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Poem: Prayers On The Prophet: Part Two – Novid Shaid

Prayers On The Prophet: Part Two

A Humble Homage To Ad Dalaailul Khayraat: Part Two

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By Novid Shaid, 2011

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For Shaykh Ahmed Babikr and the Saturday Night Dalaail

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In the name of Allah Most Gracious Most Kind
Verily Allah and His Holy Angels on high
Send prayers upon our Prophet, most noble and divine
So invoke peace and blessings which forever multiply
O you who truly believe in His signs.

O Allah!
Send Your prayers and peace upon him
And upon his companions and kin,
From the day You made this life
To the end when we arise
Every day a thousand times!

O Allah!
Send Your peace and prayers upon him
And upon his companions and kin,
By the number of vowels that were ever pronounced
Whether they were
Explaining Your Acts
Entreating Your Peace
Inviting Your Delight
Invoking Your Power
Musing upon Your Truths
From the day You made this life
To the end when we arise
Every day a thousand times!

O Allah!
Send Your peace and prayers upon him
And upon his companions and kin,
By the number of letters that were ever typed or written
In ever alphabet of every language from the beginning
On palm leaves, palm tops, leaves of paper and on rocks
On every screen, scroll, sign, tablet, journal or box,
On every sheet of paper, cardboard, metal, whatever size,
From the day You made this life
To the end when we arise
Every day a thousand times!

O Allah!
Send Your peace and prayers upon him
And upon his companions and kin
By the number of people who ever walked and ate,
Of every racial hue, height, size and weight
Of every shape, figure, tribe and state
Of those densely crowded in sprawling cityscapes
And those dotted sparsely on country landscapes
From the day You made this life
To the end when we arise
Every day a thousand times!

O Allah!
Send Your peace and prayers upon him
And upon his companions and kin
By the number of every living species and things
By the numbers of fish gliding smoothly with their fins
By the number of birds that flock the sky
And the swarming insects in regions wet and dry
From the day You made this life
To the end when we arise
Every day a thousand times!

O Allah!
Send Your peace and prayers upon him
And upon his companions and kin
By the numbers of atoms fixed in our reality
Of every proton charging positively
And of every neutron, firing neutrally
By the number of every charging unit of electricity
And of every weight of force pulling magnetically
From the day You made this life
To the end when we arise
Every day a thousand times!

O Allah!
Send Your peace and prayers upon him
And upon his companions and kin
By the number of tears shed by grieving lovers
And the hungry cries of babies for their mothers
By the number of embraces between brothers
In the number of confiding words between sisters
And the smiles of rejoicing new fathers
In the number of sweets offered by grandfathers
And the doting glances of grandmothers
From the day You made this life
To the end when we arise
Every day a thousand times!

O Allah!
Send Your peace and prayers upon him
And upon his companions and kin
By the number of tears that Abu Bakr ever shed
By the number of wise words Umar ever said
And the number of coins Uthman ever spent
And the number of shields Ali’s sword ever shred
And the number of children Khadijah bred
And the number of narrations Aisha ever read
And the number of wives the Prophet ever wed
And the number of Nabi Muhammad’s noble friends,
From the day You made this life,
To the end when we arise
Every day a thousand times!

O Allah!
Send Your peace and prayers upon him
And upon his companions and kin
By the number of blessed steps Ibrahim ever took
By the number of prayers Maryam ever invoked
By the number of words with God Musa ever spoke
By the number of sinners Isa ever purified
By the number of Jinn Suleyman ever organised
By the number of years Nuh lived before his passage way on high
By the number of seconds, in the whale, Yunus spent inside
By the number of children Adam and Hawa ever spread
And all the Prophets, one hundred thousand!
From the day You made this life
To the end when we arise
Every day a thousand times!

O Allah!
Send Your peace and prayers upon him
And upon his companions and kin
By the number of every verse of the Quran
Read with fear, love, hope and to avert harm
By the number of hadith which are bona fide
The true accounts of Nabi Muhammad’s blessed life
From the day You made this life
To the end when we arise
Every day a thousand times!

O Allah!
Send Your peace and prayers upon him
And upon his companions and kin
By the number of every glorious sunrise in the east
And the number of every haunting sunset in the west
By the number of clouds that ever covered the sky
And the number of stars that ever twinkled in the night sky
Of every drop of rain, snow or sleet the sun ever dried.
From the day You made this life
To the end when we arise
Every day a thousand times!

