islam, Uncategorized

Sufi Poetry

Glasgow Masjid

How gentle Allah´s Masjids.
How Love can lie in stone.
Praying, welcome, smiles and joy.
As brothers welcome their own.

Beneath the Angels smiling
A house becomes a home.
When Love exchanged and men are fed.
No man is left alone.

For Love itself descends.
Like potter with the clay.
Moulding men to Love God more.
And better every day.

_____________________________________________

Mortal Thoughts
No mortal thoughts can hurt us now
We humbly stand in  prayer
silently with hearts desire
Allah has heard our cares

Our hearts own longing does he see
where  voices cannot reach
far beyond our duas voiced
or utterance of speech

Mortal voices silenced still
which claim old mortal thoughts
Whilst Angels draw towards him, whom
jihad of self has fought

Unceasing Love alone does send
our duas on upward wing
Angels exchanging  every praise
for graces they do  bring

_____________________________

A martyr’s blood a garden tends,
the time is always spring
their blood it feeds the frosted soil
and melts the hearts within

a martyr’s blood does tend the soil
and lives eternally
to raise the young like nestlings
who shelter in its trees

a martyr’s blood does feed the birds
and all who call their names
to implore Gods saving grace
and all our Faith proclaims

a martyr’s blood it flows in streams
in gardens, mountains, climes
proclaiming death is not the end
a bell of life it chimes

a martyr’s blood within the vale
through thorny briars flows
and deep beneath all suffering
lies a Godly rose

A poem for Friday Prayer

After Jumma shadow dwells back to the world we part

With a thought, a vanished hour with sadness in our Hearts

Yet souls, rise up on wisdom’s wings, with each prayer we find

Life has a higher recompense than just to please mankind.

Supreme and omnipresent God, guide us in wisdom’s way!

Give peaceful triumph to the truth, and melt our sins away

The Lamp of Hope

The lamp that lights all darkness, is drawn from sorrows vein,

Angels tend its lonely wick, to see its glow remain,

Its rays spark soft and gentle, its red bears many scars,

Hang in the sky like ruby stones, amidst the twinkling stars.

The Angel’s blessed scourges, are brought to feed the flame,

Tortures, sorrows, death and woes, brought in Gods holy name,

The lamp can e’er be followed. but never can be found,

Always lighting higher paths, which lead to holy ground

In Memory of a Special Trip to Radio Nederland Wereldomroep (World Service), shortly after its closure; Hilversum,The Netherlands

Gentle drops of rain upon the ground,

Mourning lost forever happy sounds,
A reflecting pool for thinkers wandering round,

Treading sacred paths with Abdul Haq.

Memories of youth in distant past,

Swirling round a huge transmitter mast,

While Angels whisper “nothing here does last”,

Treading sacred paths with Abdul Haq.

Staring in the pool with heavy eyes,

While Angels fingers point to Paradise,

Reflecting back a death I recognise,

Treading sacred paths with Abdul Haq.

A soft sweet figure swirls around my head,

It asks “why seek ye life amongst the dead?

Him you’ll find in all the paths you tread”

Treading sacred paths with Abdul Haq.

Gods unfoldment takes another turn,

Angels turn the wheel, new things begun

Presenting God anew to everyone,

Treading sacred paths with Abdul Haq.

poem on taking Bay’at 10.3.12

They came just after zuhr prayer.
Those wondrous words of old,
With Angels bending near the earth,
To hear one take the oath,

They came with Love and peacefulness
first softly like a stream,
Penned by a man who suffered much
to break earth’s empty dream,

They came upon earth’s angry sea,
Where ships are sinking low,
Where guiding lights are far from seen,
and man is bending low.

They came with staff and rod in hand,
To heal heart soul and mind,
To fulfill the laws and promises,
Our Prophet left behind,

They came and rest contented,
where seeds of Love are sown,
Daily in that London Mosque,
Which God himself does own.

——————————————————————————————

The Star of Mirza Sahib,

There is a star whose beaming light
Shines down on all sublime.
It shines by night,
it shines by day,
And ne’er fades out with time.

It rose upon the river  Beas,
It shone on Ravi’s streams
A hundred years are gone and more,
Yet brighter grows its beam

There is a star whose guiding rays
Pierce through the murky clouds.
With purer light it raises man
Its truth speaks to man and crowd.

