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“Love’s Army” & “Greater in Distinction”

“All opinions are that of the author and not necessarily those of the website that it is published under.”

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.


1 commentaire ““Love’s Army” & “Greater in Distinction””

  1. 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
    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
    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.

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