I work in an office, probably like the one that many of you also work in. Row upon row of shining desks, kitted with personal computers, flat-screen monitors, swivel chairs, post-it notes; surrounded by notice boards, weekly targets, coffee machines, softly humming recessed troffer lights, matrixed carpets, whitewash walls; topped off with the larger rooms of our directors and team managers, divided off with glass at the end. Where the blinds are sometimes drawn… Where the big decisions take place… Where you dread being called to… Depending on your productivity levels of course!
Continue readingAuthor Archives: Novid Shaid
A Response to Katherine Birbalsingh
Dear Katharine,
I hate to sound like one of those preachers
But I’m a local English secondary teacher
Have been one for more than twenty years
And in every school I’ve taught, I’ve said my prayers
My zohr, asr and my dear maghrib
Whilst teaching the Destruction of Sennacherib!
And here’s a thing I hope you will not fear
Some students have prayed with me, laissez-faire!
The daily prayers have always lifted students
The ones I’ve seen have always been quite prudent
So, my advice to you before I depart
Is don’t break off your students from their hearts
The prayer for Muslims, like a flowing river
That we bathe in, it lets the soul just shiver
If you think that the kids are immature
Then surely there are staff you can implore
Or elders who can guide them while they pray
Who’ll help them to explore enriching ways
Your secular mission is oxymoronic
You seek to thrive with rules which are pharaonic
You can’t divorce a child from their deep roots
Exam results are not true learning’s fruits
So let these children be, and see their faiths
The real world is there beyond school gates…
When the CEO fell for the Majzoob
This story will confound you through and through
A CEO fell for a poor majzoob
She was the founder of a beauty brand
He lived on streets and hung around the strands
She worked so hard to build her own empire
The presence of Allah his only desire
She’d made enough money for long lifetimes
He slept in rags whilst witnessing the Divine
She had been scarred by handsome parasites
His only fear to lose dear Allah’s sight
And so one day, next to the riverbank
The CEO strolled by, with workers flanked
And so along this path, the majzoob staggered
Drunk with Allah, and looking rather haggard
These two conundrums met by the streaming water
The CEO took off her sunglasses and faltered
And though the crazy guy appeared offensive
She saw in his deep eyes a beauty intensive
Taken aback by wonder so supreme
Which shone in eyes that never touched eye cream
Inside a voice said to her, “He’s the one…”
And she was drawn like moths unto the sun
Discarding all her aides and pompery
She said to him: “you’re the one for me!”
The majzoob stilled himself and shook his head
Then chose to give her some advice instead:
“You’ll never find true peace in just a man…
Flee to Allah and take Mustafa’s kind hands
I’m not the one; Allah is One, you see…
Through Him be rich, and vanish in His seas…”
And whilst these two engaged in reverie
An aide piped up: “are such positions open for me?”
When I Went To Palestine
I was guided somehow and the year was 2000
My heart had grown dark by desires
But then the deep hole was lit up in my soul
When I went to Palestine
We moved through the cordons of Israel and Jordan
The border staff grilled us in lines
This moment a fear grew that we would not get through
When I went to Palestine
But worry’s a killer, and Alhamdulillah
Our way was freed by the Divine
Off we embarked on a cab from the car park
When I went to Palestine
We checked in a hotel near where the Arabs dwell
Jerusalem East and sublime
And something beyond called to us with a song
When I went to Palestine
So ancient and pretty endured the old city
We walked as if under a spell
The sun seemed to rise as we came to the climb
When I went to Palestine
Above the roofs rose the clear golden dome
My heart rent apart and just sighed
The closer we got so our fears we forgot
When I went to Palestine
We came to a guard gate, met these eyes full of pure hate
But the other was friendly and fine
The Israeli guard scanned, the Palestinian shook our hands
When I went to Palestine.
