o you who believe

o you who believe

look at us, my ummah,

we think we are so tall

but when one of us chooses to stand up and rise above the ignorance

and lies and oppression and apathy

we cut them down

we watch them fall

then measure ourselves again like fools

o you who believe

you will not grow by God’s grace with your rashness,

but rather he will hide his face in shame at his creation

while they relish in their understanding of what is temporal

and what is spiritual

when they do not realize that all must be respected

and understood

if we are to flourish truly

o you who believe

if we were created into males and females

and nations and tribes so that we may know one another

then i guess right now we must be stranded,

homeless, stateless,

left stumbling in the dark

because today i do not know you

no, today i do not know you at all

 

P.S. Yes, I am alive! I will not be gone this long again, I promise! Well well, poetry does come to me every now and then. I just have to be frustrated enough for it to happen. I wrote this poem a few weeks ago. That anger has subsided and now I see this poem as if it were birthed by another person. Interesting what distance from your work can do….

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