MUSLIMNESS.COM: Creative-Writing

Submit Your Stories For The Muslim Writers Awards

Posted by Zaufishan British-Muslims, competitions, Creative-Writing, muslim awards Tuesday, July 05, 2011

The Split In My Bookshelf Is A Moon

Posted by Zaufishan community, Creative-Writing, Lori King, opinions Monday, June 27, 2011

iPoet poem: Qur'anic Love

Posted by Zaufishan Creative-Writing, muslim poetry, the idawah Monday, January 10, 2011

The Prophets of Islam - Kh'amazing poem

Posted by Zaufishan Creative-Writing, edutainment, guest posts, muslim poetry, poetry, prophet muhammad Thursday, October 28, 2010

'Fighting for Queen and Country'

Posted by Zaufishan Creative-Writing, muslim poetry Thursday, July 01, 2010

Bite size thoughts - Forgetfulness

Posted by Zaufishan Creative-Writing, death, guest posts, muslim poetry, writers Monday, June 14, 2010

iPoet: iGive (poem)

Posted by Zaufishan Creative-Writing, muslim poetry, the idawah Sunday, April 25, 2010

Sonnet#1 Delusion

Posted by Zaufishan Creative-Writing, muslim poetry, the poetical Tuesday, March 16, 2010

"White" (Poetry + Commentary)

Posted by Zaufishan Allah God, Creative-Writing, muslim poetry, the poetical Saturday, January 23, 2010

In the name of God, compassionate & merciful بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمنِ الرَّحِيمِ Peace be with you السلام عليكم

It’s been some time since {my last post}, hasn’t it? I really have to admit, university life has been top priority but honestly? I think it was laziness that stopped me from posting on Muslimness more often. So insha’Allah, I’ll start developing my writing more, with the flow of writing resuming with my poem White. Enjoy, insha’Allah.

White.
Many things come to mind.
Blinding white light.
White cancels all.
Revert, regress, and relapse.
Past remnants of memories are forgotten.
A time of destruction, hell and raging demons.
Corruption overtook the mind.
Needed to get worse before I got better.
The past has happened, I will recompense later.
For now, the flash of light blinds me.

White.
It blinds me.
Scourge of my past doings.
Radiance penetrates the skin.
Sets alight like an effigy.
Fire coarse, through the soul.
White, cleanser of corruption.
Rage is slowly depleting.
Contempt, jealousy, anger, all held down.
White finds the root; the source of the evil.
Slowly purifies me.

White.
Blindness slowly subsides.
It burned the demons away.
Killed at the foundation of the raging omens.
I feel violated, yet calm.
Disturbed, shaken, but not uninspired.
What is happening to me?
Black screams one final utterance of hate.
Before white enthuses nobility into the soul.
Revert.
Now.

White.
The power of nothingness.
Nonentity yet prevalent in complexity.
Complexity searches for simplicity.
White. Acquires the target. Locked on.
The light scorched the charred heart, skin torn asunder.
Emptiness. Logic fallacy.
I am floating. White incites flight. Becomes a covering. Impenetrable.
Memories, thoughts, ideologies return in a disorienting flash.
Majesty. Glory. Praise. All-knowing. All-wise.
White. Mercy, greater than His wrath.

White.
Restored the body. Cleansed the heart. Gave the soul Faith.
White. Blinds by His will. Guides who He wills.
I feel brand new. Smile. Feels anomalous. Yet refreshing.
Black has been forgotten, refuted, defeated.
Everything has become clear, the duty realised.
White shines once more. Reborn.
Is this Ihsan? Can it surely be?
No longer weak hearted.
Controlled, modulated, reprogrammed.
Lesson learnt.

Saqib Ali Rashid

Commentary

Well, now that you’ve finished reading, you’ve most likely acknowledged that everything that this poem stands for, promotes and conveys is the complete opposite of {my previous poem, entitled Black}. This was written in early May 2009, a few weeks after Black was finished – emotional and religious devotion was parallel to this timeframe.

Whilst that piece was my creative outburst of complied hate, disorder and general disloyalty of humanity, White attempts to reclaim that dignity and heal the damage the previous poem inflicted. Think of it as me winding back the ‘clock’ of my conscience, the evil of my soul washed away in this sudden white encompassing so much.

Again, this poem takes the connotations linked to the colour white and exploited the many positive things that come to mind, just as the colour black employs similar connotations. And yep, I stuck to the same style, number of stanzas and the effect of metaphor makes an obvious contrast with Black.

