About Novid Shaid

I am a Muslim writer and English teacher. I have written poetry, short stories, a play, and I am currently working on a novella. My subject matter and themes are related to Islam, Sufism, politics and also my job as a secondary school teacher. My work is copyrighted and any works published here may not used or copied without my prior consent. You can contact me via the "Contact Me" page, if you wish to use any these writings. I am keen to gain the notice of publishers and if any are interested in my writings, please contact me via the "Contact Me" page. Was salaam, Peace

The Day The Poles Met

By Novid Shaid, January, 2009

One day the four poles met: the north, the south, the east and the west. They gathered and communed, in the sanctified city of Jerusalem, amazingly calm and dynamic; elusive but intimate; separate but conjoined; utterly silent while resonating; invisible to many, while manifest to the few.

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The Washing

March, 2011

“Oh Lord, we have wronged our selves…” The Holy Quran

Foad Amson was in some serious trouble. For a start, his wife, Eve, was on to him and her suspicions were slowly leading her to the truth. Foad had been cheating on her. It was a woman from work who was strangely alluring and remarkably easy to seduce. After one thing led to another, Foad found himself booking a hotel room and engaging in an illicit rendezvous after work. When he returned home that evening, he made some excuse about his colleagues going out to a restaurant, and in the following days, he worked hard to cover his tracks and to convince Danya, the office temp, not to reveal their secret. She obeyed, and his persuasive powers seemed to be working, so he planned to meet her again, at intervals, over the next few months. Danya never invited Foad back to her place, which he respected, particularly as Danya was so gracious as to contribute to the cost of their hotel rooms and food.

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A Poem For School Students Inspired By Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

My friend has made a monster

He did it for a joke

He wanted to frighten the girls

The teachers and his folks

.

He combined all these chemicals

Then added bones and rocks

The only thing remaining was

Lightning to stir and shock!

.

And now his monster lives and breathes

It’s growing in a box

He tells me that he’s feeding it

With flies and roasted ox!

.

“This monster will give everyone

A fright!” He likes to tell me,

“Especially all my friends and foes,

They’ll swoon and gasp, I tell thee.”

.

My friend has made a monster

I hear it now above

These limping, shifting, soft footsteps

Which bump around and shove.

.

And now after some weary weeks

Those footsteps seem much louder

My friend tells me: “It’s growing well!”

His smile could not be prouder

.

Some days have passed; my sleep perturbed

My friend no longer meets me

And all I hear from up above

Is a whimper: “Help me… Help me…”

.

Finally, I rush upstairs,

And knock at my friend’s door

A moaning voice cries: “Help me please….”

Then I hear no more…

.

My friend has made a monster

And now I know for sure

That what he made is a travesty

Against the natural law

.

And let this be a lesson friend

Of hubris, understand

Before you fashion such a fiend

Which grows then blights the lands…

.

As now the door has opened wide

Before me stands this thing…

My friend lies dead; a mangled mess

And red eyes stare and grin…

Gratitude For Knowledge and Teachers

Recollecting and treasuring the knowledge
That your teachers shared before
Is not merely nostalgia
Nor is it a sign of your acquiescence
Of your teachers’ future errors
Verily, your remembrance is simply gratitude
For the enlightenment you received
And a consolidation of ideas
You deem indispensable
Your gratitude for the past is fundamental
And if your past teachers now thrive,
Gives thanks and praise
And if your teachers now have erred,
Pray for their deliverance
For how much of an ingrate is the one
Who once lingered and traced their shadows
And now sticks a proud nose up in the air
Oblivious of the debts you can’t repay
For the inner light of knowledge and progress….
And do be careful, now, my compadre
As on this theatre of inconsistencies
Who knows if you’ll slip far with ease…
So don’t be so impatient to condemn
The ones who gave you such benefit before….
Advise your seers should they transgress
And prosecute should they oppress
But never forget the good that you received…

On Harassment

Harassment starts with just a look and thought

A lustful thought after a lustful look

So, check your thoughts and looks, and don’t persist

The whole point of desire is to resist

And then cherish your fire for the one you love

As when you satiate within the bounds of love

It is reciprocated, eternal

But unleashing your desirous looks on strangers

Can lead to ill and thoughts become a danger

Lower the gaze and keep your soul in check

And look at others with a deep respect!

And know this, though you may think this so odd

That all desires eclipse in the presence of God!

The Ocean Speaks To The Voyagers…

Some would-be sailors reported abuse by a line of skippers, and returned to the shore, heartbroken, anguished, and perturbed.

One of them said: “We must bring them to account! We have been wronged! Looks like there are no true skippers anymore….”

The ocean listened patiently, heard their pain like a mother, and spoke from within the rising and falling waves:

“Wrongs must be addressed…. You must act with unrelenting fairness.. For all who embark upon the journey deserve a fair hearing.”

Waves ascended majestically and then fell, like swooning dervishes; the water swelled, then settled, proclaiming:

“But there will always be true skippers, who have navigated the ocean, who have travelled far, far, far through me and can show you the way. And there have always been false skippers, full of names for my waters, but full of hot air within. So why do you give in? Was I your goal or was the skipper’s good pleasure your idol? Did you pine after my vast mysteries, or were you just enjoying the cruise? Did you think I would let you voyage upon me without some stillness, without the currents throwing you off course, without assailments by pirates dressed in a skipper’s cape? Perhaps there was nothing wrong with the skipper? Perhaps he was a true guide, and the problem was in your self?”

The ocean grew into an almighty breaker, falling with a thunderous clap, then rested and rocked hypnotically:

“Keep your hearts with me, and I will send you everything you need… Keep your attention on my waves, and I will move you further ahead… And absorb the beauty of the light of my full moon… But remember this, the point is not the skipper, the point is the Sea. If I am no longer your one desire, and it’s just all about you or the skipper, then either you are off, or the skipper is off… So, seek redress with the law, if crimes and oppression were perpetrated, for the pirates in the garb of skippers must be rounded up, but keep your gaze on me; make me your one and only concern, make my vastness your dreams.. Remember the signs of a true skipper, and if you gained from any of the skippers on this sea; if you were guided further through my waves, you must show thanks and send your sincere supplications their way- for they are my special ones; I have brought them closer to me…. But also know this, my skippers can never be as vast and as perfect as me…. Never lose hope in the ocean… And enjoy the resplendence of my full moon, which brightens my waters and fills your hearts with light!”

The ocean breathed out like a hidden saint and then slept soundly, like a sleeping baby. They turned their eyes from their troubles, and looked out- the waves shone, like hearts…