‘Ayoon Al-Jubana
By Abu Khattab
The pen I write with speaks a few words,
Written at a time where the truth seems cruel.
The ink drips constantly about a few good men,
About their dreams and efforts and the way they rule.
Their eyes know not dryness like ours,
Their faces know not a frown like mine.
In a class of their own yet deemed insignificant,
Even though undoubtedly their actions are fine.
The smile they give when they leave this world,
Brings a throb to a heart that wishes the same.
Their words of kindness towards each other,
Different to those who speak to maim.
One can write in abundance of words,
Yet the trueness of their essence cannot be said.
For it lies in their hearts that kept them striving,
Striving forever until from their hearts they bled.
We look and we see a world of materialism,
Logos and icons painted on objects.
A playful thing that entertains the ignorant
For the devil they’ve become experimental subjects.
The good men I speak of are free from this,
Their humble lives lived to serve the light.
The light of a religion that frees us of shackles,
Allowing us to march on a path that’s bright.
A cowardice atmosphere has risen today,
Where the rose is a thorn and the thorn is a rose.
An illusion that betrays those who breathe its air,
Shooting them constantly with its poisonous bows.
But these men stand firm in the face of adversity,
Unfazed they are by the distractions around.
Marching towards the illuminating path,
Until finally their brethren, they have surely found.
Inhaling the dust from the fields of battle,
Sweeter to them then the smell of musk.
They inhale it and await the rewards to come,
From the rising of the sun till the time of dusk.
The rain that falls and trickles on them,
A cooling sensation in the unforgiving cold.
Their rifles submerged in the muddy terrain,
Heavy on their hands yet they continue to be bold.
They’ve left this life in expense for the next,
What have we given that is significantly more?
A prayer? A fast? A small amount of charity?
They’ve given their last breath to serve their Lord.
The sounds of the “Kalash” has become their songs,
A repetitive echo that rings in their ears.
The heat from the barrel blister’s their skin,
Yet remaining steadfast as it unbearably sears.
Their meals unlike those that are fit for a king,
An amount to last them throughout the day.
Not complaining as they thank Him for His blessings on them,
But if it were you in their position, what would you say?
Facing their mothers and farewelling them,
Never to see them again in this life.
Their hands together until they finally let go,
But reassuring them that they won’t be in strife.
“Mother! Never will I belittle your struggle with me,
Your care for me I am unable to give back.
But you have a raised a soldier for your Lord, the Merciful,
So surely, God willing, in deeds you don’t lack.
The tears we cry are only temporary,
But know in Jannah like birds we’ll sing.
To recite the verses of the Qur’an in Ferdose,
Is a dream that my heart continues to cling.”
Who of us speak in the manner of theirs?
Their only worry is not receiving death in His cause.
Cowards who slander and backbite their brothers,
Ripping into them with their doggery claws.
And the sisters who pride themselves when it comes to marriage,
Denying one of them because of the life he leads.
You haven’t denied him rather Allah has denied you,
Denied you a spouse who is fierce like Steeds.
And the men of this world who make fun of them,
Mocking their wealth and the way they look.
I ask you to face one when you come into battle,
Like a coward you’ll run – like a found out crook.
The support of their Lord comes down to them,
The maidens of Paradise await their presence.
The angels fight alongside them in battle,
Yet when the call is made the Ummah faces an absence.
An absence of men who seek the bullet,
Leaving the world and their desires behind.
Letting the memories of their previous life,
Flow out of their hearts and out of their mind.
These men have stepped up to face their duty,
Striking together like the light and fire.
Yet we remain seated like a tree and its roots,
As we indulge in corruption to satisfy our desire.
How can a soul speak out against them?
Are the hearts of people really that black?
Their eyes are dry when their brothers are imprisoned,
Kindness and love for their brothers they lack.
But they fear not the speech of the cowards today,
Knowing it is but a trial to pass.
Their Merciful Lord is pleased with their efforts,
Their reward in Ferdose is surely so vast.
Strangers they may be but they accept the title,
Glad tidings to them – their maidens call.
“Enter the Gardens!” is what they hastily await,
When finally it’s time for their bodies to fall.
Cowards know not the sweet taste of battle,
The ink of my pen can testify to this.
Remaining silent has become our way,
Fooled in this world by the temporary “bliss”.
Some may shed a tear when the sword is seen,
But writing with a pen has become our best.
A pathetic trance has become our prison,
So may the eyes of the cowards never rest...
