Godspeak

unworthy, I truly am
of Your incalculable grace
and yet, you continue
to give, and to give,
and to give

'tis in Your love
I learn to love the lot of
Your creation; the broken,
the tried, the tested, even the

(sigh) worldly-vested



you think love is only beautiful
because love has yet to hurt you;
so throwing caution to the wind,
you remain but unmindful

surely Allah is the Knower of subtleties, 
the All-Aware. 
(31:16)



in my quest for You,
I am, but left with, 

no desire for man



try as I may
with this veil of patience
I cannot lie to You

'tis not that You 
know my heart, but that
Thou art it

so stricken with grief
my body, I feel as though
the limbs will fall off

wanton, despicable
my tears, can You please
make them stop

ya Allah, I do not
wish to move, but that
I have no choice

if I claim so much
to love You, then is this,
in any way unwavering?



...that this trial 
could perhaps be,
Your wanting 

to hear from me?

Oh! Just the 
thought of such
honour, and 

blessedness

I am pulled apart, 
sewn back together,
inside and out

all in the same,
saccharine moment
of unparalleled

bliss.



forgive me, ya Allah...
for my having forgotten
Your might, and Your majesty,
Your splendour, and Your grace

only with Thou help can
this unworthy servant

remember.



nip it right in the bud,

waswas.



two signs in one morning
the sermon of Sayyeda Zaynab,
and the movie 313, finding their way
into my possession, on a day my heart

beats its weakest.

how, oh, how
and why, oh, why,
O my dear, beautiful Lord...
so full of mercy and compassion,

do You love me so?



for, my love,
come what may
He hath already written

you a way



what of your ugliness?
insurmountable comfort,
lies in the beauty of your Lord
all yours for the taking...
'if only you reflect'



Your grace
in the face of
my transgressing,
and ever so base 

base self.



and when you strip yourself 
of all that is, this decrepit world
you find, that you simply can not

unlove

quite just like that;
for in your love, and in your
dedication, there is as manifest as

hidden

Him, and ever only Him,
and never were you insincere,
for if 'twere so, how could it ever be 

of Him?



what do
I know



hard to explain, however
only the simplest thing
to understand;

if 'tis the blessed Ahlul Bayt
you love, then without
shadow of a doubt

my dear dear brother, 
my dear dear sister, 
I love you



and in 
His subtlety 

lies all 
His majesty



for I am His,
and He is mine;
engulfing my soul,
His grace, everywhere



the 
purpose

keep on
keepin' on

actualize that

which lies 
manifest

He



spiritually cool,
spiritual loser



God;
great

man;
base



all-encompassing
my one, the utmost

(and only) grievance 
is that against my 

nafs



so what,
if it is permissible

the test lies in that
you desire it, and despite
which, how you
hold up in its

upon you,
not being bestowed

yet you must, oh but
you must make your peace
in the wrenching that
is its absence



for you know nothing
and yet you pine away
for all that is gold

home
husband
child

how can you, you
that is nothing, that
is limited in all of

sensory
perceptible
physical

how can you even
possibly comprehend
that that which is

good
gracious
noble

is meant to bear
you fruit, yield you
half of faith—His 

mercy
pleasure
embrace

what if you... may 
not be as good for that 
which (you think) 

is good for you?



inundating, 
the incompetence

wretched,
this believer



perhaps
you are only 
frugal,

because
you have no
change

to spare?



oh, but didn't you know
'tis the hold over skin
that leads to hold
over faith



Muharram
the only place
I have ever felt

at long last,
as though I
somehow

belong

at long last,
as though I
've come

home



He who watches
never tires

what do they matter

rivers milk
and rivers honey

yonder virgins
songs and merry

rose gardens
all 'em fires

when none 
but He

your beloved

a Lord so dear
jugular near



so sure
unafraid

Him, 
and
I



the joy 
that becomes

abstinence
limiting access

trying hard
hardly trying

in control
forever more

in His pleasure
when you 

begin to find
your own


I will
not

be
base



All my follies, are my follies
all triumph,

His



For have we known love at all,
if we have known not a love
for (s)he who loves Him?

And is it even poetry, that which is devoid
of Him?



Oh, what a thing 
of unspeakable beauty 'tis 
to love a believer



Not a slave to the wayward eyes of anyone else

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