Sunday came,

and with it rose a slow, bright sun.

Dragging rays of exhaustion over cities,

over houses, over beds,

and over her.

And she awoke with heavy-hearted fatigue

that kept her body still,

but her mind in a frenzy of thoughts

and regrets.

Her eyes were wet and red

and her head pounded with a rhythm

of having slept fitfully.

Nightmarish beings wrapped their cold,

bony fingers around her heart

and squeezed.

Crushed it, stabbed it with the thorny past

that’s come back to haunt her.

She rubs her hands together,

and remembers the way you held them

You didn’t know

And she didn’t tell you,

but when you held them,

You were keeping the nightmares away.

You were holding all of her together,

and you kept the darkness at bay,

By the grace of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful,

you were the brightest star in her darkest sky.

Nesha Usmani

Moj Sumrak

Maybe the only way to love you,

is to leave and love you alone.

And the only way to thank you,

is to etch a farewell in stone.

If I put my regrets upon my back,

the weight would crush my bones.

But you just stand there watching,

and hating the load I carry

you don’t see how much I hate it too.

I know how tired and fed up you are

but I don’t want to say goodbye

Not after the mountains we’ve climbed


Not after how much we’ve cried.

But if it will make you happiest, in the end,

I’ll take my leave, and I’ll tell myself,

that Loving is Leaving

And Trying is Dying

And Gratitude is best shown

with a farewell,

a finite etching in stone.

Nesha Usmani

WUDU. The right (and only) way.

I want to talk to my Sunday school teachers and ask them why they didn’t teach us to make wudu like this, but it would be wrong to blame anyone except myself.

I found this a year or more ago and then somehow could not find it again. Today I stumbled across it on Facebook, Alhamdulillah.

Seriously, as Muslims we make wudu at least 4 times a day, more if we need to. We forget that without it, salah (prayer) is not accepted. Not only that, we forget, as one of the brothers in the video point out, that wudu is PART of Salah. It IS ibadah (worship).

So instead of splashing around in the sink and snorting and gargling…take a look, man!

SubhanAllah. Look how Shaykh Khatri slows down. Pours his water from a pitcher (controlling how much you use and decreasing the waste of water). Look how much attention he pays to each step subhanAllah, and even patiently answers and demonstrates questions regarding women’s wudu (it’s not different, except for how we wash our hair).

Listen to his dhikr and watch his determination, subhanAllah. I think he used maybe 1/4th of the water I would normally use and took 5 times the amount of time I would normally take during my wudu, authubillah.

So here it is, Allahu Allam, it says this Sheikh is following an unbroken chain leading back to the Prophet (SAW), (This Sheikh learned from his Sheikh, who learned from his Sheikh, who learned from his Sheikh, etc, until reaching the Prophet (SAW).

May Allah guide us to the purest knowledge and the straightest path and never lead us astray. Ameen

On the outskirts of chaos you’ll find them,rising


Trossachs National Park, Scotland

On the outskirts of chaos you’ll find them,

rising out of the earth in greens and browns and greys.

And in their presence they demand of you two things,

respect for one, and the other; reflection.

It’s not as if you haven’t seen them before but the reminder

they give never gets old.

There, in the quiet. the giants sleep.

Immobile and grand

patient and forgiving.

And therein the reminder rings louder than

the calls of the gulls by the cliff,

Patient, grand, forgiving.

Forever there.

There, in the quiet, truth enters the heart.

Not creation, but the Creator.

Allahu Akbar.

Allahu Akbar.


Nesha Usmani



Time pushes forward

But, she looks back.

Her heart fills with tears and love,


And she hopes he might drink from it.

as one would a glass of water.

But time pushes forward,

and in so doing,

pulls him away from her,

Her outstretched hand remains empty,

her fingertips cold.

Nesha Usmani

The Walk

With hands clasped together, they walked;

Their shoes leaving deep prints in the mud.

Upon reaching a crossroads, they stopped,

And, between them, small white puffs of

breath gathered and scattered, like

regret which comes and goes as it pleases.

Above them, birds sang,

Reminding them that life, indeed,

does not depend on the severity of

their loss, not on their hearts’ painful

breaking, healing, and breaking again.

But for the moment, both were content

to drop the world, if for another gaze

in the other’s eyes,

Another moment of laughter, or a moment of love.

But neither had the heart to find Hope.

The reason for their parting suddenly

became unclear, unreal, impossible.

But to bring again the storm of questioning

was no longer something they could do.

They let go.

One more look back, and then another, and again

until each had gone from sight.

But with them walked the other’s Absence.

Absence, the silent emptiness left behind,

the delicate perfume left in a lover’s wake.

And with them Absence walked, a tireless presence;

relentless and stubborn in its demand for attention,

who walked until both had the strength to leave it behind.

Another companion joined. And this was Memory.

A strange fellow, who showed only the bright, iridescent facets

of love the two shared,

and often conveniently stood in front of the darkness, the blemishes.

But Memory grew and evolved with them, and matured

and eventually became a part of Love.

Love, the unseen, unheard companion

who had taken root inside their hearts.

And only when the time came, only when Absence

had been abandoned,

Only when Memory had infused with it (Love),

did Love reveal itself.

Bloomed within them like a whispered comfort,

a warmth against their frigid flesh,

And they knew that they had indeed loved each other well.

And within that comfort, a spark was lit

And this companion was Prayer.

And Prayer had come to find Hope.

Nesha Usmani

The Wear and Tear

Bismillahi Ar Rahmani Ar Rahim

I sat down and I had, in my head, visions of heart-aching beauty.

In which memories of the sum of the years folded themselves

into beautiful, delicate shapes.

They cleverly hid the sadness and misery.

I guess that’s what they mean by having those

rose-colored glasses.

Oh but, I realized today, both an icicle in the heart

and a fluttering of the soul,

that in taking you away

Allah answered my best prayer for you.

My best prayer!!!

One of the most difficult ones I’ve ever made.

Everything else…He grasped my hands tightly

and it was as though I heard it in my heart,


“No. But you can have this.

You can have this and smile when things go wrong

When things go wrong, and you are crying,

And everything is changing,

You will have this. And you will know

that I always do the best.”

What can I say, Allah?

Allah, what can I say except,

SubhanAllah, Alhamdulillah, Allahu Akbar.

I’ve cried until my eyes turned red,

The skin around them stinging.

Gratitude and sadness mingling with

each other.

Don’t lead me astray, Ya Rabb,

nor the ones whom I love.

You will take them from me, as You have in the past,

if it is Your will,

But do not lead us astray.

Above anything, I want Heaven.

A Home close to Your throne.

A forest of date palms,

A house of treasures.

An afternoon with a Prophet.

A hundred-year sleep.

The garden underneath my feet

Underneath which rivers flow.

The ever-youthful smiles of my parents,

And the eternal skies of Your blessings.

I would take any pain in this world

for the promise of Jannah.

My moment of truth revealed,

The wear and tear of my heart

healed with Your mercy.

Your Grace.

Your Will.

Forgive me, Ya Allah.

Allahumagh fir lee.

Allahumagh fir lee.

Allahumagh fir lee, Ya Rabb.