Category Archives: narrative poetry

The Murder of My Soul

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One night I found my soul dead on the floor
Stabbed to death it rocked me to my core
And so immediately I led the case
To find if the killer had left a trace
I called our CID and Forensics
Who searched for prints and fibres for our pick
My CID checked hours of CCTV
Unlocked the mobile phones for clues and leads
But as we checked and searched for answers deeper
This mystery endured I felt a fever
Until we feared and floundered in flat circles
Our minds felt sick, our veins were going purple
Until one night as I slept in my bed
This case had burned my body churned my head
I found a door open with a subtle light
And drops of blood leading before my sight
I followed them then found a wretched dagger
Its familiarity it made me stagger
And then I found my nafs hidden in shadow
Upon its head an imp with eyes like arrows
The killer, to my unrelenting dread
Was not another one, but in me instead
And tears were shed of longing and remorse
The imp it fled and tawba took its course
My nafs was led away by CID
Constables instilling Divine Decree
And now I felt something just so relieving
I heard a heartbeat now; my soul was breathing

Notes:

CID- UK police detectives
Nafs- inner psyche/ego

Image: from True Detective: Season 1

The Murid, the Sage, the Water Hole, the Spade

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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 Mureed Of Sorts Who Took His Sufi Shaykh To Court!

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Once there was a bold mureed of sorts

Who went and took his sufi shaykh to court!

He stood before the judge with indignation

The shaykh stood in the docks with resignation

“So what’s your case?” began the magistrate

As jury, public, media stood in wait:

“Dear judge,” began the bold mureed of sorts

“By this man I was guided, helped and taught

But now I’ve realised, he is of no use!

As he has subjected me to spiritual abuse!”

“Describe in detail your experience,”

The judge advised with this august appearance:

“Well,” said the mureed, “Let me start with this

He made me give my own ego the miss!

He forced me to reduce my reputation

By begging in the streets with humiliation

Then he said that I would be inspired

If I gave up my ego’s deep desires.”

The mureed wept, tears streaming down his face

He looked up to the judge: “Sorry your grace.”

“So what was the result?” enquired the judge

“Well here’s the crux of my permitted grudge

This sufi shaykh committed heresy

By making me forego my agency

He forced me to ingest unearthly wine

Which he said had appeared from the divine

And then I lost all concept of my self

All I could see was light and heavenly wealth

I was imprisoned in the malakut

Where angels served my needs all to my suit

But here’s the worst reality you see

All I could see was Him; nowhere was me!”

The mureed opened his indignant eyes

And stared around the court in great surprise

For judge and jury looking rather guilty

Now stood before the shaykh swearing their fealty!

The judge said: “dear mureed, you got us thinking

I think we’ll have what you have just been drinking!”

2022

Mobeen Hood and the Crooked Pir

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Pir Sikandar was a Gaddi Nasheen 

Who had more properties than Her Majesty the Queen 

Every Friday in his local mosque 

He gathered copious funds like a hungry fox 

Rupees from poor and rich whatever the vibe 

And to his TV channel, all, they must subscribe 

And if any of his followers decried 

“The curse of God on misers!” He would cry.  

His house was more a palace than khanqah 

For driving, he would cruise around in sports cars 

While most of his mureeds got by in rickshaws 

And most lived in crowded flats and on one floor 

But amongst all these, there was a wild malang 

With the honey bees of Love, he had been stung 

This roaming dervish, he was called Mobeen 

His face looked rough- his heart was most serene 

He loved some stories, but one he thought was good 

Was about the Merry men and Robin Hood! 

One night to God, he cried and he implored: 

“I will perform one thing that Thou deplores 

I’ll steal the funds hidden in Sikandar’s stores 

And rob the rich to benefit the poor!” 

So, in the night, whilst Sikandar was asleep 

Mobeen he lurked outside with just a creep 

He slipped into the tomb of Sikandar’s Dada 

And there he spoke with ecstasy to the spirit of this Baba 

From there he took some treasures and some light 

And distributed it throughout the night 

Sikandar’s followers awoke feeling so rich 

With hidden Oneness lights, no more they itched 

Then on that Friday, when Sikandar came to rule 

Despite his retinue, he looked a total fool 

Because to his infuriating surprise 

No one had turned up to pray in the lines 

“Where are my followers? Where are they indeed?” 

He stormed at his most gullible mureed 

So, then they searched and drove along the roads 

To each and every disciple’s abode 

And everywhere they went they couldn’t fathom 

That each mureed they met was now bedazzled 

With priceless, wealthy lights around their head 

And public crowds following in their stead 

The last they met was none other than Mobeen 

Who wore the jewels of love brighter than the Queen: 

Sikandar cried: “Mobeen for goodness sake! 

I thought I was supposed to be the shaykh! 

And now all those who once would follow me 

Each one has turned into a boundless sea!” 

Mobeen said: “O dear pir I must confess 

I robbed the lights hidden within your chest 

That you have locked away in your darbar 

And now your way of life from this is far 

Like Robin Hood I stole from one who’s rich 

With ancestors who gave their nafs the ditch 

I shared their lights with those who are deserving 

As you have ignored things that need preserving.” 

Pir Sikandar, wealthy Gaddi Nasheen 

Proclaimed in shame: “O God, what have I been!” 

