Blurred sight, a belligerent beat and breaths in slow cease;
I arrive, beleaguered, and fall to my knees.
In dust, desperate, devoid of a purifying surface
(for nothing so dignified is worthy of this furnace)
In shrouding silence - heart and tongue tied up in a mighty chain -
yet a last utterance: that eternal sound, that primordial Name.
Each laboured breath threatens these fading drawls to drown,
still I elongate and restrict; the tongue moves up and down.
One - two - three - slow, long strokes
before this paltry throat clams up and croaks.
Try again - again - again - then once more,
but nothing remains with which to knock at Your door.
I falter, submerged, palms clench the floor
squeezing down hard, losing all sight of a shore.
Moments pass, then fumbling still, I raise a gasping glance above
and whisper a stuttering salutation with the name of that chosen one You love.
"Peace and praise always eternally
on the one whose heart formed so perfectly."
One - two - three - slow, long breaths
- before something oddly serene seeps in and spreads.
Easing muscles release and expand
that rigid rope around the throat slowly disbands.
Breaths and beats in balance, sight slowly begins a return
as if the raging storm within has taken a merciful turn
and though an aching rumble persists within my core
I can, now, call Your Name out once more.
A fluttering vent opens: a soft breeze filters past,
gently settling over this hollow vacuum so vast.
So subtle, so sublime, that in this benumbing instant - it makes me smile
and understand something new, as I sit stunned a while.
Something new about love, entangled.
Love which re-ignites hearts so achingly shackled;
Love so powerful that it brought forth all of creation
to nurture the most perfected form, destined for the highest station.
Love which is mercy infinite contained just in a name
whose mere mention brings about cooling rain after rain;
Love which means an impenetrable connection -
for his name follows the Name in smooth succession -
so that when in seeking from the One there appears some distance
it is traversed so swiftly through praise of this beautifully formed brilliance!
Love which in its intimate intertwining is the model, source and blueprint
for every other love; this ivy-winding labyrinth
which clings and cleaves and winds around tight
yet in all its consuming breathlessness, its source and purpose points back to heavenly Light
​
Carry me forth in this vortex of Love
Let me be swept up moving just between lovers and Beloved
Of Your hundred mercies that single strand You descended
by it let me love here such that I am with this breeze boundlessly blended.
Let me love, now, so thoroughly, so expansively that nothing remains
that each act of love overrides these consuming concurrent pains
that each instant teaches "to so deeply sip -
that for holier love yonder is accustomed this lip"
Let me love so entirely full, yet so unwanting
that its strength powers flight - high soaring
swirling up to join that whirlpool of cascading light
transcending all weakness with its incredible might!
Let this minute here of tender aching bewilderment remain
as a witness, a glimpse of what Love entangled can take me to gain.
For though I have heard this long, oft even spoken of its glow
here I sense, tangibly, here, I know. ​
- SFS
Love, Entangled
Cycles: Bloom and Fade (Excerpts)
I turn, aflame with light, ablaze: do roses abound?
In each: an echo of what joy the nightingale found.
Song, homecoming melodies, oceans of knowledge are sought
and the Beloved - the longed for sight: a glimpse in mirrors caught.
Stories in bundles boundless, yet to hear, yet to share;
a heart full, brimming, bursting with odd, confounding care
for each face. And in a few: a sign, a flicker, sheen,
a light; a confidant, a possibility seen -
some shimmer of Love - that 'astrolabe for here and beyond'.
and at once I yearn and cry out, reaching for a bond
as tapestries, tales; the suffering of folk unknown
feel fervent, urgent, present - so much more than my own.
Gratitude in abundance, a longing to listen,
then to pour out, gushing, from all that I've been given.
But with this - something far too strong: a zeal and an ache
bound tight together, calling the onlooker to break
- break what will not be constrained enough to belong here
in lands ephemeral; who lends this soul-song an ear?
….
A flame flickers alive, nurturing a light yet whole;
a flare that emanates to plenty a younger soul.
Each scent, touch, sight is as if charged and a pulse I hear
an echo: Love, a rhythm ineffable; so clear.
All is One, not mine, not yours: just whole; our one task -
in service there's loving communion and I ask:
will this tending of blossoms be a passion lifelong
as if in place of, akin to, the nightingale's song?
...
A bolt of light and the ship rocks - a jolt of unrest -
saying: break! now, there is just one question to attest:
is it this? this? is it this you sought? Or the Supreme,
the Beloved, the Adored, the One Beyond, the Unseen?
'One, One, One! Alone, no other, all negate - I squeak!
How could I in Your garden, any other face seek?
...
