Doing Too Much

You could tell her poetry that speaks from the heart,

But to her, it may be words, mere words.

And you could write her song that bridge worlds apart.

And yet feel like a worm reaching for the birds.

And you could build for her a castle in sky,

Before admiring the beauty, she asks you "Why?"

And you could move mountains to get her a sapphire.

And yet it does not set the heart of stone afire.

And you could do a thousand, thousand things bar one.

And tear the moon from the skies and give her the sun;

Give her pearls carved from the every tear you ever cried,

And show her scars scoured in your heart when you tried.

She pleads frailty, a damsel in distress;

She pleads misconstruement, pain and duress.

She says she needs space, she says she needs time.

She puts up every wall until the words no longer rhyme...

Women.

Harlequin

Eagle to the Swan

I am lovelorn, and you are love shy.

I give no reasons, but you ask, "why?"

I care not how old, how young you are.

Even next to you, I could feel afar.

And your world seems as removed from mine,

As the stars above us in the heavens do shine.

But I close my eyes and you are there.

Shards of my heart, with you, I share.

When you can see me as I see you,

You will know why I do what I do for you.

January seems a lifetime since that call.

A moment is an eternity since I did fall.

For you.

Harlequin

The Call of the Beloved (For the Knowers)

So come back to Me when you are ready.  Though the world thinks you are crazy.   With just one call, I Will Be there.  For I have never left.  And if you walk to me, I Run.  And if you move nearer one step, I Move nearer seventy steps.  I Always Answer your call.  Because I Know you.  Even when you have no more faith in yourself.  Your pain is My Pain, your joy is My Joy.

I will Return; my Light, my Sun, my Moon, my Eleven Stars.  I will Return; my Reason, my Heart, my Desire.  Return to me, my Glimpse of Paradise.  Because the Garden is not the Abode.  I seek Thee. You are my Treasure in dunya and my Treasure in akhirah.  My pain is Your Pain, My joy is Your Joy.  I do not exist in your Presence.  There is only You.  And I know now, We were never apart.

Harlequin

Andromache

Andromache, Andromache Queen.

Helikoan speaks from lands unseen.

Troy had fallen, Gemmel is dead.

Agamemnon killed, the Mykene unlead.

Dying is bliss,

The living is hell

For what we miss,

The dead can’t tell

When hope is lost,

Just come across.

And once you enter,

The pain doesn’t matter

Not anymore.

Not ever more.

We all have a time appointed.

We all have a role anointed.

We are all led to believe eventually;

The pain will stop, physically, emotionally.

But it doesn’t.  It couldn’t.

It’s a fucking lie.

No soul is given greater than it can bear,

Such a burden, the bottom of the stair.

That when you fall, it won’t be to Tartarus.

That Allah measures hope against utterers

Of patience and faith and sinners and saints.

But Satan whispers, and despair taints.

The days are bleak, the nights insane.

One day you are Abel, one day Cain.

One day a saint, one day a sinner.

And everyday, faith becomes fainter.

A distant memory.

I have decided after much thought,

For too long the battle has been fought.

That every time you start to believe and hope,

The sun has risen, you start to cope.

The dawn has broken, the birds about.

The Night is yours, the stars shine out.

It was all false, it was a mirage.

That in the end, merely a facade.

It was all a fucking lie.

I am tired, I can’t go on.

I want to sleep forever gone.

And never wake up in earthly bounds.

Not even arise when the Trumpet sounds.

I’ve tried so hard, I’ve done my best.

But in the end, I failed the Test.

I talked to God, I sought redemption.

I saw Shaykh Hisham, I got no mention.

The tariqa’ is for the sick who can be cured.

But when the qalb is dead, the soul inured.

There is no pain, no feeling, no hope.

No Divine reason for me to cope.

There is nothing.

A million dollars before Cronus ascends,

To secure my legacy before Mika’il descends.

To fulfill my duty, two drachma in my eyes.

I’m crossing the Styx, Charon in disguise.

I’ve tried to sleep thrice before.

Each time I failed to cross the door.

My Night is gone, my God denied.

I’ll go the road Heath Ledger tried.

I want to sleep and never arise.

To pain and sorrow and Divine lies.

So if I don't see you before then - farewell traveller.

Harlequin

Walk by the River

Walked alone by the river, when the night was deepest

In silence so profound, the senses keenest.

A path to nowhere but a forest of silence.

To contemplate again the recent events.

To know the sun for I have seen the darkness,

To know life for I have been starkness.

To know love for I have seen hate.

And to die when the sunshine comes too late.

The Devil walked beside me on my left; he whispered,

"Join me for your God has the Covenant rejected.

