Al Kahf (The Cave)

When I seek affirmation, I take my Qu'ran,  always on my desk while I work or write, place my left palm flat upon the cover, open it randomly and always, it speaks to me.

My Qu'ran is different. It was gifted to me by an Imam in a masjid in Buffalo, New York.
I simply walked in one day, saw a man in the front of the masjid, dressed in a suit with slightly greying hair, and said, "Salam, I wish to learn of Islam."

The man did not hesitate, he took the exact Qu'ran used in prayer and handed it to me.  It is worn leather with gold scripting on the cover that I am unable to see any longer, and deep forest green.  It is written in both Arabic and English, translated by Abdullah Yusuf Ali from 1420 AH.  It smells of flowers. 

[I can smell them now with it open.]

I adore it, it's mine and it's special. 


I bowed my head to the man and said, "Salam, what do I owe you for this?"  He said, with a confused look on his face, "No, nothing, we do not charge for Qu'ran, this is gift."

That is the first time I had ever stepped into a mosque.

This Qu'ran was meant for me. When I place my hand upon the cover, I feel very safe. I opened it just now to this:

Surah 18: Al Kahf: (The Cave) C.135

"The life of this world is ephemeral, and its gains will not last. Good deeds are the best possessions in Allahs sight. All will be leveled up on the Day of Judgment, and a new order created on the basis of Truth, according to the Book of Deeds. Pride is the root of evil, rebellion and wrong. Who will choose evil ones in preference to Allah? Let us accept Truth, for though falsehood may flourish for a time, it must perish in the end."

* * * 

Abdullah Yusuf Ali scripted a letter in this Qu'ran.  He is humble considering he learned to read the Qu'ran in Arabic between ages 4-5, reciting the entire text by memory. Ali was a South Asian Islamic Scholar born in Surat, Gujarat, British India. His translation of the Qu'ran to English is the most widely known. 

In one part Ali states, "It is the duty of every Muslim- man, woman or child - to read the Qu'ran and understand it according to his own capacity. If any one of us attains to some knowledge or understanding of it by study, contemplation, and the test of life, both outward and inward, it is his duty, according to his capacity, to instruct others, and share with them the joy and peace which result from contact with the spiritual world. 

The Qu'ran, indeed every religious book, has to be read, not only with the tongue and voice and eyes, but with the best light that our intellect can supply, and even more, with the truest and purest light which our heart and conscience can give us. It is in this spirit that I would have my readers approach the Qu'ran."

• Dhu al Hijjah, 18. 1352 AH 
• April 4, 1934 A.C.
• Lahore
• A. Yusuf Ali

["Dhu al-Hijjah" means ‘Possessor of the Pilgrimage.’ It is during this month that pilgrims from all around the world congregate at Makkah (Masjid al-Haram, or Mecca, Saudi Arabia) to visit the Kaaba [al-Kaʿbah or The Cube.]

* * *

"As to those who believe and work righteousness, verily We shall not suffer to perish the reward of any who do a (single) righteous deed." - Surah 18: 30  



* * * 

• The 99 Names of Allah 
• aHadith
• Qu'ran Recitations (Beautiful) 
• The Quran

القرآن الكريم

The Qur'ān is the central religious text of Islam. The Qur'an is the literal word of God as revealed to Muhammad (pbuh, Peace Be Upon Him) over a period of twenty-three years by the angel Gabriel (Jibril) and regard it as God's (Allah) final revelation to mankind.

* * * 

Rukan Yamani (Kabah, Mekkah, Hajj, Saudi Arabia)

 العربية: صورة بانورامية للمسجد الحرام في مكة بالسعودية

 © Imran Rashid

*The Qu'ran, to me, is poetry *

Salam,

Susan Marie 

Angry Butterfly (Thanks Aamir)

 

Aamir:  Such a fiery being, can we call her  "Angry Butterfly?"

For me, name a of butterfly is just the color she's wearing or the sensation she brings. 

angry butterfly
you wear the crown of passion

your coat rich with blood
flown from far away lands
where people have loved and lost

oh angry butterfly, named here,
for this, you, now,
your presence is that of majestic tapestry
sewn by the fragile hands of angels

don't you realize how rare you are, oh angry butterfly?

you have been named thus,
not for the definition
nor emotion of anger
but for the beauty you bring
with each flutter beat of your wings
and split second fancy
of your colors in flight

you are fire and wind, unbridled
angry butterfly
you are the volcanic rush
of a million archaic voices
who once sketched their thoughts
on walls in stone

angry butterfly
do not stay
i know you wish to
for you belong to all of nature

fly now, go

bring enlightenment to those who suffer

to those who know not

emotion 


© Susan Marie 2011
(Thanks Aamir Muneer)

Freedom (For Karachi)

the smog the smog
the air we breathe
it burns and hurts
like the inhalation
of sulphur
settling in my
parasympathetic
nervous
system

My Lord, My God
this crying must cease
deep within my belly
the blackened mouths of babes
oppressed, wounded, murdered
tortured, suffering children
gifted by
You.

The children of God
die
by the hands of men
with hearts of stone
and bedrock

this world
has fallen
backwards
on its own tripwire

to a time
where Columbus deemed it
flat

to a time
where slaves were a
commodity

to a time where people
had no voice
and Kings and Queens
made all laws
no matter of Heaven or Earth

we need to
back
space
like an ancient Royal Deluxe

type new lives and laws
for this new wave
of humanity

for there is freedom in death
and death in survival

© Susan Marie 2011


(Thank you Nooru)

As the rushes of the River Shannon

There is a great divide
a volcanic thunder
splitting my cerebrum
in half
like icicles melting and cracking
upon first Spring

My Lord, My God
My beloved soul

My spirit cries
in utter despair
mouths of children
and humanity at my feet

Mother Earth I am not
yet I am
the world is calling to me
calling to me
speaking my name
again and again

I am responding like quicksilver
one voice
for millions

I am but one soul

This great divide
is deafening
as one sense
has been taken from me
as the deaf man walking with cane
blind
as the blind man walking with hands to ears
as the voiceless oppressed
huddled in cell
with hands over eyes and mouth
not knowing what to say
for all thoughts have ceased
all connections have been
re
wired
all lines drawn blank
upon slate
one board
shared
broken in half

What is this new channel
I am attuned to?

It is hard to decipher
as a radio wave
sonic booms
atomic bombs
crushing my
sternum to dust
each joint in this frame
woman
is cracking upon waking

I have transcended all boundaries
yet remain completely still
and you,
the forefront of my
third
eye

Your back is turned
to my heart
I contemplate why I am being given
such messages
for I do not understand them myself

I have no confirmation
like an SOS sent silent upon sea
cast as nets
for fish that are dead
eyes wide and bulging
floating upon sea glass
waiting to be stuck in sand
on some uninhabited island
dying beneath the eye of heaven
the hot suns breath
her fiery dress
she lifts it for this
for us

My love
your spirit is traveling at the speed of light
I feel it rushing and burning
and here I am
awaiting your arrival
yet it is not to me

You are traveling
where or where my Lord My Savior
sweet heavenly angels of God
please, do not bloodlet my veins
again

I am frail as the rushes of the river Shannon
I have already sent

too many souls to pasture. 

© Susan Marie 2011