Gentle opening, a warming friendliness with ache,
holding in tenderness remnants of what still can't break.
Calling out to the sage who says 'this ache is a must'
- a constant companion - for 'no sickness hurts as much'
...
Is this all, or is there deeper soreness still to come?
unless it is to dryness complete that I succumb?
Sense-awakening mirrors of beauty I avoid
now in parched lands of fresh sweet water devoid.
The rose - that earthly one - in bloom, yet song stifled, songbird in fright,
so - blindfolded, this nightingale's beak is shut, closed tight.
Will it open, gentle, slow, and sing at its distance?
Or were these the inconsumate squeaks of its existence?
How might its complete song return, if again at all?
Or will it be reduced to just a forgotten drawl?
The scars it carries for all to see - pricks on its face-
run deep; journeys of fire, fear and flight they trace.
In that chaos did its flame all but burn out,
from where now do I its spark-igniting light force scout?
For whilst the dew drops upon this rose glimmer so bright,
what else will now so fully penetrate the sight!
Where at last will relief, its journey's fulfilment, be?
Or is it an error for relief to make a plea?
Instead, taking rest under merciful shade, heed the sage
who says: 'like Ismael lay your neck before His blade!'
who says this suffocating numbing sense of loss
must be the greatest joy - so the 'furnace burns the silver's dross'.
Whose voice resounds amid the ceasing of cries:
Pay attention! 'Gold is boiled so that the scum may rise!'
Yet no gold sheen comes forth here; the scum remains within,
or is it the blindfold that shows only a darkness grim?
Sightless? Then listen again! Trace that pulse you once heard.
Come again, again, again: give life to the songbird. ​
- SFS
Mukhallal
Hush: slow and gentle -
soft and tender, please.
Don't rush, let me nestle here at ease.
There's sunlight here you see.
Let it gently creep; over each contour, each pore, each crevice
that makes up 'me'.
Warm and snug, yet like a fresh nascent breeze.
Let it cover each throb, tingle, tug and tear;
wash over skin, flesh, and bone - atom by atom -
penetrate deep, full, complete.
Until its oozing warmth takes over entirely
and only It remains, mixing through and over whatever else was of me.
Mukhallal, they say; a most intimate intertwining of Love replete.
Not like a flood, no waterfalls here.
No: delicate, subtle, quiet, steady, neat.
Such that there is a slow thorough witness to its radiating effacement -
its mantle discreet
as it sheathes each frail fragment one, by one, by one;
Until there is only One.
And all is in unison with that single steady beat;
that eternal pulsating rhythm rendering all finally free.
Hush: slow and soft, please.
Listen, oh! Let me nestle here at ease.
There's sunlight here you see.
Lord, an all-effacing perfusion of Light may it be.
-SFS
Mukhallal: being permeated, integrated, or merged with another. Its roots are shared by the Arabic words for vinegar and pickle. Like vinegar saturating a cucumber completely, in relationships this is a connection that unifies souls transformatively. The word 'Khalil', often translated as the 'friend' - the Prophet Ibrahim as the Friend of God - is also from this root.
Women's Hour
-Visiting the Beloved of God ï·º
today they come to you
these women who have heard
in lands farther and wider
a lasting echo, reverberating
against a multitude of barriers:
that in your sanctuary there is relief
and that with you is God's mercy
and peace, for troubled hearts.
so they come
with their tear-stained faces
climbing, craning, peering
their cheeks holding in tight embrace now
the barriers which separate them from you
- their makeshift drums -
crying now in tongues innumerable
"Is it our turn?"
"Are we really here?"
"Are we with the Messenger of God?"
"Have we come to him?"
​
so as my quiet prayers of greeting
are overwhelmed
by the feet-patter of fervour,
in my mind's eye I thus behold
this blessed city's
welcoming women
so vividly, so sharply
as if we, who now bask in this garden,
are with them.
As if it were yesterday, or today,
as if our hearts are now beating
to the beats of those drums
as if we witness as they witness
and greet as they greet,
The Last Prophet of God.
Here, in relief,
hearts placated at last.
​
***
O Lord, by virtue of this blessed city, illuminated by the coming of Your beloved to it, bless the women of Your beloved's community for the fervour of their love for him! Forgive any misdemeanour which may occur by their hands in this sanctuary or elsewhere and lighten their affairs for them as they return to their lands; lower their barriers for them, ya Rabb, or strengthen them to overcome.