It felt so distinct in the sacred precinct
The blue walls, the dome hit our eyes
Al Aqsa in view, like an emerald, a jewel
When I went to Palestine
Our tears were unblocked at the Dome of the Rock
And it felt like we floated in time
At maghrib, enthralled, resting up to the walls
When I went to Palestine
And fajr heavenly in masjid Al Qibli
We met a Shaykh with glowing eyes
He gave us some mint tea, blessed hospitality
When I went to Palestine
The next day we risked it and just took the biscuit
To Hebron we both set out eyes
We felt the appeal of pure Al Khaleel
When I went to Palestine
A young man he helped us, along there he guided us
To get to the mosque in good time
But he was debarred by the colonial guards
When I went to Palestine
The wrongs they increase and the thoughts will not cease
But the beauty remains in the mind
Your heart feels at home, your soul’s free to roam
When you go to Palestine
Strange Meeting on the Gaza March in London on November 11th
For Owen
It seemed that from the march I escaped
Down some tunnel, with mouth agape
Scooped through the hazy granite of time
Deep into the annals of past years, hopes sublime
Yet there, sleeping soundly as cherubim
Lay men of merit who’d seen times so grim
Those unknown faces who once in the past
Had laid their lives without much questions asked
For country, duty, and for freedom of good
And of them now a line of sleepers stood
Before me, all my grandfathers of yore
Who’d bravely fought in all these Western wars
And at the front there stood a man of charm
My own grandfather an honourable Khan
“Strange indeed it is,” I said, pensive
“That for a foreign land your life you’d give…”
My grandfather, he looked me in the eye
“My son,” he said, with a knowing, wistful sigh,
“My own father, my cousins and my elders
We served so that our families would be sheltered,
And we fought hard and firm for the British Raj
Not fleeing from a skirmish or barrage
And so eventually I settled in England
I wore my medal ribbons and I mingled
I bore a family in old Birmingham
And now you stand here with a plate of jam!
But listen here, these words, I speak in truth
Never would we fight for this, forsooth,
For selling the poor soul of Jerusalem
And purging that land of Bethlehem
Never would we stand with such disaster
As bleeding dry the children of young Gaza
The enemy they kill are young and free
Who now lay cold, were loath to leave early
Alas us men at arms we had no such choice
So for those children indeed raise your voice…”
We Need Peace In The Middle East
We need peace in the Middle East
We need peace with an immediate ceasefire at least
We need peace from the aerial bombings at least
We need peace from the indiscriminate killings at least
We need peace from killing mostly civilians at least
We need peace from the chemical and nuclear weapons-and of course from the rockets at least
From the tanks, the infantry, and the white phosphorous at least
We need peace in the Middle East
VOICES FROM THE SMOKE AND BLOOD
Terrorist! Devil! Barbarian!
Thieving Occupier! Felon!
Son of a killer, murdering fiend!
Son of a coloniser supreme!
Your fighters slew our kids in bed
Your snipers shot our children’s heads
We will avenge your shameless crimes!
We will resist your vile designs!
80 years we have had no peace!
80 years our lands decreased!
The rockets you sent they killed our dreams!
Your bombings blew us to smithereens!
From you, we do fear our security
Before you, we lived in our country, free
We were fleeing persecution and death
But you exiled millions of us in a breath
We returned to this land, our clear birthright
You usurped all our lands; we will always fight!
We settled right here in the holy lands
By stealing our houses and tying our hands
When we came to this land, we established law
And you spurned our rights and international law
Can’t you see all we want is to live in peace
Can’t you see all we want is our pain to cease
We are here to stay; there’s no turning back
We are of this land; we will grow right back!
THE STRANGEST MILAAD MEHFIL EVER IN BIRMINGHAM
Mustafa and Ali stood outside Masjid Abu Bakr, which was nestled into the corner of ancient Walford street and the adjoining Stratham Road. Row upon row of red bricked, terraced, Victorian houses dominated the scene. Busy traffic zoomed by as Friday evening had arrived; the sun was settling for its slumber, and the late-night shopping districts were now warming up for the oncoming shoppers.