And there and then he chose he would repent 

And gave away his riches then off he went 

Roaming the roads like one who’s on a search 

Because his love for God has gone berserk 

He left Mobeen to take his rightful place 

As the sincere pir; as the real shaykh 

And that’s the story of old Mobeen Hood 

And Pir Sikandar who changed all for the good! 

Notes:  

Gaddi Nasheen- inheritor/son of previous Pir or Shaykh (spiritual leader/holy man) and assumes his position in the community 

Mureed- followers of spiritual leader 

Malang- deranged, spiritual aspirant with strange powers 

Baba- old shaykh, pir / old man 

Dada- grandfather from father’s side 

Darbar- grave of spiritual leader/holy person

2022

 

Hamra The Jinn

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Hamra the Jinn, the scourge of men and women in the night!

If you have been an evil one, she has you in her sights!

She wears a chador darker than a plummeting black hole

Her eyes are redder than the churning rocks and burning coals

Her fangs are sharper than the canine teeth within a wolf

Her nails are firmer than the claws of Grendel from Beowulf

Her face more mesmerising than the princesses of old

Her voice can pacify the weak, and terrify the trolls

She haunts the night, and sniffs the air for all the evil ones

The dealers and the pimps and all the violent, lazy bums

The nasty hags; the cold, conniving, calculating queens

The older ones who trap the young in incidents obscene

Hamra the Jinn; she always wins, no one can shirk her chase

The darkest soul cannot conceive she’s there before his face

From Kanadhar, to Zanzibar, to Cairo and Tehran

From London, Paris, Marrakesh, to Dakar and Amman

She rides the winds; she skims the seas; she roams the spinning earth

She lurks in all the corners where she finds the people worst

One day she lit upon a human trafficker from Prague

Who liked to beat the women he had hidden in his yard;

The cries of these afflicted souls echoed in Hamra’s ears

They drew her, like a tiger drawn by scent of grazing deer

She watched as this monstrosity tormented these women

And then she wrapped him in her chador for his ugly sins

She drained him drier than the hay that feeds the hungry horse

When Hamra had finished with him, he was a walking corpse

Another job, she heard the sobs from flats in Tel Aviv

A woman liked to burn her son to put herself at ease

And one night, after deceiving police, with gloating pride,

She went to bed, and turned to see Hamra was by her side

The eyes blood red filled her with dread; the woman lost her nerve

Confessing all her nastiness; a sentence she would serve

Another time an operator of the killer drones

Was sniggering because his bombs had wiped out mountain homes

And when he strolled the streets alone, deep in the folding night

He came upon her hungry eyes which pierced him with a fright

No sleep would cast upon his eyes except he saw her face

Digging into his inner core; his life had lost its taste

Hamra the jinn, she always wins, no one can shirk her chase

But when she sees a kind person, she gives a warm embrace

The wife-beaters, the child-beaters, now inwardly implore

For mercy from the sight of Hamra slipping through their doors

So, here’s a warning for us all, when we’re about to rage

On individuals weaker, or are vulnerable in age

Remember that the cries for help will summon Hamra’s eyes

To you she may remain unseen, although materialised

She’ll work on you; she’ll shadow you; she’ll make your living hell

So, think about this carefully and those with whom you dwell…

Hamra the Jinn, the scourge of men and women in the night!

If you have been an evil one, she has you in her sights!

The Eternal Marifah

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Hayy! Hayy! The Marifah!

When the lights they reveal what you really are

Hayy! Hayy! The Marifah!

When the secrets are near but you’re searching far

Hayy! Hayy! The Marifah!

His Eternal Marifah!

.

Jon was a don and a superstar

Who was rich and revered and so popular,

But the worldly success it had left the scars

From the chars of the Mardi gras

.

So, he sought for a cure in the lands afar

For the emptiness from the caviar

But he ended up in a boulevard

On the coasts of Zanzibar

.

Serving on a stall, in the street bazaar

Stood a dervish youth from the isle Pemba

Jon was drawn to him with his heart’s radar

And he told him of his scars:

.

“I need some reprieve for my ailing heart

It is subsiding like a collapsar

All my luxuries they are avatars

Save me from my deep gula!”

.

The dervish arose like a rising shah

With a gleam in his mien like a shining star

And he spoke with a voice like a rare nectar

With his eyes, piercing pulsars:  

.              

“The cravings of life are an abattoir

Which slaughter the souls in a pink boudoir!

Only One can repair, with His Marifah!

Closer than your jugular!

.

“Hayy! Hayy! The Marifah!

When you bow to the One, it will soothe your scars

Hayy! Hayy! The Marifah!

When you’re close to the One who knows who you are

Hayy! Hayy! The Marifah!

His Eternal Marifah!”

.

“Hayy! Hayy! The Marifah!

When the lights they reveal what you really are

Hayy! Hayy! The Marifah!

When the secrets are near but you’re searching far

Hayy! Hayy! The Marifah!

His Eternal Marifah!”

Notes:

Hayy! Hayy!- Arabic- alive- a reference to the divine name: Al Hayy- The Living One- some recite the name to draw closer to Allah Most High

Marifah- Arabic- knowledge (of God- mystical closeness to the Divine Reality)

Gula- Latin- gluttony, greed- one of the seven deadly sins