O Allah!
Send Your peace and prayers upon him
And upon his companions and kin
By the number of salawaat that were ever sent
Upon Nabi Muhammad, the Leader of men,
By the number of tawbahs that were ever made
By weeping Momins before the rise of day
By the number of people who ever expressed
The pure shahadah and felt nearness
By the number of times our hands were ever raised
Asking for our needs and hoping for Your Grace
By the number of people who ever sinned
Then turned back to You and made amends
By the number of people who heard whispers from Shaytan
And averted his influence by asking for Your safeguards
From the day You made this life
To the end when we arise
Every day a thousand times!

O Allah!
Send Your peace and prayers upon him
And upon his companions and kin
By the number of times that You command “Kun”
And things come into being and fruition
By the number of times You end life with death
And raise people in their graves for their inquest
By the number of times You make manifest
Your Divine Names through Your actions and behests.
From the day You made this life
To the end when we arise
Every day a thousand times!

Oh Allah, send Your prayers and unrelenting salaam
upon the Master of the Messengers, the Seer of Islam,
and through this blessing, instil us with patience and calm
and deliver us and our families from harm.
And finally we pray, Allah Almighty,
bless the spirit of our inspirer Al Jazuli,
for reciting his Dalail, make us worthy,
through it, bless us with health and security.

I donate the reward of writing this to my parents and late grand parents, may Allah bless them and have mercy on them.

Note:

May Allah Most High bless, protect and shower His blessings upon Shaykh Ahmed Babikr and brothers who gather at Cricklewood mosque on Saturday nights to recite the Dalaail. It is from regularly attending these gathering, which Shaykh Babikr leads, that many of us in the UK have experienced some of the true spirit of the Dalaail, in the way it is recited in the Muslim world. My inspiration for writing this poem was gained from hearing the Dalaail sung with love and joy by the Shaykh and other brothers in the traditional Sudanese style. Jazak Allahu Kheiran Shaykh Babikr!

www.novid.co.uk

The Orphan’s Song For The Kaaba By Novid Shaid

The Orphan’s Song For The Kaaba By Novid Shaid

This narrative poem is based on famous Sufi tales about amazing acts of sacrifice and journeys on the way to Hajj.

The Orphan’s Song For The Kaaba

By Novid Shaid

When I was fresh, new, swaddling babe
My mother’s poor spirit flew away
And my father died of a deep malaise
My life was shaping for a terrible fate
But by a stroke of eternal grace
I was taken in by a travelling maid
Nourished with her milk, settled by her face
I remember her clear soothing refrains:

Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
La Ilaha Illalah!

As I grew in strength and the years ran by
I lived with my mother through some terrible times
Trekking through the deserts, perilous and dry
Begging in the cities just to get by
Slaving, watched by cunning, covetous eyes
Searching for a bed under the cold sky
And while we roamed, struggling to survive
Still my mother sang, tears filling her eyes:

Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
La Ilaha Illalah!

Then my life caved in when I was a youth
When my mother one day revealed the truth
She had been like a solid, comforting roof
But now I was lonely orphan in sooth
She said, “Listen my son, I made an oath
To the Lord of the Kaaba and angels’ hosts
That I would visit God’s Almighty house
Where the whole of the world gathers round and round
So I was heading for Makkah nearly out of town
When I heard your shaking, adorable growl
Wriggling on the ground, wrapped in a towel
My heart wept to hear your miserable howl!
There I choose to raise you as my own little babe
Though I yearned to bow in the Kaaba’s shade
Then I called on the Lord, don’t abandon me!
All my wealth I will give to thee
I’ll spend on this poor lonely baby,
But one day grant me the opportunity
To look upon Your House and sing with glee:

Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
La Ilaha Illalah!”

I wiped my tears and I kissed her feet
Saying: “I will take you there on my own two feet!”
Down the winding roads, through the heaving streets
Mother on my back, in the blinding heat
We pushed through the lands in gradual degrees
And hid in ships along the pounding seas
Never were we harmed by men or disease
As we said these words like a whispering breeze

Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
La Ilaha Illalah!”

After days and months, or even years!
Upon the horizon loomed Arabia
My poor old mother began to suffer
Our epic journey had exhausted her
But her eyes lit up with sheer wonder
“Take me my son to the Holy Kaaba!”
So we joined a group of dervish travellers
Pilgrims wrapped in white like glowing spectres
Reading tearful prayers to their Saviour
Treading down the path, chanting with fervour:

Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
La Ilaha Illalah!”

The road dragged on but we marched with cheer
Until we approached the epicentre of our prayer
Past the thronging mass of devotees
Swelling and flowing like a human sea!
Mother grabbed my shoulder with a grip so tight
Then she told me that she had lost her sight
“My dear own son, my orphan boy!
Wipe away your tears! You can’t feel my joy!
I know my state doesn’t make any sense
But alas life is a test of our patience,
My heart is filled with serenity
The lights of My Lord have set me free,
Though the Kaaba’s veiled for me to see
Now instead I see the Lord is truly close to me,
But if you would like a smile to brighten my face,
Tell me what you see, describe the Kaaba’s grace.”