It was a personal mission to complete this colour polarity, with the driving inspiration being a Hadith I came across through the works of Imam Nawawi (rahimahullah). It’s a pretty famous hadith where Angel Jibril (alayhisalaam) visits the Prophet Muhammad (sallahu alayhi wassalam) in the form of a man wearing exceedingly white clothes – who came to teach their religion to them. It gives an excellent reminder on how Islam compromises three things: Islam, Iman and Ihsan. Find the Hadith for yourself! Also – I kinda felt guilty that I wrote Black so I felt it needed a contrast – and personal events in my life gave this positive resolution. J

If you feel a spiritual vibe when reading this, then that’s what I was aiming for! Reading back, I’m pleasantly reminded of Allah’s mercy, that turning to Him and remembering Him is sweet, and that no matter how bad it is, my Creator will always prevail. It’s not a perfectly written poem - the majority of my poetry that’ll be posted on here is admittedly first or second draft stuff and this was before I started university. But hey, insha’Allah, it means better writing to share!

By: The Poetical Peace & respect ★ www.Muslimness.com

Strings.

Posted by Zaufishan Creative-Writing, muslim poetry, poetry, the shepherd Tuesday, December 29, 2009

The Key To Our Dream - A prisoner's poem

Posted by Zaufishan Creative-Writing, detainees, guest posts, muslim blogs, poetry Monday, December 28, 2009

In the name of God, compassionate & merciful بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمنِ الرَّحِيمِ | Peace be with you السلام عليكم

A poem by Tarek Mehanna (who is Tarek?)

(In the Name of Allah)

I walked by our dream and was saddened to find
Tears filling her eyes with a look quite resigned.
She sat in the jail where we left her behind
Trapped behind the bars of a colonized mind.

I stood and wondered how I could set her free
So I asked if she knew where they’d hidden the key.
She wiped away tears and looked over at me
With pity that I assumed it would be so easy!

She said: “Buried inside pages of distant past
With a heritage of lions, so rich and so vast
You’ll find the key with Sumayyah, when to faith she held fast
As they speared her chastity, and she breathed her last.

And it’s the finger of Bilal, the heroic black slave,
The sign of Tawhid that in their faces he’d wave
As he lay tied down in a hot desert grave
Their harming of him made him all the more brave.

And it’s the pledge of ‘Ikrimah, enemy turned warrior
Who changed his life to make the truth superior.
Khalid himself could not hold him back from more
When his pledge at Yarmuk left the Romans so sore.

It is the back with shredded flesh and torn skin
Of Ahmad bin Hambal, who refused to give in.
He answered their whips with the truth and a grin
To protect our religion, he would not let them win.

And it is the bittersweet dust of the land of Hittin,
That once engulfed the knights of Salah ad-Din
From the filth of dishonor, he made that dust clean
And for the respect of the world did he set the scene.

It was the rope around the neck of the desert’s lion
‘Umar Mukhtar, who would bow down to no Italian.
Refusing to live in a state of humiliation
His chin high to the end, with no fear of the Creation.

The rope was passed on to Sayyid’s waiting head
With one last chance for him to be spared from this dread.
And from the choicest fruits, they promised he would be fed
But his index finger led him to another door instead.

The same finger that pointed up as Malcolm X lay still
Ending a life of honor, that was one struggle uphill.
He left a life of crime, transforming himself until
He spoke bitter truth with eloquence and skill…”

She sat in the jail where we left her behind
Indeed this key will be difficult to find
But it is you if you refuse to be blind
And decide to free yourself from the colonized mind.

"True freedom is not the ability to go where you want,
disobey your Lord when you want, and think how
others want you to think. Rather, true freedom is the
freedom to live for one's religion, beliefs, and principles." -Babar Ahmad

Poem written by Tariq Mehanna | 27th of Dhu al-Hijjah 1430 | (14th of December 2009)

In the hours before Fajr; in the traces of the pale floodlights shining into my cell.
Plymouth County Correctional Facility, Isolation Unit.

Join Tarek Mehanna's Facebook support page here [link]

Check out and leave a comment on the campaign website where Tarek's hand written notes are published [link]

Thank you kindly.

Peace & respect ★ www.Muslimness.com

Under the Shade of Allah

Posted by Unknown Allah God, Creative-Writing, judgement day, the shepherd, videos Monday, December 14, 2009

A Blooming Blessing in Colour

Posted by Jerri Allah God, allah's creations, Creative-Writing, Eco-Islam, education and knowledge, islam, Islam-Environment Thursday, December 10, 2009

Muslim Writers Submission Time!