Continue readingThe Murid, the Sage, the Water Hole, the Spade
A murid called his sage with yearning eyes
“Show me the secrets of your enterprise…”
“Okay,” the sage replied, “let it be told
With this spade that I give you dig a hole
And dig until you find the quenching water
Then drown in it your vices and their daughters
When you are pure and washed, prepare your eyes
For the boundless secrets of our enterprise.”
The shaykh led the murid to a special pit
And showed the spade and how to dig with it
“Keep digging for the water, don’t give up
Don’t let the fiends of doubt your hopes disrupt!”
And so the seeker dug on through the day
And through the night without any dismay
But as the days went on although he cried
No water came although he tried and tried
The shaykh appeared again, “Keep digging my dear friend
The deeper that you dig, the deeper your great end!”
And on the final day murid was really straining
The shaykh arrived to beautify this training
“Have you discovered water yet my son?
Have you tasted the water of the One?”
The murid cried with anguish, “my dear Shaykh!
I’ve dug without success my heart it really aches!”
And then the Shaykh so soft were his deep eyes
Some wondrous tears appeared light and divine
Each tear fell in the hole with the murid
In just a glance it filled up to his knees
And then below the earth gave way and bled
Fresh water merged with tears the sage had shed
The murid dived and bathed in flowing water
The secrets of the way in his soul’s quarters
And now a hole murid had strained to dig
Was like a lake refreshing, clear and big!
The murid returned to shore with his sage smiling
“My son you’ve found something so enterprising
But if you dug deeper for Allah’s sake
You would have found His ocean, not just a lake!”
For Shaykh Nuh Ha Mim Keller, may Allah bless him
The Brave New World Of Sufism
Transcript from an interview between Mureed Supreme, Mostafa Marx and host, Uncle John, recorded live at the studios, in the Fukrfield Festival of Democracy and Equality, at the London arena in Central London.
December, 2080
(Theme Music followed by rapturous studio applause. MM and UJ lighted on the stage, seated on stylish leather chairs and separated by a smart coffee table with glasses and water decanter. Applause and music fades out)
UJ: Welcome, my dear audience and citizens at home, to another segment of ‘Talking Heads’, I’m Uncle John. And today I would like to introduce our guest, none other than Mureed Supreme, Mostafa Marx! (Applause)
MM: Many thanks, John! God bless, God Bless! (Applause ends)
UJ: So let’s cut right to the chase. You are Mureed Supreme of what’s known as ‘tariqa waahidiyya’. Could you tell us more about your movement and its achievements since you were given this role?
UJ: Well, Uncle John, first of all, I would like to thank you for your kindness in inviting me onto your programme where I can discuss this critical work we’ve been doing. As you know, our society has quite rightly equalised every facet: parents and children, teacher and student, police and citizen, prime minister and constituent. We have finally reached a societal reality, thanks to our Founding Citizens, in which parents can no longer manipulate and control their kids; teachers can no longer wield authority over their learners; and even the leader of our country over the lay person on the street. We are all equal, and only God is higher- but even that height is in all of us…. God is one- but the knowledge, the truth and the power are in the many….. And religions, of whose heart is Sufism, is no exception to these ideals…
UJ: Mmm, fascinating, please elaborate about Sufism….. How so?
MM: Well, in primitive times, when people believed in the supernatural and so-called ‘spiritual states’ like ma’rifa, shuhood, hubb, shukr, and kashifaat, this all went hand in hand with notions of hierarchy, respect, deference and obedience to what was known as the ‘shaykh’. A ‘shaykh’ was supposedly someone who had attained these supernatural, spiritual states and could transfer them state into an aspirant, thereby helping their student or mureed to tread a path of enlightenment and journey in God. All Pugwash, I have to say! These spiritual states and these spiritual guides were mostly psychological tricks performed by charlatans, wielding undemocratic power over their students and committing various acts of spiritual, physical and sexual abuse at will. Whilst the few so-called ‘real’ ones, one could say, brought some kind of inner peace into the lives of their associates through ‘ma’rifa’, the majority were pushing the faithful towards an abyss of humility, forbearance and frankly extremist quietism. But as the Founding Citizens showed us so clearly, supernaturalism indeed is all in the head, there is no God but God- which really means the God of the mind. Religion and spirituality work at their best through their facilitation of socialization, camaraderie, and communal spirit. We kept the latter and got rid of the former.
