Cairo is Dying

is life worth the carnage in the street?

the corner where the children played

drips with blood, black with gore.

Broken glass and broken hearts

This is not the country of your father,

that kills its men and women and babies.

this is not the language of your mother,

that screams in rage, in hate, in oppression,

Here, they target your religion.

Your politics. These brothers you may have

served or salaam-ed?

You can no longer call them your own.

The ones on the rooftops,

in the street,

in the crowd,

the ones sending you to your grave,

peering through their crosshairs.

Nesha Usmani

“A Life Changing Reminder” – Mejed Mahmoud

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7lKVYxlksCk

“Allahumma innaka Afuwwun, tuhibbul Afwa, fa’fu ‘annee.”

*rough* translation (the meaning of Afuw (pardon) is complex and has great depth, Allahu Akbar):

“O’ Allah, You are The Pardoner, You love to pardon, so pardon me.”

May Allah have afuw on us all, May Allah have afuw on us all, May Allah have afuw on us all, Ameen.

And May Allah reward my mother for sharing this video with me, Ameen.

London

London, you’ve taught me a couple things.

One is, that you’re probably better looking

and in a better mood when the sky is heavy with

passionate rain clouds.

Heat does not suit you, nor does the blinding sun on

your cobbled streets.

And the mighty Thames looks

well…weak.

And your bright red double deckers are charming from afar,

but inside them, the constant stopping and going

makes the mind wander, in its frustration, to leaping

out of the window in a sweaty, claustrophobia-induced rage.

But your markets, landmarks, gardens, and shoppes

made up for transportation woes.

Another valuable lesson is that

heartbreak can reach even your ancient fortresses,

your hundred-year-old buildings, bridges, and houses.

I keep expecting to see his face,

and the smile that still makes my heart weep,

the eyes that cause my pulse to race,

and the love I thought I’d always keep.

Nay, not London, not an ocean.

Not a marbled arch or preserved parliament

can keep the pain at bay.

But in the crevices of my palm, to which I whisper

my du’a

Filling my hands with prayer and repentance,

it is only then that I can cope.

The extra beat in my heart is solace.

Only then can I feel some hope.

 

Nesha Usmani

July 9, 2012

By the Fig and the Olive

By the Fig and the Olive

Assalamu Alaikum & Hello!

I’ve got another blog! I will be using it to share, inform, and write about my experiences as a Muslim. It’s a purely educational and informational effort, for the sake of Allah. It’s educational for me as well, since I wish to learn more about my religion. So, I figure, I’ll learn as I go, inshAllah. So click the little weirdly underlined link that reads “By the Fig and the Olive” and give me some feedback, follow, and give me some ideas. I already have some ideas in the works. Wouldn’t hurt to get some more!

May Allah make this new blog beneficial for me and those who read, Ameen.

And please keep up on this blog, which is mainly for poetry, random thoughts, and general ranting.

Have a good one!