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

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…

The Rain In Medina Baye

An almighty, streaming, surging downpour enveloped Medina Baye, flowing onto the streets and roads, washing away the memories of past days. It showered through homes, upon the elderly, upon mothers and fathers, upon children, drenching them in a water that they could not see, and clearing the air, and refreshing the hearts…

Idris Wuld, with the troubles of the world resting on his shoulders, rushed by Medina Baye, on his way to meet an official of the municipality. A singular old man stood in his way, raising his hands in the air and rubbing his face, as if catching the rain. Idris halted.

“What is wrong with you, old man?” He asked unkindly, regarding the clear sky and shifting his shirt in the spring heat.

“Oh! the rain! The rain! It’s everywhere!” Cried the old man, once again, staring at the empty sky, and welcoming the air into his arms. Idris sighed with irritation and moved briskly ahead, “Crazy fool…” He muttered.

Two hours later, Wuld passed by Medina Baye again, a wide smile on his face; his eyes confident and contented. The meeting went splendidly, and his financial troubles had been taken of. And once again, the strange old man came into his path, shifting from side to side, raising his hands in the empty, stifling air, rubbing his palms on his eyes and cheeks, while the awesome, majestic minarets of Medina Baye, stood behind him, like tower giants watching them. Wuld stopped in his tracks.

“So, what is it with you and this rain old man? Have you gone mad?” He joked.

The old man lowered his hands and looked deeply and intensely into Wuld’s eyes. “You will understand the rain I allude to if you do this one thing…”

“And what is that?” Wuld smirked. “Go to Sayyida and say what needs to be said…” And he walked off.

Wuld stood frozen, as the minaret giants looked on. The old man had spoken the name of his wife, and of the thing which was hidden cancer in his soul: his pride. He understood immediately and rushed off.

At home, whilst the children played outside, and his wife was engaged in the labours of her life, suddenly, she dropped her work, for her husband, Idris stood before her; his eyes in a way she had never seen before for a long time. He spoke: “Sayyida, my wife, and the mother of my children…” She leaned against the washing machine, her fears growing- had he found another woman? Another woe upon the woe this man had given her. “What I mean to say, my wife, and I mean this, I have been a cold man to you, for a while, and you have been a good woman to me. Forgive me. Let me make amends. I will take you to see your mother and kin on the weekend…” His eyes were remorseful and true- she could see it… She could see the shame and discomfort in every trace of red in his eyes. Finally, he saw her, the way he used to see her before. And she collapsed in his arms, the tears not stopping, the pain leaking out into his frame, being replaced by warmth, and love, and cheer.

Later, Wuld, having lost track of time and place, since his revelation to his wife, wandered over to Medina Baye, and suddenly, without warning, water fell from the sky, enveloping the whole expanse, covering his head, and washing away the pride. He looked up, feeling the rain flow over his head and face. The old man appeared next to him. “I told you it was raining,” he said, as people walked by, regarding them whimsically, on this, the driest day of March so far….

The Destruction of Abu Jahl: The Battle of Badr

The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold… The Destruction of Sennacherib: Lord Byron

The hordes of Quraysh, like a dust storm, arose

And their cohorts were cursing and lining in rows

And the sheen of their spears like the candles that burn

In the idols of Makkah which stand taciturn


Like the palms in the desert when oases are fresh

The army stood furnished; for battle well-dressed

Like the grains in the desert which scatter and fall

That host in the noon light retreated forlorn


For the Angels of Justice, with three fighting winds

Of a thousand combatants, cruelty to rescind

And the eyes of these angels came down on Quraysh

Some stricken with horror and fear in disgrace


And woe to Walid and Shaybah and Utba

Vanquished by Ali, Ubaydah and Hamza

And there lay the pharaoh, the staunch Abu Jahl

Abdullah, the reader, beheaded him well


And there lay the pebbles, which flew at Quraysh

When Ahmed recited: impaired be their faces!

This army from Makkah quashed by the unseen

A thousand were crushed by three hundred thirteen


And the widow of Jahl; despaired and bewailed

And the idols of Makkah unsteady and frail

And the might of Quraysh; severed deep by the sword;

Had melted like sunset, by Mustafa’s Lord


Allahumma Salli wa sallim wa baarik alaiyhi wa alaa aalihi wa sahbihi wa sallim

Hamra The Jinn

Hamra the Jinn, the scourge of men and women in the night!

If you have been an evil one, she has you in her sights!

She wears a chador darker than a plummeting black hole

Her eyes are redder than the churning rocks and burning coals

Her fangs are sharper than the canine teeth within a wolf

Her nails are firmer than the claws of Grendel from Beowulf

Her face more mesmerising than the princesses of old

Her voice can pacify the weak, and terrify the trolls

She haunts the night, and sniffs the air for all the evil ones

The dealers and the pimps and all the violent, lazy bums

The nasty hags; the cold, conniving, calculating queens

The older ones who trap the young in incidents obscene

Hamra the Jinn; she always wins, no one can shirk her chase

The darkest soul cannot conceive she’s there before his face

From Kanadhar, to Zanzibar, to Cairo and Tehran

From London, Paris, Marrakesh, to Dakar and Amman

She rides the winds; she skims the seas; she roams the spinning earth

She lurks in all the corners where she finds the people worst

One day she lit upon a human trafficker from Prague

Who liked to beat the women he had hidden in his yard;

The cries of these afflicted souls echoed in Hamra’s ears

They drew her, like a tiger drawn by scent of grazing deer

She watched as this monstrosity tormented these women

And then she wrapped him in her chador for his ugly sins

She drained him drier than the hay that feeds the hungry horse

When Hamra had finished with him, he was a walking corpse

Another job, she heard the sobs from flats in Tel Aviv

A woman liked to burn her son to put herself at ease

And one night, after deceiving police, with gloating pride,

She went to bed, and turned to see Hamra was by her side

The eyes blood red filled her with dread; the woman lost her nerve

Confessing all her nastiness; a sentence she would serve

Another time an operator of the killer drones

Was sniggering because his bombs had wiped out mountain homes

And when he strolled the streets alone, deep in the folding night

He came upon her hungry eyes which pierced him with a fright

No sleep would cast upon his eyes except he saw her face

Digging into his inner core; his life had lost its taste

Hamra the jinn, she always wins, no one can shirk her chase

But when she sees a kind person, she gives a warm embrace

The wife-beaters, the child-beaters, now inwardly implore

For mercy from the sight of Hamra slipping through their doors

So, here’s a warning for us all, when we’re about to rage

On individuals weaker, or are vulnerable in age

Remember that the cries for help will summon Hamra’s eyes

To you she may remain unseen, although materialised

She’ll work on you; she’ll shadow you; she’ll make your living hell

So, think about this carefully and those with whom you dwell…

Hamra the Jinn, the scourge of men and women in the night!

If you have been an evil one, she has you in her sights!