“Dear Mother it’s like the Sun heating up all space
And the people, the planets, orbiting with haste
It’s like the sky on a darkened night
And the pilgrim stars shining around it so bright
It’s like a magnet that our Lord has fixed
And humanity crowds and encircles it
It’s like the heart beating silently
And the blood flows around it eternally
It’s like mighty Saturn, darkened, flattened into a cube
And the ring of pilgrims beautify the view.
It’s the House of God, and He loves His guests,
And He answers all who make sincere requests,
How I wish dear mother, you could see it now,
For the sake of your honest, sincere vow.”

Though her eyes were blind, she looked into me
Saying: “My dear son, it is Allah’s decree,
My soul has drunk a cup which is forever filled
With the wine of love of our Lord’s pure Will.”
Her breaths gave up, she began to fade,
She would end her life in the Kaaba’s shade,
But before my mother’s spirit departed
She sang out those words, free and enchanted:

Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
Labbayk Labbayk!
Allahumma Labbayk!
La Ilaha Illalah!

Dhul Hijja, 1432/2011

www.novid.co.uk

Notes

Labbayk Allahumma Labbayk La Ilaha Illalah- Arabic, Islamic prayers and formulas, meaning, I am at Your service, O Lord, There is no God but Allah.
These prayers are part of a longer prayer that Muslims say when they embarking on the pilgrimage and wearing their ihrams, white sheets which signify purity, repentance and rebirth.

The Smile – Short Story by Novid Shaid

The Smile By Novid Shaid, 2011

The billionaire stared into the pristine mirror, calmly rinsing his hands, smiling to himself, with a broad, billion dollar smile. He oozed with unadulterated wealth. With riches, that sent a pulse of sweetness shivering through his body. For he had once lived a dreadfully poor life as a child, and now, as an adult, he had made his mark with honest, hard work, and his wealth helped others, not only himself.  He was so rich that it felt serene. And serenity exuded from him, with his beautifully fitted suit, thriving complexion, smooth skin and well-groomed hair. Every time he regarded himself, he was instantly reminded at what he and his family had been before; some of the most wretched of existence. He remembered the desperate face of poverty that he used to wear, and then that fateful meeting with the man, with the smile of money on his face, the rich man, who had taught him that he had to shed, hard and honest, blood, sweat and tears to wear such a smile on his own face. And that he did. Until he had made it. Every mirror thus reminded him of that lesson. And with every recollection the sweetness delighted him that much more.

He walked out of the luxury bathroom on the ground floor of one of his many skyscrapers, smiling at the security guards dotted around the vast reception area. Both they, and all the other employees, seemed to part and stop what they were doing, acknowledging him with grateful nods and wistful gazes as he passed by. They smiled at him with admiration and respect, for the billionaire was generous man to work for.

As he strode along up to the swinging doors, with his driver and car at the ready outside, he caught a glimpse of his face in the glass, the broad, confident smile flashing in front of him momentarily. The world was at his feet. He could do most things he wanted to do. He had forgotten fear. His money ensured that every threat could be planned and confronted with ease.

And no one wore a smile like his.

But, on the other hand, no one wore a smile like the taxi driver either.

The limousine glided through the down town traffic until it stopped at the lights. The billionaire had been gazing at the familiar sights of the city, the hustle and bustle, spirited shoppers marching up and down the high street, mannequins staring wide eyed in their cool poses from designer store shop fronts, when his eyes lighted upon an unkempt taxi, with an open driver’s side window. And it was driver of this vehicle who had profoundly caught the billionaire’s attention.

He hadn’t seen anything like it. That smile. It was broad like his, and deep. But what oozed from that smile the rich man could not figure out. It wasn’t money, this was a poor man, struggling to keep afloat. And it definitely wasn’t drugs. His childhood had taught him many times how to recognise narcotic euphoria to real cheer. This smile seemed to last, endure; it was sweetness. Infinite sweetness. The taxi driver was hiding some kind of secret.

It instantly became the rich man’s obsession. For in his long, illustrious career, he had only met two other people who wore similar smiles to his own. And they had all earned it through their tenacity and hard work also. He had met contented poor people, people happy with what they had, living according to their means, pleased with their simple blessings. He knew their smiles very well. He knew genuine smiles, artificial smiles, arrogant smiles, tragic smiles, insane smiles and the smiles of lovers. But to this day, he had never encountered a smile which seemed to leap into an air of infinitude, of some sweetness which seemed to last forever.