UJ: Okay, that sounds rather challenging… How on earth did you rid our society of the evil of supernaturalism?
MM: Well, we came up with these ingenious devices known as the ma’rifa and shuhood inhibitors. We patented them of course. And these wonderful, life-saving devices were used on so-called shaykhs and mureeds who displayed signs of supernatural states, like spiritual tears, visions, light in the face, peaceful countenance, and so forth. The ma’rifa and shuhood inhibitors were installed on these individuals and frankly, after some time, they were cured of their so-called inner peace and inner light….
UJ: Oh yeah, how is that?
MM: Well the inhibitors were essentially locked-in headphones and digital glasses. Every time these wackos felt a bit spiritual and thought they were touching the so-called divine light of God, the inhibitor kicked in, and they got blasted by some real-world stimuli, like flashes of pornography, or hearing orgasms, and the like. The glasses had these neat, high definition video screens and the headphones crystal clears. Just some regular flashes and screams while these guys went for their morning prayer, or said invocation before sleep, and all that so-called ‘shuhood’ or ‘ma’rifa’ poured out of them like water in an unplugged bath.
UJ: So you got the old God out of them…
MM: Indeed, out with the old, in with the new…. We got rid of these shaykhs, these spiritual states, these undemocratic relationships, these inevitable oppressive structures and spread the concepts of equality and oneness. We abolished all the tariqas, and united them into one, tariqa Waahidiyya- the way of the one. No more Qadariyya, Naqshbandiyya, Shadhiliyya and all their ilk that claimed to be supernatural chains to attain these bogus spiritual states. Complete nonsense; and all divisive, conflicting bodies of shaykhs and mureeds vying with each other to see who has the most mureeds, who has the biggest tomb, who has the most attended zikrs. The tariqas were complete chaos. We abolished all notions of shaykhs and shaykhdom- now there are only mureeds, or seekers and enlightenment is naturally found within- no other has an authority and access to special knowledge that another has to show deference to. We are one and equal, our God is one and equal, and even the Prophets, every one of them, are the same as every one of us- they were just stepping stones to the rational zenith we have reached now, all through the tremendous work of the Founding Citizens. Currently, anyone who wants to enter the path of Sufism registers online, pays a monthly membership fee, and has access to every Sufi centre and mosque on this earth.
UJ: Hmm, fascinating, fascinating… But now, as this is Talking Heads…
MM: Indeed, indeed, I know what’s coming up
UJ: Yes, yes, you know it. devil’s advocate. I have to play it.
MM: I knew you would play devil’s advocate….although the devil is all in the mind and in the small print! (mild laughter)
UJ: As your detractors say, including that renegade so-called shaykh who is still at large…. Haven’t you gotten rid of the heart of Sufism? Isn’t the whole point, that Sufism links you to the ineffable presence, through an ineffable, physical representative on earth? And surely, some deference should be showed for the one who brought such riches to your heart?
MM: Ah, yes, you quote the words of the devil himself and advocate for him well! Insha Allah the authorities will catch him and end his heresy soon….. He loves to talk about the ineffable… But as the Founding Citizens have taught us, ineffability leads to oppression- the supernatural was the biggest stumbling block and inhibitor of human progress. The so-called shaykh and his magical tricks cannot prevent the road of progress moving on through the supreme democracy of the human project.
LONG LIVE THE FOUNDING CITIZENS! (He rises and salutes. UJ and the audience follow suit then they all sit down)
UJ: Do you have a message for the shaykh if he is watching this programme or otherwise?
MM: Yes- stop pretending you are conduit for ma’rifa- become a conduit for the supremacy of the mind and equality of the human race. Amen
UJ: Mostafa- a pleasure as always. Mostafa Marx dear audience!
(Applause)