Go Back To Your Own Country! Poetry Recital At Oxford University Islamic Society, 2015

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Interview with MuslimView’s Masud Ahmed Khan

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The Great Replacement

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Let’s implement the Great Replacement
Let’s make the world supreme again!

Let’s replace the fear of the other
With the cheer of true brothers

Let’s replace the blaming of immigrants
With the blaming of ignorance

Let’s replace the scourge of racial supremacy
With the urge for common humanity

Let’s replace the illusion of racial supremacy
With the fusion of racial diversity

Let’s replace the sentiment of “they’re invading us,”
With the sentiment of “they’re guests for us.”

Let’s replace the darkness of cultural ignorance
With the understanding of cultural difference

Let’s replace the kneejerk to separate and withdraw
With cooperating for the common good and the law

Let’s replace the vermin of extremist violence
With the sacred sermons of listening silence

Let’s replace the fifth columns of conspiracy
With the true solemn acts of charity

Let’s replace the fake news on racial extermination
And take views on racial invigoration

Let’s replace the ghettos of hatred and malice
With the gardens of love and compassion

Let’s replace the dread of Trojan horses, hidden
With the sincere search for the truth within

Let’s replace the desire to nuke a whole race
With the desire to invigorate the human race

Let’s replace the fear of Muslims and Islam
With true knowledge to avert future harm

Let’s implement the Great Replacement
Let’s make the world supreme again!

I’d Rather Go To Medina

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I’d rather go to Medina

Than go to Hollywood

In Medina, there’s no Oscars

Or shining halls of fame

Instead there’s awe with Mustafa

And prayers at Qiblatain

I’d rather go to Mecca

Than go to Hollywood

Forget those hand and footprints

Of Cher and Steve McQueen

Near the Kaaba all in gold

Are the footsteps of Ibrahim

Instead of meeting Jackie Chan

I’d rather meet Ustad Gee

He could bring the big danda

And wave it like he’s Bruce Lee!

Instead of meeting Nigella

Domestic Goddess and Diva

I’d rather see my lovely wife

Coz she makes aloo keema!

I’d rather go on Itikaaf

Than go on I’m A Celebrity

Forget the jungle fun and games

In Ant and Dec’s reality

In itikaaf you can see your soul

And try some and chai and lassi!

I’d rather have langar shareef

Than have dinner at the Ritz

Forget the style and tuxedo

And charming Royal tea

In langar you have daal and gohsht

While sitting like a yogi!

I’d rather lead the asr prayers

Than project manage on Apprentice

Instead Alan Sugar’s wrath

And probably getting fired

I’d lead the brothers from the front

And do sajdah sahw if required

I’d rather do a khalwa

Than do a bungee jump

Instead of leaping like a hare

Into a vast ravine

I’d feel the infinity of God

And life would be serene

I’d rather do a prostration

Than argue like an atheist

Instead of crafting rhetoric

There’s no god but matter

In sajdah I would feel my nafs

And vain illusions shatter

I’d rather pray to our Allah

Than be a materialist

Instead of eating all my food

And scorning God or Buddha

I’d break my fast at the local mosque

They give you Kulfi Faluda!

Notes:

This poem celebrates aspects of the poet’s religious culture and cuisine against elements of Western, popular culture. My inspiration is Simon Armitage’s poem: It Ain’t What You Do It’s What It Does To You.

Qiblatain- a reference to the Mosque Al Qiblatain near Medina

Ibrahim: Arabic word for Abraham

Danda: Urdu word- stick

Aloo Keema: minced meat curry with potatoes

Itikaaf: spiritual seclusion and prayer in a mosque

Chai and lassi- Asian tea and yoghurt

Daal and gosht: lentils with mutton curry

Asr prayer: late afternoon prayer- one of the five Muslim daily prayers

khalwa: Arabic word for spiritual seclusion

Sajdah Sahw: prostration for error- performed when one missed an integral part of the daily prayer

Nafs: the ego

Kulfi Falooda: Asian sweet dish

Simorgh At Islamabad Arrivals

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In Islamabad arrivals, a great hullabaloo arose, like a volcano erupting. Hundreds of tired and disgruntled travellers crowded the luggage belts, struggling to catch sight of their possessions, like a flock of herons, frantically searching the water for fish. Faces scowled; babies wailed; ladies sat back, fanning themselves with their scarves. It had been two hours; their luggage had failed to arrive and, to make matters worse, the luggage of the next arrivals was beginning to appear instead.

“What the hell is this!” yelled a large, moustachioed fellow, in a rich, white salwar qameez. The officials, in blue uniforms, continued to play dumb, expressing platitudes: “we have some technical difficulties… One of the computers has malfunctioned, but it will be fixed, and your luggage will be here soon.”

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The Flood (Parental Advisory- Adult Themes)

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Becalmed, the wide rubber raft floated aimlessly on the choppy waters, far from any sort of assistance. Huddled and shivering, refugees and migrants from a plethora of regions rubbed their hands and bodies. Mothers swaddled their children around their own meagre coats, while the irascible captain yelled and cursed at the steaming motor at the back. Holding his walkie-talkie close to his heart like a keepsake, he barked at his accomplices back in their base, demanding to know why his rescue boat had not arrived. Crackling voices responded, urging him to stay calm and wait.

“Hey, Mr Syria!” Yelled a young man, with deep dark skin like a killer whale and piercing eyes; the whiteness shone like the moon in the night. “We have some time. And we hear you can tell some stories….”

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