He watched the taxi man and his smile intently. He was a rather ugly man with undistinguished, grizzled features. But the smile enlightened his face with a beauty the rich man had hitherto never seen.

“Wilkins?”

“Yes sir?”

“I know this may seem a strange request. But can you follow that yellow cab, right there, two rows to the right.”

Wilkins, the trusted chauffeur, obediently looked across.

“That one, nearest the lights?”

“Yes, that one, I think I recognise the driver. Someone from back home. If it doesn’t take too long, I’d like to catch up with him and say hello.”

“Okay sir, we’ll be right with him.”

The lights changed. The limo swapped lanes until, after a few moments, they were neatly behind the yellow cab, cruising through the city streets.

The yellow cab weaved and threaded its way through the early evening traffic, charging ungracefully down the long high street while the limo cruised patiently behind.

For a minute, they lost sight of it. At one moment the taxi was right in front of them. The next, gone. The billionaire’s heart dropped. They’d lost him. He would never know the answer to the question that had been playing itself unstoppably in his mind. But sense told him to let it go and that time would teach him the answer.

“Oh, look sir, there he is!” The chauffeur pointed to the taxi, turning into what looked like its base, a big underground garage, filled with identical yellow cabs.

They followed quickly and turned in. In no time, the billionaire was stepping out of his car, and was walking behind the man with the smile.

“Excuse me!”

The taxi man turned. The smile sent a tremble into each and every pore of the billionaire. He had never felt this weak before, except when he used to be a poor boy in the slums. He winced, in unknown territory.

“Yes sir, how can I help you?”

“I..I,” the rich man hesitated. The taxi man held his smile, waiting.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

The taxi man looked rather bemused, “okay, go ahead.”

“Why do you smile?”

The taxi man stood silent for a moment. The smile deepened further into the unknown.

“Why do I smile?”

“Yes, why do you smile?”

The taxi man closed his eyes for a moment, a tear delicately rolled down his cheek, and he smiled to himself with a sweetness that the billionaire craved.

“I smile, because I am rich.”

“You mean, because you are content with your life?”

“No, because I am rich.”

They were both silent for a moment. The rich man was becoming increasingly frustrated.

“But what do you mean? Either you are content with your lot, or you have money. I don’t understand?”

The taxi driver looked deeply into the rich man and thought for a moment.

“Look. Where I come from, there is a man. He is no ordinary man. And he once taught me to recite the Name. And I kept reciting the Name, like he told me to, until I was shifted from the Name to The Named, and now…I am rich, all the time. And I smile because the Named makes me rich. And it feels sweet, really sweet!”

“What name? What are you talking about?”

“That’s all I have to say.”

After what he thought a rather mystifying explanation, the billionaire shook the taxi man’s hand, apologized for taking his time and went on his way.

“So, was it the man you were looking for sir?” Asked Wilkins, as they drove back to his mansion.

The rich man didn’t answer.

“Sir?”

“What? Oh sorry Wilkins, no, it didn’t happen to be the person I was thinking of.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. Seemed like a happy man, for a yellow cab driver. Big smile on his face!”

“Yes,” replied the billionaire, “Big smile,” and as he stared at this own reflection, it seemed to morph into the taxi man’s image, and he heard those haunting words again: “I was shifted from the Name to the Named.”

And then, to his horror, for the first time since he was a boy, the billionaire felt that terrible hollowness again deep inside. He was a poor man again.

Poem: The Would-Be Sufi and the Would-be Salafi by Novid Shaid

The Would-Be Sufi and the Would-be Salafi

By Novid Shaid, 2011

Once there were two neighbours
who were locked in a rivalry,
for one was a would-be Sufi
and the other a would-be Salafi.

“You’re a man of shirk and innovation!”
argued the Salafi,
“You’re an arrogant man,” smiled the Sufi,
“You lack spirituality!”

“I yearn for past!” cried the Salafi,
“For the salaf us saliheen!”
“I yearn for the saints!” cried the Sufi,
“For the likes of Jilani!”

Whenever they passed on the pavement,
They would bicker like some angry bees!
“Where’s your daleel for Milad?” roared the Salafi.
“Where’s your ishq?” growled the pretentious Sufi.

“I’m the true follower of the Sunnah!”
“No! That title belongs to me!”
“You’re not invited to my popular halaqa!”
“And we don’t consort with ghair-muqallideen!”

It happened that one of their neighbours,
was a man of technology,
an eccentric, wild-haired scientist,
who had built a time machine.

So he thought he would conduct an experiment
To assess his time machine,
“I know, I’ll try it on the Sufi!
And his friend, the Salafi!”

