Natural Mystic

There’s a natural mystic blowing through the air. Bob Marley

There’s a natural mystic glow in the unseen

And to feel it quaff the goblet of tawheed

You can feel it in Malcolm

In his mesmerising smile

In the trials that he suffered

In his righteousness and style

I don’t tell no lie

There’s a natural mystic deep reality

And to taste it, love the Only Deity

Feel the warmth of Ali’s fire

Grasp the rain of his words

In the ring, the unsurpassable

In the hearts, he turns alive

I don’t tell no lie

There’s a natural mystic shimmering finesse

If you purge the self, you’ll feel its dear caress

Like the gracious Mother Khadijah

The pearl of New York

In the beauty of her service

In the deepness of her eyes

Can’t keep them down

There’s natural mystic, blowing through the air

Notes:

Personalities referred to in the poem:

Malcolm X

Muhammad Ali

Mother Khadijah

Bob Marley

May Allah illuminate their secrets and teach us beneficial lessons through their lives, ameen

I found out about Mother Khadijah from the link below:https://sapelosquare.com/…/profile-mother-khadijah-faisal/

The Walls- Short Story

Adam and Hira had just turned twenty, when they realised, they were in prison. Now they could see four monumental walls topped with barbed wire to the north, south, east and west. Now they could make out the prison officer uniforms on men and women they had not noticed before. Now they could see other prisoners around them, looking and behaving much like themselves. Fear and anguish grew chains around their hands and ankles; the couple struggled to move as the realisation took hold of them; their breaths quickened and sweat trickled on their heads. How on earth did they not realise this before? Why were they prisoners? What had they done wrong? As far as they knew, they had lived an average life in an average town, following the law of the land, most of the time, and keeping out of trouble. Yet now they found themselves languishing behind towering walls and barbed wire.

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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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And Yusuf Was His Name….

I’m your Venus, I’m your fire, at your desire- Shocking Blue

 

Venus came across a man

Gazing with her crystal eyes

Burning like a silver flame

Yearning with desire

She’s got it, yeah baby she’s got it

I’m your Venus, I’m your fire

At your desire

 

This stranger looked into her face

Her beauty encompassing the view

But looking beyond her, he was

Just like no-one else had

He’s got it, yeah baby, he’s got it

I am Yusuf, I desire Al Ma’rifa

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The Grass

“All things hang like a drop of dew
Upon a blade of grass”. W B Yeats

A lush and fertile patch of grass shivered in the breeze, sighing blissfully. Fully exposed to the benevolent sun and enriched by the timely monsoons, the grass grew to a staggering height, accommodating countless creatures great and small. Nothing, so it seemed, could curtail its life-force; nothing could obstruct the sun or the rain replenishing it. The grass was suffused with a rich and deep shade of green, so much so that just to look upon it brought relief to hearts, just to hear its whispers in the wind brought tranquility to troubled minds.

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