Posted by Muslimness Creative-Writing, muslim awards, organisations Tuesday, November 03, 2009

ҳ̸Ҳ̸ҳ The Arrival ҳ̸Ҳ̸ҳ ( Short story )

Posted by Ali Ashraf Creative-Writing Saturday, August 29, 2009

_____________________________________________________

In the name of God, The Compassionate & Most Merciful
بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمنِ الرَّحِيمِ

| Peace be with you|
السلام عليكم

________________

-- The Arrival --

Waleed wakes up to the sound of the serenading breeze, moaning through the silent desert night. The room's ambiance consists of the gentle flicker of a lone candle in the corner, while the dried up parches of shrubs and leaves form the sustenance of his sleeping area.

Like many in the town, the underprivileged state of affairs and consistent strife of every day life; doesn't pose much of a threat to his sense of mental peace nor the simpleton within; yet does offer a regular reminder as to what remains missing in the social composite of its fabric.

The central square in the midst of the community, acts as a hustling bustling hub of regal aristocracy mixed with the lavish trappings of materialistic success, brought on by an annual foray of ritual odysseys from far flung cities encompassing the peninsula.

After taking a sip of water from the camel skin vessel by his bed, he looks out of the window unto the horizon. It's unusual to witness a peculiar form of silentious commotion down the street, emanating from an area at the destitute end of the town, late at this hour.

Nonetheless, his curiosity whispers to the aroused conscience and he walks down to investigate the unfamiliar oddity. The winding streets make their way through the narrow enclaves of the neighborhood, as the tender glow of the unvoiced moon caresses his face, whilst the texture of carpeted rooftops glisten quietly in their typical mystique.

It isn't long before he finds himself standing beside the town blacksmith amongst a handful of huddled people just outside one of the houses. He watches the familiar faces exchange curious whispers in anticipation of the unknown; as his own sense of urgency starts to stir underneath his skin.

"What's going on?", he asks in a hurriedly inquiring tone.

The blacksmith responds unassumingly; "Nobody knows! It..."

Suddenly, the door opens and Waleed realizes that...

It is him.

Somehow the face had a unique radiance that could be fathomed even in the dark of a starless night. The patches on his torn clothes, the generous demeanor, the invigorating musk of his scent and the look of an intrinsic truth in his eyes - all spoke of a common denominator that were recognizable traits.

However, it is when he starts speaking now, that the collective whispers turn to shared placidity. An aura of soundless calm descends upon the crowd, as they stand in awe listening to the words exuding out of his humble lips.

Standing in the middle of such silence, the hair on Waleed's body swirl in captivation, while his mouth becomes dry, his eyes slowly begin to moisten up like an untouched well and his heart thumps harder, as he watches him address the gathered few with unspoken words that had never dared to enter the confines of this nescient settlement before.

......

It had finally begun.

An arrival that would paint the canvas of the desolate dunes of this place, transforming them into the splendor of a truth that shall last through the tests of time.

He finds himself immersed in the reassuring respite of tears, as the end of the communion paves the way for the cloak of the night to unveil itself into the 'hope' of dawn; with him enjoining in the solemn vows and cries of the words fading through the air:

"There is no god but God, and Muhammad is His servant and messenger"

~ The End

[ A fictional account of events, entwined with factual realism - of how things would have transpired, if seen through the eyes of an ordinary 6th century Meccan, on the night of the Prophet (saws) first sermon at the commencement of his prophetic mission to the pagan Arabs of the time ]

By: The Dynamic

Peace & respect ★

A Muslim

Posted by Salsabeel Creative-Writing, faith, muslim poetry, poetry, the wanderer Friday, August 21, 2009

Submit Your Stories For The Muslim Writers Awards

The Split In My Bookshelf Is A Moon

iPoet poem: Qur'anic Love

The Prophets of Islam - Kh'amazing poem

'Fighting for Queen and Country'

Bite size thoughts - Forgetfulness

iPoet: iGive (poem)

Sonnet#1 Delusion

"White" (Poetry + Commentary)

Strings.

The Key To Our Dream - A prisoner's poem

Under the Shade of Allah

A Blooming Blessing in Colour

Muslim Writers Submission Time!

ҳ̸Ҳ̸ҳ The Arrival ҳ̸Ҳ̸ҳ ( Short story )

A Muslim

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