After putting the idea to the Salafi,
He said: “this sound likes a bida’ to me!”
“Sound like you’re a wuss!” laughed the Sufi
“Where’s your faith in Allah’s decree!”

“No one calls me a wuss!” said the Salafi
“with this experiment, I agree!”
“If he’s doing it now,” said the Sufi,
“Then it’s definitely for me!”

So the scientist told them to listen
While he explained the intricacies,
“You have to explain your destination
Where’ll you go for your first journey.”

Then they both sat down in the contraption,
and strapped themselves in tightly
“To the time of Imam Ahmad Ibn Hanbal,
To Imam Hasan Al Basri.”

And they bickered as the gadget travelled
Through time and the galaxies,
“Imam Ahmad is the true Salafi!”
“None can compare to Hasan Al Basri!”

With a thud and a great explosion
they landed far from the seas,
in the dominion of the stern leader
Mamun son of Harun Al Rashid.

When they emerged from their aircraft
It was too hard to believe
That they had travelled through time and the universe
To the time of the Salaf Us Saliheen!

And lo and behold who stood there
With a book in his hands, peaceful, at ease
But no other than the almighty scholar,
Imam Ahmad of the Hanbalis!

“Welcome my friends from the future!”
And the Salafi was on his knees,
“I’m not worthy of this my master!
You are the true Salafi!”

“But this isn’t fair,” said the Sufi,
“What about Hasan Al Basri?”
“Oh, I loved to meet him,” said Imam Ahmad
“Let’s travel to him with speed.”

So they took Imam Ahmad with them
Further on back in some degrees,
Landing on the shores of the Tigris
Where they found, Hasan Al Basri.

“How wonderful!” said the Sufi.
“You are the Imam of the pure Sufis!”
Then the Sufi and Salafi starting bickering,
Who was the truest in their beliefs.

But Imam Ahmad and Hasan Al Basri
Of the travellers they took no heed,
Instead they looked at each other
In a state of eternal peace.

“I am Ahmad Ibn Hanbal”
“I am Hasan Al Basri”
“You are the greatest of the Salafis”
“You are the imam of the pure Sufis”.

“Let me learn from you my brother”
“No you’re greater in mastery!”
“I love you for the sake of Allah”
“You remind me of the saaliheen”.

Then in horror the travellers followed them
watching them speak so graciously
They loved each other like no other
This true Salafi and this true Sufi.

Suddenly, the travellers were excited
For the imams seemed to disagree
on a point of fiqh and aqueeda
it seemed they had different beliefs.

“Although we have our difference,”
“We’ll agree to disagree,”
“But I still love you for the sake of Allah!”
“May He unite us again by the Lote tree!”

The would-be Sufi grumbled,
Frowning sat the would-be Salafi,
For their amazing journey had ended
Rather disappointingly.

After they gave their salutations
To Imam Ahmad and Hasan Al Basri
They asked the machine to return,
Back to the 21st century.

When the machine reappeared with a rumble
the scientist jumped up with glee,
“did it work!?” he asked with wonder.
“yes, it did,” they both replied sadly.

And they went back to their houses,
shut their doors, this time rather quietly,
when they walked on to their different masaajid,
they avoided each other purposely.

From that day on something happened,
To the Salafi and Sufi,
Instead of bickering and fighting,
They offered salaams to each other rather meekly.

And they stopped labelling themselves with the titles
That they used before with such surety,
Because now they had learned the true meaning,
Of a true Salafi and a true Sufi.

The Lover, The Singing Birds of Baghdad and the Mythical Story of Inshaad – Novid Shaid

The Lover, the singing birds of Baghdad

and the mythical story of Inshaad

By Novid Shaid, 2011

 

Once there lived a lover from Baghdad

Who loved God so much it nearly turned him mad

If he did not settle his nerves quite soon

He would disintegrate into a fiery pool.

.

So he roamed the Baghdad streets until nightfall

The fire of love burning stronger than a fireball

He had to find some respite from his illuminations

A channel for relieving and expressing his elation.

.

It just so happened that this lover had a voice

So loud and free it made all around him rejoice

But he needed inspiration, not being a trained singer

He yearned to sing for God with beautiful style and vigour.

.

His search went on, the yearning intolerably bad

When one dawn he noticed the birdsong of Baghdad

And at this moment Love inspired him with love

It was the moment he’d been dreaming of.

.

While sitting by the banks of the flowing Tigris

He sat among some trees as the sun was rising

Suddenly this lover’s heart was tremendously lifted

Birdsong consumed the air, while along the Tigris drifted.

.

He saw a crested lark, migrating from Sheraz

Perched upon a branch singing with gravitas

The lover listened enrapt and spellbound

Imitating its melody he called it Nahawand.

.