It rose up East of Kingdom Sham
It shone above fair Qadian
Now it shines across the world.
With renewed hope for man

There is a star whose shining light,
They tried to dim and fade,
But this lamp no man can quench.
Gods foundations have been laid


waiting

O’er waiting tasbih in my mind
there sweeps a power
Illumined thoughts that comes to man
each waiting hour

And o’er the angry waves of life
A man does walk
Though gone from sight through writings still
He comes and talks

Then His perfumed, sweet presence shows
a truer sight

With Kissed Koran, I wake to know
A world more bright

With tired limbs and burdened heart
Its hard to see
Where you are my dear Messiah
I long to be

Your lamp of truth it guides my boat
Upon Life’s shore,
The waves and tides that once did shock,
Oh, nevermore!

And now a white-winged angel  comes
and wipes my tears
I kiss my pain and praise Allah
Who’s ever near
………………………………………………….

the looming angel

Oh looming angel how you scold me,
forcing me to grow by day,
Honoured touch your lashes hurt me
still there is no other way,
Stubbornly I try to protest
as you raise the sword in hand,
sent by him who knows me better,
holds my life upon his hand,

Screeching on the ground with loathing
like a demon lost in hell.
Blessed lash you cleanse each moment
for my soul you will not sell
Your wings I hear them crash above me
brilliant white like clouds in sky
Legs like steel and eyes so fiery
I have no choice to do or die.

Blessed being soar above me
rain down truth to wash me clean.
Purer brighter understanding
From the worlds of all unseen

…………………………………………………………………………………….

the little masjid

Small Mosque you nestle in the stars
In a city full of bikes and cars
An Azan called for Peasants and Tsars
Its Fajr Time in London

Algerians wave and pass me by
While Asians stare with big brown eyes
Somewhere in Lahore someone dies
Its Fajr time in London

The Imam comes and makes dua
While sounds are heard of braking cars
Brown men rush in, just make Fard,

its Fajr time in London

Its sunrise next no prayers are said
Arabs rest, the Mosque is dead
The Mosque floor becomes their nestled beds
Its Fajr time in London

Mondays faces have all gone
Today new people pray at dawn
Some look young  they sit and yawn
Its Fajr time in London

At Morden

Winding through the darkened Streets.

Passing brothers nod and greet.

On the floor we take our seats.

At Maghrib Prayer in Morden

Arab men they wash their feet

Tired children wake and weep,

Older men with beards they keep.

At Maghrib prayer in Morden

Azan calls us to the floor.

Iqama calls us just once more.

Haziq hurry´s through the door.

At Maghrib prayer in Morden

Wings of an Angel

Angels wings are all embracing, With the thoughts of him above,

Holy arms they lift us higher, To the Throne of Grace and Love.

Gently resting on those feathers, In the warmth of their embrace,

Rising up our minds from shadows, To a place of ever Faith.

Like a swan who treads the river, With her babes not far behind,

A group of Angels soaring upwards, To raise the thoughts of all mankind.

Yet still within the bliss we protest, Mistaking pain for downward flight,

Still each thorn it sends us soaring, Like a child with upward kite

O blessed Angels pointing skyward, Are Life’s tests which rest with me,

Taking me forever higher, Rising upward by decree.

Without the pain we cannot reach him, However long? We cannot say,

Long slender fingers promise heaven, But first the sins must die away.

White robed figures swirl around me, Angels Blessings? Allahs curse?

Rising upward nearing Heaven, Always better never worse.

When you feel that Life is scourging Rejoice an Angel does draw near,

Surrender to the journey upwards, Old beliefs will die with tears.

To Serve

In you my love, so true and tender, I know my life is but to serve,
Within your light of glorious splendor, The path is lit and well preserved,

Within your love is safe abiding, Far away from every tear, Sacred words gently entreating Lest I forget that you are here.

You banish every self made sorrow, Every anxious thought and care, Your message rises up before me, Now I see it everywhere

On being “different”

Breaking through my pains of darkness Black with worry doubts unclear

Lighting up the ghosts around me With a light so soft so dear

Filling my sad heart with gladness In its holy power grasps

Comes the rule to have to live by, nothing here at all does last

Islam in its blessed outpourings Godlike as I fall so weak

Conquering every single shadow,Bringing all I e’er could seek

With a kindness all divine like lifting me from darkest days
I hear the voice “Be strong go on now” lasting for another day

The Caliphate

O gentle peace and God filled  power.
Who leads us upwards every hour.
Like little birds flying out of sight.
Pray Sir, our wings keep upward tonight.

