How peculiar is the sight of a man bleeding,
When one wound heals, two appear,
Yet he doesn’t know what is occuring,
So confused he can’t even fear.
How pitiful is the sight of a captured ruler.
For him, it must be such a test,
This once mighty, glorious emperor,
Now at somebody else’s behest.
How painful is it to see yourself grey,
Crippled by the pangs of time,
Your strength and vigour withered away,
No longer at your prime.
Remember the days when we conquered,
From where the sun birthed to where it set.
The shadow of God, may he be honoured,
In his hands the whole world met.
Remember when we were leaders in knowledge,
Over every culture our influence would extend.
A former glory now only a fantasised image,
For all great things must end.
If you are asleep, know that fate is awake,
Just as the Romans and the Persians receded,
It is now our turn at the stake,
Yet we are beguiled by a glory which has preceded.
O reader, can you not shed a tear?
Have you not seen what the news is showing?
Are you blinded or do you not hear?
Muslim blood is flowing!
For every difficulty there is a promised ease,
Yet there is no ease which makes this easier to bear.
We are plagued by a crippling disease,
And we cannot find a cure anywhere.
Kashmir, Xinjiang and our beloved Shaam;
Where if no good remains, how can we wish for any good?
Sudan and Iraq are enduring a tough exam.
I fear we have forsaken our brotherhood.
What is the state of Al-Aqsa, where all the prophets prayed?
Where is Libya? Have you heard anything from Burma?
What about Yemen, where the winter journey was made?
Retreated here with his elephants, the Abbysinian usurper.
If he had been successful, would you not grieve?
The image of a ruined Ka’bah too painful to ponder,
Don’t you know then, O you who believe,
The blood of a believer is more sacred than the Ka’bah!
Are you not compelled to cry or is your heart made of stone?
For the soil weeps even though it is dirt,
When a soul and its body divorce and it is left all alone;
We are one body, so how can you not feel hurt?
The world has seduced us with its vanity,
Offering us gifts of wealth and expansive domain,
In the process stealing our sanity,
We forgot what is pain.
Do you not see the daughter greet her father,
Every morning after sunrise,
She gifts him a flower,
Placing it on the ground with tears in her eyes.
Do you not see a new life being born,
His mother wants to embrace him with felicity,
Yet when she looks at him, she can only mourn,
For his eyes are the same as the man who seized her chastity.
Do you not see the young family closing the door,
Of their humble home which they built with their hands,
The unfortunate victims of a ravaging war,
Which has penetrated their homes and kidnapped their lands.
How often has the weak asked our assistance,
Those killed or captured while no man stirred.
Where are those of conscience?
Will their cries remain unheard?
O Lord, forgive us for indeed we are weak,
How can we be strong while our hearts are frail?
How can we claim imaan while our brother’s situation is bleak,
And over our hearts is a veil.
While we enjoy a fleeting enjoyment,
They are promised gardens beneath which rivers flow,
Eternal bliss, that is their promised appointment,
No more pain, only fruits of every kind to sow.
As for us, we are impoverished on that promised Day,
If, despite our faults, we are to make it through,
And be freed from those who went astray,
Then know, Allah is with those whose faith is true.
Disclaimer: The views, opinions and conclusions presented in these pieces are strictly those of the authors. MYA does not necessarily endorse the personal views of the authors.
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