Then singing for an absent friend or lover,

He heard a sighing Bul-Bul hailing from Basra

Its melancholic song echoed with the pain of separation

He called this one Saba and wept with trepidation.

.

A House Martin caught the lover’s gaze thereafter

Singing about the haunting mystery of the holy Kaaba

He felt the fear of God, prostrating as

he listened to the bird, its song he called Hijaz.

.

Some cheer descended which made the lover glad

Some chirping blackbirds from the forests of Jilan

Their rousing song put the lover’s heart at ease,

He called their song Bayat,  Rasd and Ajami.

.

Then just before the lover ventured off

He heard a bird exulting in the glory of God

This swift from Nishapur, was on a journey, a true seeker

Inspired by its exultation he called its song Seeka.

.

And now with birdsong swirling round his head

The lover arose and saluted the birds of Baghdad

He sang their modes through days and through nights

And the people listened, imitating, lost in delight.

www.novid.co.uk

Poem: I’ve Returned To The Lord Of Honour and Might – Novid Shaid

I’ve Returned To The Lord Of Honour and Might

A message from a boy in heaven to his parents

by Novid Shaid, 2010

Dear Mother and Father, do not fret or fear,
For I’ve returned to the Lord of Honour and Might.

Although you’re yearning for me with each painful tear,
Know that I’ve returned to the Lord of Honour and Might.

For I’ve returned to the Lord of Honour and Might.
He gifted me to you but now He’s summoned me,
Back to the gardens with rivers of pure milk,
And fruits the like of which you have never seen.

Forgive me, my parents, for I crept away from you.
I left you, then you discovered me silent and cold.
That was just my shell, my spirits’ flown away,
Forgive me, I was summoned, and I just couldn’t delay,
I love you but I was summoned by my special Friend,
He has no beginning and He has no end,
His light shone through me and I saw heaven above,
I gazed at children like me dancing full of joy,
Receiving counsel from our Prophet Ibrahim,
Although I stopped and looked back at your world
I could not resist my Creator’s loving hold.
So dear parents there’s no use grieving until you are tired and old,
I skip with angels, and there never is a night,
For I’ve returned to the Lord of Honour and Might.

Dear Mother, fear not that I should ever go hungry!
My Lord is ever bounteous and wise.
Dear Mother fear not that I should ever come to harm,
I dance in gardens guarded by dazzling lights,
I play in fields where there never casts the night,
For I’ve returned to the Lord of Honour and Might.

Dear Mother, now I climb up the gates of Eden,
Fear not because up here I can never fall,
I have even seen the face of My Loving Lord,
And now I shall never fear and I shall never grieve.
I await you on a day when only Prophets can intercede,
On the day when many will be slipping
Fear not, for my prayers shall never let you fall,
I praise my Lord in circles drowned in light,
I’ve returned to the Lord of Honour and Might.

Dear Father fear not that I shall be neglected!
For now my teachers are the Prophets and the Saints,
One day I shall take you by the hand,
When the scales are lifting, while the people shiver and stand,
I shall grasp you, leading you ahead
Across the bridge which will fill humanity with dread,
I will take you to the gardens where there is no night,
I have returned to the Lord of Honour and Might.

Dear Mother and Father listen to my plea,
Don’t worry, you have not heard the last of me,
I’ll be expecting you in the afterlife,
Don’t let this world blind you by its lights,
Prepare yourself for a place where there is no night
For my Lord is no doubt your Lord too
And He will summon every last one of you,
So smile through your tears when you think of me
I’m dancing in the gardens where there never is a night
I have returned to the Lord of Honour and Might.

www.novid.co.uk

The Battlefield: The Tawba of a Muslim Teenager – Novid Shaid

The Battlefield: The Tawba of a Muslim Teenager

By Novid Shaid, 1997

I battle with myself
Face to face, punch for punch,
My future launches at me in front
And my past creeps up from behind.
I dodge the assault of late night party invitations,
And avoid the ambushing memories of early mistakes:
Phone numbers of girls.

I am training myself
Readjusting my senses,
Building my defences
To fight this relentless interior jihad
Slipping bullets of gluttony
And evading grenades of pride
They fire and explore around me
But I strive to keep my ground.

Before I was a pathetic refugee
Pitching tents in dunya, surrendering.
My body was conquered by the whispers of shaitan.
Battalions of lust seduced my tempted eyes
Fleets of laziness surrounded my rafts of discipline
Guerrillas of gluttony raided my rare Ramzans.

Ducking stones of anger
And parrying the arrows of desire
My past smacks me with a mighty blow
But I recover straight away.

