Posts tagged islam

tansheer:

Before stepping into the circle
  of tightly packed men in Ihram reflecting the Sun
  women in black shrouding their sensuality,
I wept.
   If He hadn’t have forgiven me
     why would He let me into His home?
perhaps I wasn’t such a disappointment
after all—
     careful golden calligraphy gleamed
 high over my head, entitled
 we all squinted through the tears
    to read His own words
and whisper our sincerest thank yous

I paid no heed to the warnings
  of aggressive inclinations in the Masjid:
     “They’ll steal your shoes,
    shove you out of their way,
    step on your head
    while you’re prostrating”
   and as I had expected,
    no one was violent
    no one was selfish,
   too fixated on what was resting
over their left shoulder
to be anything
    but peaceful, patient
   and kind.

The men they said would grope me
apologized profusely for grazing
against my arm while the crowds shifted
     making way for sallow women in wheelchairs
     trying to fulfill the second requirement
 of walking with millions of people
 from towns
   they have never heard of

I have traveled too many times to count,
  yet never felt equality
  until I had my trembling hands on the Kaaba
weeping next to an elderly woman
   from Jakarta
  and a young man
   from Albania,
each of us praying
   in the same breath

I had never felt small
    until I looked up to estimate  
    the height of what Abraham built

I had never felt privileged
    until I pulled a sister
    to take my place and rest her head
    on the musk-scented inscriptions

I had never felt the extent of my neglect
   until I watched a father shake,
   heaving repentances towards the Qiblah
  in my own Arabic tongue

I can only speak two languages
   but I understood every word whispered
into the cupped hands  
 of those I walked with,
they were all asking
 for the same thing I sought,
they were all weak
     and human
                  just like me,
 I have moved too many times to count,
yet I had never felt
                  so at home.

During the seven times,   
    I never saw His face or heard His voice,
   but I had never been so sure
 of His existence,
               I was certain—
 in the breaths of the infant
     sleeping in her mother’s chest
     despite the millions chanting His name
in the knees
      of the 90 year old Turkish woman
      who walked for hours
      just to visit Him
in the tears of my father
      who never broke
      for anyone in his life
between the crowds
      that suddenly parted
      so I could touch my forehead
      to the Kaaba
He was there
and I felt him
               I’m certain.

—

naira badawi

tansheer:

  Soft jade fibers carpeted the mausoleum,
jasmine, moringa, lavender
  planted in the shade of our faith,
the Saudis split us up by nationality,
  black niqab with black abaya,
  sequined khimar over emerald dress,
  all white, cloth around necks, down
  to porous ankles, palm tree wrists,
  lifting only an index finger,
  violent curls tightly-wrapped in packages
  of all-encompassing, thorough modesty,
they sectioned us off—
 Arab, Turkish, Persian, Indonesian, Malaysian, South Asian
    the others had to decipher flowing tongues
    of wispy, yet intimidating women
directing us in, we waited
behind the first marble pillar
 where the men prayed,
past the wooden arabesques, then
at the foot of the gate,
  heavy gold concealing where he rested,
         a celebrity to some
 they kissed the brass radiators by his tomb,
slapping their faces, wailing
through accusations of blasphemy,
         a Prophet to others,
 they spoke their salams and prayed for him
silently.

After four hours of bent knees against carpeting,
   bony fingers of an impatient sister
   furrowing into my shoulders, compacting me
into Madina’s earth— “Too tall, sister!”
    I was blocking the divine view,
our turn came, the Arabs,
       some said “bismIllah”, standing up
as one should in the lotus-umbrella’d home
of the Prophet    
        others rose with fervor
and the violence of the Jahiliyya,
trampling tranquil prayers,
stepping on my mother’s head
prostrating, nose against the green,
fingers, knees in undesirable crimson.

I rushed through my verses
    that illustrated the cruelty of man,
I rushed, but carefully enunciated every word
    begging for the violence to end.

How will the bloodshed outside cease
if some can show aggression
in front of the golden graves?
     Women have been killed
under stampeding hypocrites,
who can’t even feign peace
on the most sacred of land.

—
naira badawi

partytilfajr:

I understand why Muslims today seem to prefer seeking knowledge to prayer sometimes. It is because we must justify our existence and actions constantly.

We must understand, intellectually, not just why we believe in God, that’s easy, we must rationalize why we raise a finger during jalsa, because we live in an environment where we are under constant scrutiny, both from outside and from within and in that pursuit we have lost sight of what being Muslim means: to submit to God.

While every command of God is for our benefit, we need to pull our focus away from justifications for once, stop finding scientific data for the benefits of fasting and miswaks, and just pray, not because it is required, not because we need to at a certain time, but because we are in awe of our Creator.

Yes, but.

You know what I find most fascinating about Islam? The first revelation that came to the Prophet was “read”. Iqra. It wasn’t “submit”. It was literally, “seek knowledge”. “Read, in the name of Thy Lord, who created.”

Do you know why I find this fascinating? Because all my life this submission aspect of my religion has been so well drilled into my head that most people fail to understand what submission exactly is.

I don’t seek knowledge to justify myself. To anyone. Excuse my language, but I don’t give a fuck about what most people think. I seek knowledge to submit. I don’t pray, and I know I am not a good Muslim but I have reasons for that. My qari was my rapist, the other significant figure to stress on this prayer-submission aspect of my religion was also another person that I had…icky relations growing up. So I can’t approach prayer with a clean heart. So I seek knowledge and service it in the way of my God and hope that one day I’ll be able to do the same with prayer.

——

But that’s just me. Even if someone was doing it in the way of justifying themselves, it is a way they come closer to God, and their religion. Maybe that’s their way of submission. And I am in awe enough of my Creator to understand that my Creator can understand and accept these various forms of submission.

(via illluminadi)

It can be very discouraging when too many hijab selling venues (on their facebook pages at least) can be very misogynistic in the name of modesty and hijab etc.

like fuck you shut up

Read more …

Hello everybody, 

A really good friend of mine has gone missing and I just came back from the station and I would really really appreciate it if you could all keep her in your prayers and good wishes right now. She left an extensive note for her family and I am really really worried about her safety.