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


The Search For My Beloved


I was roaming outside on the vast fields under the tearful sky searching for my beloved one.

I lost her the previous night, while I slept, while I drifted through the valleys of discontentment in my dreams. When I awoke, she was gone… And realising my folly, I rushed out of my house searching desperately for her. Searching up trees, walking into caves, scaling the solitary hills of woe. I had not found her and I was becoming a nervous wreck of a soul. Before I left, I rang my teacher and asked him what I should do.

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Wine And Men

“What is she looking at?”

Lucy’s friends glanced at her and then at the figure on the other side of the street, who stood watching them, while they sat around the chic table outside a prestigious city wine bar.

“She’s been staring at us, or rather at me, for a long time,” remarked Lucy, flicking back her gorgeous, auburn hair, taking a long drag of her sleek cigarette nonchalantly like Greta Garbo.

“I don’t think she’s looking at you my dear,” remarked Lucy’s confidante, Roxanne, “she’s probably senile.”

“A bit creepy though,” chimed in their friend Saba. “That’s not right the way she’s just looking at us.”

“Don’t stare back!” insisted Lucy. “She might come up to us!”

Roxanne interrupted: “Just ignore her. Pretend she’s not even there.”

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Prayers on the Prophet for the Night Journey

Oh Allah send Your prayers and peace upon him

And upon his companions and kin

By the number of pearls of sweat on al buraq

Which cascaded as the sage ascended him

By the number of prayers the rider invoked

And the flutters of wings of his companions

By the number of sand stones at Al Aqsa

Which intoned his praise as he dismounted

By the number of Prophets that humbly stood

As the chosen one led with equilibrium

And the number of contours in the rock

And the streams of wind as the travellers took off

By the number of times the wise one was hailed

By each Prophet as the levels he scaled

And the number of shimmering branches on Al Muntaha

Ad infinitum they communed Lover and Beloved

From the day You made this life

To the end when we arise

Every day a thousand times!