How I have betrayed my heart!
Robbed it of Islam
Pillaged it of worship
Starved it of prayer
But engulfed it in the oil of haram.
My heart had been hard and dead
The stench of sin wreaked in my chest
Suffocating my heart
Encrusted in sins
An impervious rock.

But now the filth is softening!
Slowly the shell is weakening!
Now the sea of Islam is eroding away
The sticky rocks of dunya.
And my heart is breathing air again
Fresh and pure air it was born to breathe!

So I am left here, armed and ready
Standing alone on the battlefield
With the opposing armies of haram and shaitan
Itching to launch a strike.
But now it is I who attack!
Piercing their armour by praying
Bending their swords by repenting
Disarming their archers by reading the Quran
Crippling their cavalry by lowering my gaze.

This war will never end
My desires will never give in
They fire and explode around me
But I strive to keep my ground.

www.novid.co.uk

End Comment:

Please pray for all young Muslims and converts finding their way to the deen and Allah Most High.
And for those of us who have already made our tawbas, pray that Allah Most High keeps us on
the straight and narrow, and to keep up the fight against our true enemies!

Prayers on the Prophet, Allah bless him and Grant him Peace – Novid Shaid

Medieval Christian views on Muhammad

Image via Wikipedia

Prayers on the Prophet, Allah bless him and Grant him Peace
By Novid Shaid,
February, 2011, Rabbi Al Awwal, 1432
……..
A humble homage to Al Dalailul Khayrat
………
Oh Lord, send Your peace and blessings ad infinitum,
upon Our Master and Liege Lord Muhammad,
whose face glows like the full moon,
whose smile dispels anguish and gloom
with locks like strands of silk woven from a heavenly loom
with eyes penetrating, and radiating certitude
with perspiration of the rarest perfumes
with tears brimming with love and gratitude
the one who smiled in the face of ridicule
the one who endured the curses of withering fools
the one whose face softened when he met
orphans, children, the poor and the bereft
the one who gave to those who withheld
the one who served others before himself
who stood in prayer until his ankles swelled
who implored his Lord, deep in the night, while others slept
the final one to receive the Word through Jibril,
the only one who humbled the might of Azrael,
flag-bearer of Musa, Isa and Ibrahim
restorer of the light of Hajar and Ismail
and the moon split asunder at his behest,
and the sun turned back at his request,
and the spider’s web and the dove that built its nest
and heartbroken palm tree and the Jinn who were his guests
chosen above the whole universe
shown the face of God without hindrance
promoted above the multitude of mankind
the Prophets, the saints and the divines,
the supreme intercessor at the end of time,
humbled by the pure presence of his Lord,
sobered by the lights of Oneness of his Lord.
and his children, the diamonds of his heart,
the first to meet him in jannah, beloved Fatimah!
and his blessed parents, Abdullah and Aminah
and his cloak he spread for gentle Halimah
and his wives, sweethearts and counterparts
with the youth of Aisha and the wisdom of Khadijah
and his companions of devotion and humbled glance
in Badr, Uhud and Khandaq, their faith enhanced
the Prophet, so longing for the sweetness of Ramadan
for the taste of Zamzam and the echoes of Quran
for the coolness of his eyes in dua
for the choruses of the angels from afar
the true servant of Ar Rahman!
the first and last love of Ar Rahman!
the splendour of Allah!
the wonder of Allah!
the gatekeeper of Allah!
the wayfarer of Allah!
navigator to Allah!
the liberator from Allah!
the final messenger of Allah!
the one who follows him
follows Allah,
the one who spurns him,
spurns Allah.
an nabi,
the priceless key!
the boundless sea!
the pinnacle of mercy!
the mirror of Divine decree!
the Arabian, uniting the tribes and races of humanity!
Oh Lord, Allah, Most High, send your prayers and peace
upon our Master Muhammad, free of hatred and caprice
by the number of fish, swimming in the seas!
Oh Lord Allah Most High, send your prayers and peace
upon our Master Muhammad, free of hatred and caprice
by the number of plants blowing in the breeze!
Oh Lord Allah Most High, send your prayers and peace
upon our Master Muhammad, free of hatred and caprice
by the number of leaves that grow in every tree!
Oh Lord Allah Most High, send Your prayers and peace
upon our Master Muhammad, free of hatred and caprice
by the number of people that ever walked and breathed!
Oh Lord Allah Most High, send Your prayers and peace
upon our Master Muhammad, free of hatred and caprice
by the number of rocks, piece by piece.
Oh Allah, send your prayers and unrelenting salaam
upon the Master of the Messengers, the Seer of Islam,
and through this blessing, instil us with patience and calm
and deliver us and our families from harm.
And finally we pray, Allah Almighty,
bless the spirit of our inspirer Al Jazuli,
for reciting his Dalail, make us worthy,
through it, bless us with health and longevity.