O gentle Sir, Gods presence here.
Wiping far each falling tear.
Like brother birds on same branch bend
Pray Sir that always we ascend,

Hazhoor keep us in your eye.
From time of Bayat until we die.
Like nestling birds whose parents raise

Keep us Sir within your gaze.

spinning wheel
like a gentle spinning wheel,
Inside my Master’s room,
Gratitude and harmony,
do strain around the loom.
Love for Man with every turn,
Is felt by bride and groom,
and as the wheel does spin its yarn,
old maidens in their bloom.
Never stopping ever weaving,
The loving wheel goes round,
Quilting good for every hour,
with blessings most profound,
Autumn winds and vanities.
Drown out many sounds.
Creeping maids and innocence.
Bring tears of age and frown,
the pedalled wheel continues on
Its sound is ever present,
exchanging gloom for happy days,
laments for every pleasance.
The Pulling Power of Love
The pulling power of Love we cannot escape from, Tender as the tenderest flower,
Stronger than a hurricane wind, Inevitable, patient, waiting,
Drawing us every moment, From the compulsive clutch of fear,
Don´t be scared of withdrawals. Love conquers all pain,
Love sends its Angel, Hope, that opens our bare wall from within,
Feel the Love flowing around you, And within you,
Stronger than the ocean waves, There´s no withdrawal of this Love from you,
Nor you from Love, For Love is everywhere,
Draw near, to Love, For it is pulling you,

with bands of love, Let it burn away the pain, which have no entity, identity or power.

jewels
Ever hidden jewels in caverns,
Lie the deepest thoughts of Man
where peace and love are always stirring
never near mortal demands
a place of calm and deepest refuge
a place unfettered like the sea
always stirring pure emotions
setting every captive free
like the waves e’er pushing forward
or the leaves in autumn trees
freeing man from his addictions
a place where every demon flees
Back and forth with branches swaying,
A breeze it sweeps upon the leaves,
Bringing man to stations higher,
Than at first he did believe.
Touching first the ruffled feather,
Of rested birds within their nests,
Then stripping through the thickened treetops.
Bringing leaves, autumnal rest.
Gently stirring garden blossoms.
Harshly pulling tidal seas,
Taking man to places heavenly,
Than he could e’er first believe.
weeping
He that walks the way with weeping
has no reward in time well spent
cheers and laughter in the suffering
are better signs of time well spent
Never tiring never sleeping
ne´r complaining about your woes
showers of roses fall from heaven
on those who learn to love their foes.
Growing
Broken dreams and heartfelt sorrows,
Always help mankind to grow.
For deep beneath the ground is stirring,
Tiny buds beneath the snow.
Pushing through the glasslike ice sheets
Pulling down the water earned.
Comes a bloom of lovely colour.
For which man has long since yearned.
When words of friends and foes despise you.
Give a thought to budding spring.
For far beneath your pain and sorrow,
A bird ls waiting to take wing.
Beloved

I am a morning bird, facing you at Fajr hovering in dreamlike winds
around the petals of your blooming rose of your radiant heart light at Zuhr

Sipping the sweet white nectar of your divine love I am nourished and sustained at Asr
I am ablaze with whirling galaxies
of undivided joy at Maghrib

I am drunk and swooning as I bow to you oh luminous womb of your Great Heart to sip the rivers of milk and honey of your shining being at Eesha

The Guide

So constant shines your light my Love , through dark and lonely nights, glowing gently in the woods a guide for all mankind

Sometimes the glow seems weaker when my tired eyes do roam Yet ever burning still my Love You guide me gently home

At times the glow seems stronger,  when lit and fuelled by faith,  a never changing stillness,  calms my hurried haste
As you shine tonight my Love guide me safely through
teach me how to love you more how to rest in you

My friend Maghrib

He comes at sunset
we sit late into the night
staring into one another’s eyes
waiting wondering how many more times he will visit before Allah
We drink tea and read together wishing for some earthly emotion some permanence or hope we assure each other of eternity before Allah

I remember the first time we met as the sun laid before us
I didnt even know his name he just watched me as I wept before Allah

Sometimes still we cry together wishing in some strange way
that we never met each other
that we never knew what truth is wanting to live life like the world does before Allah

But mostly after the tears
we remember the promises
the ayats and the surahs
and we write them and recite them
hoping waiting and wanting and claiming to believe before Allah

today we have hope.