By Abu Khattab
The pen I write with speaks a few words,
Written at a time where the truth seems cruel.
The ink drips constantly about a few good men,
About their dreams and efforts and the way they rule.
Their eyes know not dryness like ours,
Their faces know not a frown like mine.
In a class of their own yet deemed insignificant,
Even though undoubtedly their actions are fine.
The smile they give when they leave this world,
Brings a throb to a heart that wishes the same.
Their words of kindness towards each other,
Different to those who speak to maim.
One can write in abundance of words,
Yet the trueness of their essence cannot be said.
For it lies in their hearts that kept them striving,
Striving forever until from their hearts they bled.
We look and we see a world of materialism,
Logos and icons painted on objects.
A playful thing that entertains the ignorant
For the devil they’ve become experimental subjects.
The good men I speak of are free from this,
Their humble lives lived to serve the light.
The light of a religion that frees us of shackles,
Allowing us to march on a path that’s bright.
A cowardice atmosphere has risen today,
Where the rose is a thorn and the thorn is a rose.
An illusion that betrays those who breathe its air,
Shooting them constantly with its poisonous bows.
But these men stand firm in the face of adversity,
Unfazed they are by the distractions around.
Marching towards the illuminating path,
Until finally their brethren, they have surely found.
Inhaling the dust from the fields of battle,
Sweeter to them then the smell of musk.
They inhale it and await the rewards to come,
From the rising of the sun till the time of dusk.
The rain that falls and trickles on them,
A cooling sensation in the unforgiving cold.
Their rifles submerged in the muddy terrain,
Heavy on their hands yet they continue to be bold.
They’ve left this life in expense for the next,
What have we given that is significantly more?
A prayer? A fast? A small amount of charity?
They’ve given their last breath to serve their Lord.
The sounds of the “Kalash” has become their songs,
A repetitive echo that rings in their ears.
The heat from the barrel blister’s their skin,
Yet remaining steadfast as it unbearably sears.
Their meals unlike those that are fit for a king,
An amount to last them throughout the day.
Not complaining as they thank Him for His blessings on them,
But if it were you in their position, what would you say?
Facing their mothers and farewelling them,
Never to see them again in this life.
Their hands together until they finally let go,
But reassuring them that they won’t be in strife.
“Mother! Never will I belittle your struggle with me,
Your care for me I am unable to give back.
But you have a raised a soldier for your Lord, the Merciful,
So surely, God willing, in deeds you don’t lack.
The tears we cry are only temporary,
But know in Jannah like birds we’ll sing.
To recite the verses of the Qur’an in Ferdose,
Is a dream that my heart continues to cling.”
Who of us speak in the manner of theirs?
Their only worry is not receiving death in His cause.
Cowards who slander and backbite their brothers,
Ripping into them with their doggery claws.
And the sisters who pride themselves when it comes to marriage,
Denying one of them because of the life he leads.
You haven’t denied him rather Allah has denied you,
Denied you a spouse who is fierce like Steeds.
And the men of this world who make fun of them,
Mocking their wealth and the way they look.
I ask you to face one when you come into battle,
Like a coward you’ll run – like a found out crook.
The support of their Lord comes down to them,
The maidens of Paradise await their presence.
The angels fight alongside them in battle,
Yet when the call is made the Ummah faces an absence.
An absence of men who seek the bullet,
Leaving the world and their desires behind.
Letting the memories of their previous life,
Flow out of their hearts and out of their mind.
These men have stepped up to face their duty,
Striking together like the light and fire.
Yet we remain seated like a tree and its roots,
As we indulge in corruption to satisfy our desire.
How can a soul speak out against them?
Are the hearts of people really that black?
Their eyes are dry when their brothers are imprisoned,
Kindness and love for their brothers they lack.
But they fear not the speech of the cowards today,
Knowing it is but a trial to pass.
Their Merciful Lord is pleased with their efforts,
Their reward in Ferdose is surely so vast.
Strangers they may be but they accept the title,
Glad tidings to them – their maidens call.
“Enter the Gardens!” is what they hastily await,
When finally it’s time for their bodies to fall.
Cowards know not the sweet taste of battle,
The ink of my pen can testify to this.
Remaining silent has become our way,
Fooled in this world by the temporary “bliss”.
Some may shed a tear when the sword is seen,
But writing with a pen has become our best.
A pathetic trance has become our prison,
So may the eyes of the cowards never rest...