The life of this world disappoints", depressed banter.

"Follow me where what was lost does not matter."

And for one of the few times, he did not lie.

It would not take much, to drown and die.

But to live on with a heart torn out.

To drown in pain, no soul that stout.

And the Angel of Death stood just behind.

Though silent and looming, I welcomed his kind.

Draught of eternity on my lips, thus I lay me down to sleep,

To sail to my personal hell, where tears of blood seep.

Walked alone by the river, when the night was deepest

In silence so profound, the senses keenest.

The Devil was there, and the Angel of Death.

I looked to the sky, turned away from the left.

Harlequin

We are Travellers

We are Travellers, Shaykh; indeed we roam

Always seeking, never are we alone.

Always searching, to know the way home.

A road of trials, the spirit and heart to hone.

We stand on the horizon looking at the next.

Who is the horizon when we all stand still.

To see a world like a mirage, a different context.

And who is the Self when the Self has no Will.

Harlequin

The Time of Change

As Joseph waited forty for a vision,

And Moses walked forty in a mission.

So you had forty hidden in plain sight.

Now you must point the way to His Delight.

This is that time the khalwah is ended.

This is the place for service rendered.

This is a vision of Arqam's abode.

This is the mission of change bestowed.

The time of Prophets may be over,

Now is come the Age of the Lover.

Now is the Call to follow the Path,

For His Mercy truly overcomes His Wrath.

Forty is the number of Secrets' change,

Though the Path of the Ahl as-Safa' seems strange.

The Golden Chain is the Master's Way,

Perfection of Self, the adab holds sway.

Our Way is True, the Association,

Cleansed of Seekers of worldly station.

Council of the Meek, swept away;

Counsel of the Wise, the Haqqani Way.

Harlequin

Promises I Cannot Make

I cannot promise you, we will never fight.

I cannot promise you, things will always be alright.

I cannot promise you, you will never cry.

I cannot promise you, you will not question 'why?'

I cannot promise you, the sun will always shine.

I cannot promise you, things will always be fine.

I cannot promise you, I will always be sappy.

I promise you, I will never stop trying to make you happy.

Harlequin

Love in Denial

Somewhere some girl is falling,

But she is scared, afraid, she's petrified.

Somewhere some walls are crumbling,

She's besotted, enamoured; still terrified.

Somewhere some guy is crazy,

He's falling, tumbling; absolutely reckless.

Somewhere some memory's hazy,

He's skipping, bouncing; definitely feckless.

Somewhere somebody's falling in love.

They forgot about the background check.

No lawyers, P.I.'s, angels from above.

No mothers-in-law, no credit check.

Somewhere two somebody's falling,

They both deny; it's not possible, it's true.

Somewhere the moment's calling.

Say every word to each other, but 'I love you'.

Go Figure…

Harlequin

Blue Rose

Red roses are for love and romance.

White roses are innocence and another chance.

Yellow roses are parting and sweet sorrow.

Black roses are for guilt and hope hollow.

Blue roses are for fantasy and impossibility,

Of miracles, new hope, another possibility.

If a heart, a rose bloodied and white;

It is now a blue for dreams come at night.

Harlequin

Cynical Love

Love is too fickle a creature.

Hope is supposed to be its feature.

It goes not always to the deserving;

It is not always received by the yearning.

But I know love intimately as can be.

And never again will I ever let it touch me.

For love it is, forever sought.

By no means, can it be bought.

But you can pay a heavy price for it.

A heart, a soul; your wrist to slit.

Your hopes, your dreams, your faith in Him.

For beautiful women are creatures of whim.

Harlequin

Passing Words for a Princess

Sometimes, you’re so careful where you tread.

You don’t want to fall, the pain you dread.

You don’t dare to hope, so scared instead.

I thought I could not live; my heart was dead.

It was a restless night; you were away.

It was an eternity, every single day.

It seemed forever, and there I lay.

It was unreal to feel again, this way.

“Step into my parlour”, said the spider to the fly.

I am enamoured, entranced; I still deny.

There’s too much pain, I dare not try.

But I’m snared in the blink of an eye.

Where can I go?  What can I do?

I see in my mind, there is only you.

I see in the heart, a vision so true.

I see in my soul, a rose so blue.

Pearls of the moon, diamonds of the sun.

Were there such gems, to you there are none

That are so valuable as your words have done

To shatter my shields as if there were none.

A thousand, thousand words how beautiful you are.

A thousand more, on your smile thus far.

In my night; you’re my bright, shining star.

Achingly beautiful, no imperfections mar.