Christian Science, Uncategorized

Mrs Eddy´s Cousin: Ora Ray Baker

Mrs Eddy`s Cousin born Ora Ray Baker subsequently converted to sufism, a branch of Islam and became known as  Pirani Ameena Begum (Hindustani: अमीरा बेगम / امینہ بیگم) ( 8 May 1892 – 1 May 1949) She was was the wife of Sufi Master Inayat Khan. Continue reading “Mrs Eddy´s Cousin: Ora Ray Baker”

islam, Uncategorized

Dhikr and its practice (1)

Here, in the coming posts  I would like to discuss how the practice of “Remembrance” has turned into something people quickly run through  fingers or beads as a superstitious ritual after formal Prayer (Salat). I would also like to discuss how this act of “Remembrance” has changed from remembering God into something which can put you into a state of intentional loss of control as a type of hypnosis, usually perpetuated by Sufis in a different setting.

So on one hand it is a superstitious ritual, something people have come to do after prayer because they “have to” (and it seems for some people at least the quicker the better) and on the other hand it has been kidnapped by a bunch of mesmerists who are trying to raise our thinking to an altered state. There is also a rumour that it is permissable to mix the names with water and drink them .There is also the idea that somehow it is designed to “please” God, but yet the word in Arabic means “Remember” not “please”.

How exactly did we get to this situation, I believe it is a mixture or poorly educated leaders, superstitious ideas and misinterpretations of the writing of scholars who have long since left us. After all, a language of classical Arabic is required in order to really interpret things correctly.

May I politely mention that neither of these ways of doing Dhikr mentioned above are particularly satisfactory and I find it quite alarming that one of the Ibrahamic Religions is being reduced down to mere superstitious practices.

Firstly if reciting a name in Arabic was in any way able to bring us closer to God then we would all surely pay more attention to it, despite color, race or creed, than trying to quickly get it out of the way before we do something else. The recitation of the thing has no power or benefit, but it is the act of Love, of trying to be still and be at one with the Creator which really counts, The intention, the art of being still and listening. The names can no doubt help us to that state but the ritual of the thing is only words. Reciting of the 99 names is not even a prescribed act of worship amongst all Muslims of the world.

So how do we redeem “Dhikr” as something which can be actually useful to us? By not reciting the names but actually looking at each one and then comparing it to our lives.

eg. One name is “The Bountiful” –  so, write down what God has given you in Life, what are you grateful for today?

Another is the “Hidden” – where we can ask “how does God reveal himself to us”. How do we see or meet with him daily?

This means we can see not what to “get” from God but what we have already been given, what we already have and don´t know it.  It also helps us to get to know the character of God better.

Over the coming days I intend to write more about this very interesting subject and how hypnosis or mesmerism or any kind of altered state is NOT an act of worship.

 

 

 

Poems, Uncategorized

Love is my Religion by Ibn Arabi

“قلب من پذيراي همه صورت‌ هاست
قلب من چراگاهي است براي غزالان وحشي
و صومعه‌ اي است براي راهبا ن ترسا
و معبدي است براي بت‌ پرستان
و كعبه‌ اي است براي حاجيان
قلب من الواح مقدس تورات است
و كتاب آسماني قرآن
دين من عشق است
و ناقه‌ي عشق مرا به هر كجا خواهد، سوق مي‌دهد
“عشق ، دین وایمان من است

شیخ الاکبر محی الدین ابن عربی اندلسی -مذهب عشق

لقد صار قلبي قابلا كل صورة
فمرعي لغزلان و دير لرهبان
و بيت لاوثان و كعبة طايف
و الواح تورات و مصحف قرآن
ادين بدين الحب اني توجهت
ركائبه فالحب ديني و ايماني
شیخ الاکبر محی الدین ابن عربی اندلسی -مذهب عشق