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

ATTENTION: LEAKED MEMO-ISLAMIC PLOT TO DOMINATE ENGLISH-SPEAKING COUNTRIES BY 2030

(This memo was discovered online by freedom activist, Bobby Tomminson, using extensive investigative journalism and google searches, for example, evil-Muslim-plots, Islamic-invasion-plan and all-Muslims-are-ISIS- though he later had to receive counselling for mistyping Muslim-Bomb to Muslim-bumb.)

MEMO: FOR ALL ENGLISH-SPEAKING MUSLIMS

GUIDANCE ON GAINING DOMINION OVER EUROPE AND NORTH AMERICA BY 2030

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

First, we will infiltrate the language, word by word. We will demand that one or two of our words are adopted to promote community cohesion. So instead of common words like magazine, we will replace it with… (wait, magazine is already from Arabic- makhzan/khazana) Okay, instead of their numbers, we will replace them with Arabic numerals… (oh, hang about, the numbers are already Arabic), well, instead we will replace words they are fond of like alcohol.. (oh, that’s from al-kuhul- Arabic again) and when they get older, they will live in one of our words- bungalow… (but that’s already from Bengali/Hindi/Urdu).

Okay forget all that, let’s start with consonant sounds then. We will tell them to change their (Ka) sound to our Arabic (Kha) and give them a story that it harks back to their Gaelic roots. And we will tell them to drop the (g) consonant for a universal (j). So, instead of Kylie Minogue, they will have to say Khylie Minoj. That’s it! Lots of others will go after that: instead of Kate Moss, it will be Khate Mosque, and instead of Calvin Klein, it will be Khalvin Khan.  

Then, we will make in-roads to islamify their diet. Right, so we start to encourage them to eat curry instead of fish and chips… Okay, so they are already eating plenty of curry, more than us actually… Let’s see then, instead of their pork, we secretly replace it with meat from the pork farms all over the Muslim world, like Turkey. So instead of haram pork, they will have Turkey pork.   

Subsequently, we will demand that they speak not only our language, but also our second and third languages as well. So we will implant the idea that they all speak Standard English.

After that, we will send in our Trojan horses: fashion, films and music for their young. We will insist on political correctness and inclusion, so they will have to wear what our youth are wearing in Muslim countries- jeans and t-shirts- and we will enforce the inclusion of music popular in Muslim countries like Justin Bieber, Snoop Dog and films like Matrix.

But the icing on the cake, our crown jewel, our mother of infiltrations will be through the Queen herself. We will implant the idea, ever so slowly, that the Queen has her roots in… Scotland… And in Scotland, their accent is like Arabs, so therefore, the Queen herself must be…

Insha Allah, by clever, insidious, gradual manoeuvring we will ensure that the world will be Muslim and that every place will inherit our ability to repel foreign influences and ways.

Reply to me on these emails:

ENGLISHTOMUSLIM@khenryjacksiesociety.orj

DESTROYFROMWITHIN@thesquillianfoundation.orj

The Two Strange Men Of Kashgar

One day, two men were arrested at the Id Gah mosque in Kashgar and sent away for cultural citizenship education. Onlookers, rather stunned, watched as the men were ushered into the police van, while the accompanying officers scanned around for potential trouble. No one stirred as the officers jumped in the back of the van, next to the men, who were also seated silently. The authorities were expecting a massive uproar from the locals, especially as intelligence had uncovered that these two men were revered as holy men or healers, who lived on the streets and could heal supernaturally. But there was no resistance; no struggles. The locals seemed pacified and the two men just sat there calmly. Just as the van pulled away, a local grocer woman called out: “see you again, insha Allah.”

A police officer who sat opposite the men, as the van drove off, studied their faces carefully. These two men certainly were strange- their physical appearances betrayed a singular mixture of ethnic breeding. The first man with his arched brow and wide forehead haled from Uighur, Krgyzstani and Tajik stock, while the other, with his thin eyes and beardless face except for a few threads of a goatee was of Hui and Han extraction.

The officer whispered to his colleague next to him: “half-breeds…” His colleague nodded and frowned at the men.

Several hours elapsed, with the flat terrain around Kashgar giving way to great slopes and mountains in the distance. The van pulled into an enormous complex, like a gargantuan university college campus, surrounded by check points and neatly-kept terraces.

The men were led inside and presented to an official.

The police officer spoke for them: “they have not uttered a word since we took them.”

The smartly-dressed official greeted the two vagabond-like men with customary friendliness and sympathy. “you two have been selected for citizenship education so that you can become productive members of the state. Your present condition does not help our goal for cohesion and national service. You will learn basic skills and literacy here which will help you to fully integrate into society, and then you will have an opportunity to work for our municipal services in Kashgar. Just think of it- you will gain a job for life with a pension.”

The two men just listened, rather sullenly, expressionless, with dumb and distant looks.

“Well?” asked the official.

The two men spoke for the first time, still remote, still impenetrable: “Insha Allah.”

This response made the officer shudder, as he thought the two men would never talk and the official smiled sympathetically again.

