The Unrightness of written rites

There's something ridiculously ironic

About pens zigzagging across color coded pages

Symbolising all we've had, them and I

As if these reams of scattered phrases

Are meant to be their rite of passage. I would rather

Some perception of mine follow them through the examination door

Where they're not behind a desk but rather in front of a wheel

Steering a life, a career, livelihoods, families, organisations,

And their own development

And even if in one moment out of a hundred thousand some concept, 

Remark, realisation is brought to life

My next decade of teaching will be indebted

Definitively in my mind, 

One's mark is not quantitative. For either of us...

ETA: ........

Worship, in its serene awareness, is a journey

The journey that we were all waiting for

And perhaps overlooked in the singular obsession

With a destination. Our everyday illusions of destinations,

Of “arriving”, conflicts with our natural purpose

This anxiety about the destination obscures the journey

So that the Arrivals Lounge is filled with senseless ghosts

And in the striving, dungeoned crevices of the earth

Live those aware and mindful and free

Surviving the shadow within the shadow

It is only when you stare into the eyes of a monster

Can you see its reflection in yourself.

You twist sideways and turn yourself upside down,

Trying to transform this image into one of Beauty

Of something you could love forever and never let go

To alter the outside because you won’t accept; it is part of you.

Murder. It is the only answer. Murder what you hate

And it will die inside of you. If  you let it live out there,

It will haunt your every step, echo your every move

Until you slowly lose contact with a reality too terrifying

To see. 

Kill it... before it kills you.

On Loving Ramadan

Children of Adam,  Rejoice, as the Moon calls,

It says, Become aware of the gentleness of my light.

Make your nights mindful and aware

Empty your days of their harsh chasing.

Restrain your daily desires, feel the pangs of withdrawal

Followed by the liberation of victory

Bathe in my soft light and stand in praise of your Sustainer

Let go of delusions of sustenance, only through restraint

Will you see through this mirage of fulfilment

You’ll return in anticipation, to your soul’s rhythm

Love and praise, praise and love, without covetousness or flattery

You would have burnt a path to your core, your spine of existence

This is the Joy you feel when you hear the Moon’s call

Children of Adam, make merry while the ethereal contentment lasts,

Tomorrow may be Eid, when the Sun’s dominance returns,

With its blazing rays of production and consumption

That overwhelm your Soul’s flickering moonbeams.

So now, dance with the Moon and

Sing the Message in evening vigils , and rejoice.

In between the signs

If this soul yearns, 

For a delicious reunion of purpose and passion

It is when, I kiss my mother's feet

And yet my soul yearns for God

Or I clasp my father's hand, 

My soul still yearns for God

Fall asleep in my husband's arms,

Caress my newborn's forehead,

Drive the newest model of my German car,

Stare in awe at the Niagara Falls, 

Summit the tremendous Uhuru;

Even if, my words are published in the world-famous publications.

My face on every prestigious magazine, and my laugh on every television screen

All legitimate Halaal desires, if and only if 

My soul still yearns and is impressed only by reunion with God, then

I have realised what the purpose of being human is 

And will only strive for the rare type of wealth, tranquility (Sakeenah)

Because true love can only exist between a soul and God