Tag: Ka’aba

Say Your Prayers in My House Today



O faithful one, say your prayers in my house today;

Below your feet I spread the jainamaz* of my heart.

I am a careless sinner,

Find no time to pray;

Touching your feet, may my sinful head be raised.

Wipe your ablution water with my garments,

Turn my house into a mosque by your touch today.

The Devil, through whose wiles

I do not find time to call upon God,

Will flee, hearing your call to pray.



*Jainamaz: A Prayer rug



The Passing of the Prophet 



What an amazing scene is this! Even Azrael’s eyes well with tears. 

His merciless heart trembles as at the onset of fever. 

	His stony fist, quick to kill, is still today. 

	His grasp is weak, his heart pierced, 

	His blue crown kisses the dust. 

Gabriel’s fiery wings have shattered to pieces. 

The world’s debt has been paid, but the heart is still in pain. 

	Mikhail ceaselessly pours 

	The salt water of the rivers 

On all the lands; in the dark night, the pines sway. 

Is this the same moon of the twelfth night? 

	The same Rabiul Awwal*? 



In the north-east a dark flag flutters. 

	Israfil’s trumpet of destruction 

Also sounds feeble today. The breast-shattering lightning weeps inconsolably. 

Why does the devil Azazel stand at the Prophet’s door? 

From his breast too tears flow, flooding the plains of Madina. 

	Borak raises his hooves above his head, 

	Tears through heaven and earth. 

	He weeps aloud, and, looking up towards 

	Heaven, neighs loudly. 

	Houris and fairies grieve, 

	Their eyes sparkling with tears. 

Today the flaming rivers of hell have turned to water; 

The narcissus and poppies of Paradise shed countless tears. 



Mother Earth weeps, clasping the corpse of her son to her breast. 

She carries the bier of her son, her body racked with sighs. 

	In the cave of hell, the jinns weep. 

	Will Solomon die a second death? 

	The doe forgets to nurse her young; 

	The sorrowful bird forgets to sing. 

	Flowers and leaves fall, a cold north wind blows. 

	The life of the earth is ebbing, her veins and arteries rent. 

	There is no end to mourning

	In Makkah and Madina 

It is the field of the Day of Judgement; 

Everyone rushes about madly. 

The Ka’aba trembles, and all Creation seems to gasp its last breath. 



The herald’s bugle sounds sadly today. 

Whose sharp sword slashes again and again at the distant moon? 

Abu Bakr’s tears flow in an endless stream, 

Mother Ayesha’s cries cause the heavenly stars to grow faint. 

Maddened with grief, Omar violently twirls his dagger, 

	“I shall beat the life out of God, 

	I shall not spare Him today.”

	The hero roars again and again, 

	“I will slash off the head of any one who dares to say 

	That the Prophet is no more – of anyone who tries to take him to the graveyard.”

	In his mighty hand, his sword he whirls. 



Who is that weeping inconsolably in every mosque today? 

	The grief-stricken muezzin’s call is faint; 

There is no strength in him, in his empty heart. 

Bilal’s voice breaks and falters as he calls the azan. 

Who recites the heart-wrenching call for the funeral prayer? 

Osman swoons, racked with pain, foam on his lips; 

The brave Ali Haider has been subjugated by his grief; 

	His double-edged Zulfiqar 

	Is blunt with sorrow. 

Alas, the Prophet’s beloved daughter Fatima weeps. 



“Where are you, father,” she cries, her hair dishevelled and unbound. 

Hasan and Husain writhe on the ground like slaughtered doves. 

“Where are you, Nana?” they call and search for him everywhere. 

	The light of the day has gone out, 

	The moon and stars have faded. 

	The world has grown dark, 

	Every eye sheds drops of blood. 

	The seas crest and foam to drown the skies above, 

	Except for their salty tears, they will leave nothing behind on earth. 

	God Himself is helpless, 

	His seat itself has shattered. 

He wishes to clasp His friend to His bosom, 

But how can He wrench away the one for whom all creation weeps? 



There is great festivity in Paradise today, great rejoicing. 

The houris and angels sing in unison, “Sallallaho aleihe sallam*”.

Standing in rows, they sing praises of the Prophet. 

Mother Earth weeps, unable to keep her son. 

“Have Amina and Abdullah come? Is the virtuous Khadija here?” 

Seeing the joy on the mother’s face as she sees her long-lost son, 

The Lord of the Universe laughs. 

	“God, what injustice is this?”

	Cry the children of the earth. 

Today the bright lights of heaven grow brighter still; 

	There is increasing happy laughter there.  

Only the light of Mother Earth is dimmed and darkness reigns. 

The laughter of the heavens rings out above the tears of earth, 

And from everywhere echoes the cry “Sallallaho aleihe sallam". 



* Rabiul Awwal : The third month of the Islamic calendar
* Sallallaho aleihe sallam : May Allah honour him and grant him peace