“Okay, take them to their rooms and we will begin their programme.”

The officer marched the two men through the vast corridors of the complex, into an external courtyard, framed with slogans of the authorities: UNITY, COHESION, COMMUNITY, NATION.

The men were led into dormitories, which were inhabited by hundreds of faces like them: Uighur, Tajik, and many others. They walked past male and female faces. And the rather perplexing thing for the officer was that some of the residents seemed to recognize the two strange men, smiling, pleased to seem them, but not uttering a word.

The officer stopped and took a woman aside. “Why are you smiling at these strange men.”

She spoke politely: “Oh for no reason really. They are two strange men for Kashgar. They live in their own worlds. Everyone knows them.”

The officer thanked the woman and continued to lead them on, seeing the pleased looks on the residents as they walked along.

Finally, they arrived at their room: a clean place, with bunk beds and on-suite.

“You two seem to be local celebrities… Hopefully you will learn here and help society better when you leave.”

The two men smiled ever so slightly, once again reticent and disappeared into their rooms. The officer watched them settle through the window in their door and wondered about their silence. While he had been instructing them on the daily timetable and chores, they had just walked on sombrely with him. Not a word from either of them. Not a hint of anger or fear. Just silence and a kind of dumb calmness.

Over the next few days, the official and officer noticed some strange occurrences. The rest of the population seemed pleased to see these men, but no one engaged with them and just kept their distance in a rather respectful way. Neither did the men speak much to each other. They just went through the motions of the day; the lessons, the food breaks with compulsory pork, the exercise routine, the chores, the chanting for the state philosophy. But what they did do was say their prayers in their rooms and meditate. Aside from these things, the men just took part passively.

A few months elapsed like this when the officer and the official met for an evaluation of the two men of Kashgar.

“So much for spiritual leaders,” begun the officer. “These two are just dimwits we are wasting money on. Even the locals think they’re crazy.”

“Hmm,” replied the official. “I was hoping that by transforming their own spiritual leaders, the locals will see the benefit of the programme and show more enthusiasm. But these two are no such thing. They have eaten pork and renounced superstition. They are probably happy to have a clean environment and readily-available food. I agree we have wasted resources on them. But the locals…”

“What about them?” asked the officer.

“The locals, since we have brought them here, have become less enthusiastic with the programme. In fact, we have sent scores of locals back to their towns because their reluctance is affecting the rest.”

“Was that a wise thing to do?”

“No, but we are keeping them under observation,” the official replied.

So, after a sojourn of a few months, the two strange mixed-breeds were summoned back to the official, who looked at both men rather haughtily and said: “we are sending you two back. For verily, you can take the man out of the backwardness, but you can’t take the backwardness out of the man.” He pointed at the exit, and the officers returned the men to the Id Gah mosque in Kashgar.

The two men found themselves shoved out of the van and deposited on the street in a vortex of dust.

The two men sullenly looked at each other. Suddenly, the grocer appeared and watched them. In a flash, the two men stuck their heads over the drain grill and started vomiting and retching vile things into the drain. When they had finished, the men looked relieved, tranquility filled their faces and they looked around as if they had suddenly woken up.

“My dear friends,” shouted the grocer, “I heard from my daughter that you were in the re-education centre. What happened?”

The men looked at each other, flummoxed.

“Really?” They said.

“Yes, don’t you remember?” She said looking at them in amazement. “My daughter was sent there as well. She saw you two. She said she saw you taking part in the programme, eating pork, renouncing the faith. But she also said that she had forgotten her kalima, her hajj and her salah. Until she saw you two. Just seeing you brought it all back, and then she stopped cooperating, so they sent her back because she was becoming a trouble-maker. In fact, she said hundreds were sent back since you two arrived and now they are under observation.” The last bit the grocer whispered, just in case spies were around.

The two strange men of Kashgar listened to her, rather dumbfounded and awestruck. The first, the Uighur-Kygrz mixed-breed said: “well, we were somewhere else and we have just returned.”

The grocer asked, confused: “what do you mean? How can that be?”

The Hui-Han man replied: “we were taken to the malakut world by our lord.”

The grocer gasped in astonishment.

The first went on: “we had been eating in a restaurant with questionable food which may have been contaminated by pork. Then we came to the Eid Gah mosque. Suddenly, the van appeared and that’s all I remember. Next, I remember, we were in the malakut, in a cell made of light, guarded by impressive spirits. Our late pir, Allah bless him, came to us every day and advised us on the importance of eating pure food. Then, we just woke up here. I have a horrible taste in my mouth.”

“So, do I,” said the other.

The grocer smiled: “well it just goes to show, you can take the believer out of the mosque, but you can’t take the mosque out of the believer.”

NOTES:

malakut- Arabic- spiritual world

pir- spiritual leader

This story was inspired by the writings of Shaykh Ibn Al Arabi, may Allah bless him.

This story is also dedicated to the ancient, wondrous Muslim groups in China. May Allah bless all the ethnic groups there and help them to thrive and progress despite the onslaughts of atheism and communism. Ameen

The Great Replacement

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

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

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)

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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