So good night, my love and rest so sweet.

For in my dreams are where we meet.

I have no more shield, my sword at your feet.

I have no more fight, only defeat.

Harlequin

Succubus Smile

Beautiful skin,

Charming grin;

Flick of her hair,

Without a care.

A sideways glance,

Perhaps, perchance;

Cupid's shot,

The fool besot.

An angel's wings,

Then wedding rings.

Succubus smile,

Hell and bile.

Harlequin

Eve's Daughters

Such sweet wine, those lips.

Such allure, those hips.

Such promises, those words,

Such deadly cuts, those hurts.

Their promises of heaven do tell,

Could very well be the gates of Hell.

A woman's touch, such ecstasy,

Lies within the seeds of tragedy.

Harlequin

Divine Echo

We are here for a short time only,

And we walk a Path so lonely.

A man and his wife is Allah's Sign.

Their love an echo of His Design.

Such love so deep, comes once in your life,

Once found, only she could ever be your wife.

Like Andromache and Helikoan.

Once she was lost, he could not go on.

Every Lover has only one heart to live,

Echo of the Divine Love, one to give.

And when that is lost, beyond all hope,

God truly knows the Man cannot cope.

That is truly our anchor in this world.

When that is lost, it will all unfurl.

What is left is the Eternal Sleep,

The only cure for pain so deep.

Is the pain of the heart, the sin of the soul?

The tears are so hot, the heart is so cold.

The nights so long and lonely.

Without the Divine Echo's only.

Harlequin

Tribute to the Hidden Ustadz

Of states, what can I say that you know not?

Of stations, where do I walk you have not besought?

Of taste, what do I say of Gardens I can see,

When you have waded in the Oceans of Mercy?

Where I sit at the edge of the Circle hidden,

You sit at the table of Masters unbidden.

I pray a hundred raka'at nightly for one hajat,

You call the adzan and the He Raises your darajat.

I see the Heralds and give them salaam,

You prayed behind the One who broke the Qalam.

Though I may ask Him for the rain and it pours,

You know the Sirr that was taught of the Hours.

You know well the ways, the breaking of norms.

The signs of tajalli and the secret of forms.

And prayed with the Four behind Rahmatul 'Aalamin

At the place the Mi'raj began, where you were named 'Amin'

Harlequin

This is a tribute to Shaykh al-Amin, who is a Knower, hidden in plain sight.  And now is the time for him to teach.  And Allah (s.w.t.) knows best.

In Honour of Shaykh Zakaria Bagharib (q.s.)

A long time ago, I gave the bai'ah, the reenactment of Hudaibiyah to the Naqshbandi Haqqani Sufi Order, the Keepers of the Golden Chain.  This was before my official conversion to Islam.

The son of a wali, of the sons of awliya,

The student of awliya, of the students of awliya,

The teacher of awliya, of the teachers of awliya.

Of a spiritual lineage that goes back to Abu Bakr as-Siddique (r.a.), the First of the Khulafa ar-Rashideen, mentioned in the Qur'an as One of Two in the Cave, the Affirmer of Muhammad after the Isra' wa Mi'raj.

His was a state of hal hidden, of a maqam secluded, and a darajat secret.  But to the Knowers, he was the Keeper of Secrets.  He was my beloved shaykh.

Allah (s.w.t.) has blest me in that I have studied at the feet of many, and I have taken from many more.  But whenever I fell from the Path, whenever I undertook a burden beyond what I could, whenever I became a swineherd dancing away from al-Haqq; it was Shaykh Zakaria (q.s.) who brought me back to the fold.

And most of what I have learnt, it was from him.  And though I never practiced much of what I know until now, he never gave up on me.  He named me again, Sayf ad-Deen, the Sword of the Faith, after I had forgotten it.  And he told me the 70 ayat of sabr and to never give up.  For who gives up on the Most Merciful of the Merciful except those who are astray?

According to Shaykh Maqsud (q.s.), he died the death of a shahid.  According to Shaykh Adnan Kabbani (q.s.), he died the death of a wali.  To me, he died as my beloved Shaykh.  And whatever I have learned and practiced over the years, it is from him and may the barakah of these actions reach him.

I never shed more than two tears in public in all my life, until I carried his body.  He was my Shaykh, and he will be greatly missed.

We are Travellers of the Way.

And this world will pass away.

We are sleepers dreaming.

As time is streaming.

Until the Day of Standing,

Until the Call of Rising.

Where every soul will know its worth,

That we are nothing but earth.

And we are called not to the Garden,

Neither is the Fire a Burden.

We are called to the Presence,

A Return to the Essence.

Harlequin