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Love’s Army
I bear witness that there is none worthy of worship except Allah, and I bear witness that Muhammad is His servant and messenger.
What does it mean that He alone is worthy?
What can we bring to such a love as this?
To be love’s army, practiced, disciplined,
Our shoulders pressed against the walls,
Braving sore muscles and shattered nerves,
Olympic athletes of love, scientists and engineers of love,
Focused on banding together for good,
Our fingers trained and sure,
Boundlessly inventive,
Our warrior hearts as bright and firm as gold.
Greater in Distinction
Look how We have favored [in provision] some of them over others. But the Hereafter is greater in degrees [of difference] and greater in distinction. [Quran, 17:21]
Degrees above . . .
There’s a stab in these words, for those of us who are degrees below.
The willow, perplexed,
Lowers her limbs and waters the sea,
Begging for pearls.
End of the year.
It is the end of the year once more,
Through a forest
She ran.
Her tiny steps left a small trace,
On the damp, swamped soil
Revealing a freshly hidden petal.
Behind her,
A heartless irritated beast
Stomped.
Crushing the petal.
And crushing the girl.
It is the end of the year once more,
Through the corridors of a palace,
A happy gathering of corpulent men,
Their ugly stomachs
Lying as trophies beside them,
Held their chests as they cackled
Uncontrollably,
Their fragile hearts
Sitting on a mountain of gluttony.
Downstairs a boy
With beautiful brown smooth skin,
With eyes like rare black pearls,
Stopped for his weak hands
Could scrub no more.
He Blinked. Slowly. Slower,
And finally closed.
A phone rang,
The voice of a beast was heard,
The cackling stopped
And in a fire of panic,
The men barely holding themselves up
Held a white flag up in the air.
And in front of a sea of people
They shed one teardrop,
As the camera flashed.
A minute
(Or maybe two) of silence had passed
The men dragged their bodies,
Into the palace.
It was lunchtime.
And they were hungry.
In the memory of the petal, the girl and the boy.