I yielded to the self’s command,
Its pleasures sweet, its promises untrue;
And what remains? Regret and ashes cold.
Alas, my soul! A trader poorly skilled
Who sold the truth for trinkets of the world,
And did not bargain wisely for the next.
The man who gives away the life to come
For present ease has sold his soul too cheap.
Yet though I erred, I know my bond holds fast—
My covenant is not in tatters yet.
My Prophet, mercy’s crown and pledge of grace,
Will not abandon one who bears his name,
And I am named with his most blessed name—
Muhammad, whom God made the seal of truth.
If on the Day of Standing he should not
Extend his hand to lift me from the crowd,
Then cry aloud: O how the foot has slipped!
But how can he refuse one filled with hope,
Or turn away his neighbor in disgrace?
I’ve given all my thought to singing praise,
And found no safer shelter for my soul
Than in the light that shines from him alone.
What bounty lies beyond his noble reach?
For even rain gives blossoms to dry stone.
And though I sought the flowers of this world,
They faded in my hand like plucked desire.
But still I sang, as Zuhayr once had sung,
In praise of Haram—so I praised my Lord.
O most munificent of all mankind!
When grief descends and mercy seems withdrawn,
None shelters me but you, my intercessor.
And should I stand before the Judge of Wrath,
Your station shall not suffer for my sake.
For part of your great gift is this life’s grace,
And part the next, in gardens still unseen.
You know the secrets written on the Pen,
The hidden lines preserved upon the Scroll.
O soul, despair not for your mountain sins!
For when God wills, the heaviest become light,
And mercy may be meted out in full—
A scale where weight of guilt invites more grace.
O Lord, do not forsake my rising hope,
Nor let the ledger of my life condemn me.
Be kind, for patience flees when trials come,
And I am weak where hardship casts its shade.
So send, O God, Your blessings like the rain—
A steady cloud of peace and gentleness—
Upon the Prophet, purest of Your signs,
And on his kin, his friends, and those who walk
The path of piety and wisdom’s light,
Of noble hearts and hands that give with joy.
Be pleased with Abu Bakr, just and wise,
With Umar’s strength, and Uthman’s shining faith,
And Ali, lion-hearted, firm and true—
Let peace be theirs as long as breezes stir
The rustling leaves of cypress in the East,
And caravan songs echo through the dusk.
And lastly, Lord, forgive both scribe and reader,
And grant us all that’s good, O Lord Most High,
Most Generous, Most Bountiful, Most Near.