I donate any Thawaab gained from this poem to my wife.

A Prayer: Thank You! Oh Lord, Allah – Novid Shaid

A Prayer: Thank You! Oh Lord, Allah
Novid Shaid, January, 2011

Oh You, without form
Ar Rahman, Ar Raheem
Unlike all we imagine
Free of error and need.

Oh Lord! As I witness this world
On the spellbinding screen
Showing pain and suffering
Worse than I could ever dream.

Oh Lord! As I hear of the problems
Which unsettle my soul
Of the abuse of innocence
Of the Earth’s dwindling capital.

Oh Lord! As I wince and complain
At the blows of fate
The pressures of modern living
And the storms people create.

Oh Lord! As my heart brews and trembles
With foreboding and stress
A pulsation of waves
Clears my heart of the mess.

Oh Lord! Oh Allah!
Ar Rahman, Al Raheem!
Thank you for my life!
As a free human being!

If it were Your choosing
I could never exist
I would never have sensed
This world of consequence.

Oh Lord! Oh Allah!
Ar Rahman, Ar Raheem!
Thank You for the safety!
All my life, I have seen!

If it were Your choosing
I could have survived
Through the horrors of war
And terrible genocide.

Thank You for this safety
Keep me free from all harm,
Relieve those who are living
Frightened and alarmed.

Oh Lord! Oh Allah!
Ar Rahman, Ar Raheem!
Thank You for the blessing!
Of my whole family!

If it were Your choosing
I could have grown up
An orphan, so lonely
Without love or childless.

Thank You for this bounty
Of my kith and my kin.
For my mother and father
For my wife and children.

Oh Lord! Comfort the orphans,
And those yearning for offspring
And increase all these blessings
That I find myself in.

Oh Lord! Oh Allah!
Ar Rahman, Ar Raheem!
Thank You for the soundness
Of my body and mind!

If it were Your choosing
I could have maladies
Or my body disabled
Or my mind ill at ease.

Thank You for my health
And my consistent energy
Protect me from illness
From depression and lethargy.

Strengthen those with weakness
Spread Your mercy on the lame
Help those who are suffering
From their aches and their pains.

Oh Lord! Oh Allah!
Ar Rahman, Ar Raheem!
Thank You for employment
For the flow of money.

If it were Your choosing
I could have lived wretched
As a slave or a pauper,
Or a street-dwelling beggar.

Thank You for my job.
And my honest income.
Increase me in wealth
As much, in Your wisdom.

Help those on the streets
And those searching for means
Give me the power
To help my brothers in need.

Oh Lord! Oh Allah!
Ar Rahman, Ar Raheem!
Thank You for my food
And water, fresh and clean.

If it were Your choosing
I could have lived in arid lands.
Where water is scare
And no food close to hand.

Bless me with clean water
Provide me with good food
Make paths for those searching
For water so cool.

Help me to consider
How great water is.
And give me the wisdom
Not to waste such a blessing.

Oh Lord! Oh Allah!
Ar Rahman, Ar Raheem!
Thank You for the warmth
In my home and the heat.

If it were Your choosing
I could be living, so cold.
In winds so inhospitable
It would rattle my bones.

Protect those who are living
In the cold and the winds
And continue to warm me
Though I stress and I sin.

Oh Lord! Oh Allah!
Ar Rahman, Ar Raheem!
Thank You for my soul,
And in You, I believe.

If it were Your choosing
I could have been blind
To the truth of Your Light
Which shines beyond time.

Bless me with true faith,
Give me a safe passage through death.
Guide those on the path,
For the truth is their quest.

Oh Lord! When I think
How unsettling life can be,
Just the thought of Your blessings
Cheers my heart, endlessly.

And send perfect peace
On the pure, grateful one,
And send him Your blessings,
To his family, and companions.

Novid Shaid
www.novid.co.uk

Song: Behold – Novid Shaid

Song: Behold

By Novid Shaid, 2002

Behold with your heart!
His everlasting light,
Behold with your heart, behold!
Behold with your heart!
This overwhelming sight,
Behold with your heart, behold!

Beyond everything
Gazes the True King
Who fashioned all that we know
Peerless is His might
Endless His timeless light
Find Him through your heart, behold

Chorus: Behold with your heart! (…)

He lives without sleep
He reigns without fear
His throne is without a heir
He dwells in no place
No era, no space
His light glistens everywhere

Chorus: Behold with your heart! (…)

The skies and the stars
the lands and the seas
are nothing other than signs.
Each atom there is
signals His Unity
which encompasses everything

Chorus: Behold with your heart! (…)

www.novid.co.uk