O Lord, bestow your reward upon the women of Your beloved's community who have perfected dedication, courage, patience and the ability to withstand. And bestow Your much-needed help, guidance and mercy, ya Allah, on us - the women of your beloved's community now in the throws of their journeys, now more impatient, less able to withstand, our dedication often wavering and our courage faltering. Connect us to the legacy of the best of the women who have come before us, embolden us through them, and raise our intentions, our works, and our contributions as You did theirs. For your beloved, by virtue of your beloved, his blessed city, and the joy of this visit to it. Amin!
the fervour of feet-patter
overtakes their owners: the women
in collages of colours and patterns
make their way,
having waited ardently
for their barriers to be lowered,
solely to soak in a scent
to catch a glimpse
to placate their hearts
craving confirmation
for what they have heard,
what they have felt
and believed unwaveringly;
the crinkles near their eyes
a testament to the years spent
awaiting this moment.
their murmured prayers and songs
of greeting, praise and gratitude
of secrets bursting to be shared
as they approach your presence
holding each other up
climbing the pillars
craning their necks
raising their hands as if to touch,
beyond what they can see
(for their barriers persist)
in a greeting -
in a wave of some sort?
in a salaam of sincerity,
and the occasional knowing-nod.
then, a smile through their tears
as they depart
hearts placated at last
remind me of the women of this city
some fourteen hundred years ago
who raised their drums
in welcome song,
held each other up
climbed the roofs
craned their necks
peered over walls,
craving confirmation
for what they had heard
and believed:
"Is he here?"
"Is it him?"
"Is it really the Messenger of God?"
"Has he come to us?"
- SFS
Labbayk
Labbayk allahumma labbayk
each reverberating utterance makes the heart ache
and though I do not of that great standing yet partake
here I am, still, striving for Your sake
Labbayk allahumma labbayk, they say
and on my heart it does so heavily weigh
for is this still the litany by which I make my life's way?
or does the heart from its commitment now begin to stray?
do these meagre attempts of giving from day-to-day
send my firmness upon unthinking devotion faraway?
is that once loving heart now falling swift to decay -
or does it still to that primordial witness-response swing and sway?
Labbayk allahumma labbayk
this heart had responded with joy as it came awake
longing only for paths which would to You take
yearning for a life of service no matter what came to be at stake
Labbayk allahumma labbayk, they say
and on my heart it does so heavily weigh
for does this face still some glimpse of light display?
or just the scars of heart-afflictions now betray?
so long it has been since service came bounding my way
and to it I took joyfully as a means by which my gratitude to pay
for You who gave generous gift after gift without delay
and did every opportunity for ascent send my way
Labbayk allahumma labbayk
each reverberating utterance makes the heart ache
and though I do not of that great standing yet partake
here I am, still striving for Your sake
Labbayk allahumma labbayk, they say
as in concentric circles they make their way
around and around until hearts can no longer disobey
reoriented, aligned, in sync, even if just for today.
Labbayk allahumma labbayk, they say
and though on my heart it does so heavily weigh
still, reviving a forgotten longing, I fervently pray
that this scant service here makes me with them swing and sway
Labbayk allahumma labbayk
forgive my Lord whatever has not been solely for Your sake
let my steadiness upon a life of service not so easily break
let it make me of the ones who may of that greater standing once partake
- SFS
Ebb and Flow II
Ramadan Reverb
​
Ebb and flow, ebb and flow
take me, so gentle and slow
over insurmountable mounds of snow
in your warm embracing glow
Here again you come, and there again I stand
in empty-handed welcome, whispering a pallette of prayers bland
See through this unworthy greeting to that second where I lock eyes
where I breathe to dwell in the daad ض -
that instant squeezed between my sighs
Let it be - this negligible offering - one that cuts through the ice
Let there be some subtle sublime in it which you can take to the skies.
Be patient with me, sit with me night and day
Keep me company here, hold me in gentle sway.
Let your arms be my healing refuge from stormy nights grey
Show me - no - carry me with you, along your guiding way.
​
Ebb and flow, ebb and flow
take me, so gentle and slow
over insurmountable mounds of snow
in your warm embracing glow.
​
Here again you come, with your open-palmed hand,
nudging me, light and soft, towards your gleaming gates grand.
There again I stand; quivering, cold, hollow and weak;
scraps of salutation for you emerge no more than a sorry squeak.
I am trying, friend, struggling past these shivering states so bleak,
look: your tender moonlight is warming me enough to begin to speak.
We are no match now, as we once were,
meeting then as fervent fond friends,
still you come to me quietly, like the forgiving glance all transcends,
murmuring to me at eventide that things are by their beginnings and ends
and that you bring me both these gifts - these openings for me to make amends.
​
Ebb and flow, ebb and flow
take me, so gentle and slow
over insurmountable mounds of snow
in your warm embracing glow.
- SFS
