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Here is another of my Islamic poems chanted and recorded live and lo-fi last weekend:
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This (We Praise and Glorify the One) is the unedited recording of the first time I performed this poem from a series of Islamic chants I have been working on. It was recorded on August 28th, 2022, at the wonderful zawiya of Sidi Nezar, in Mississauga. The performance still needs to be fine-tuned but it was a lot of fun and I hope you enjoy listening to it as much as we enjoyed singing it together for Allah's sake.
Fifty years learning to love hope and fear
Allah has kept me still wandering here To witness the Real despite all the lies To fall in love with the colourful skies To fight like a lion and cry like a child To walk across cities and into the wild Fifty thousand times I told you beware Watch your step there are traps everywhere The devil’s teeth cut deep into the bone But remember my child you are never alone Allah is the Real and the night disappears The sun still rises after fifty years Well over fifty methods they have tried To stop me from simply walking outside Identity is the first lie they try To keep you from even asking them why You should never choose between wind and stream Or hold on in the morning to a dream Fifty ways to travel and to survive Fifty ways to remember I’m alive Fifty years of experience tasted Not a second should ever be wasted Allah is One but His ways are diverse We cannot stay still in this universe Fifty reasons to share from what I know Countless stories to tell and scars to show That the joy of water is found in thirst And the last is present within the first I have been around long enough to teach That it’s better to be real than to preach His little washed up body won't go away with the next wave
Because I can't make him other His little shoes Are just like... You know I cried in the shower Because the curve of his spine And the shape of his head Are just the same as... Islam Pacification and surrender to the divine Looking for the moon as a sign And following the sun as it crosses the sky It's not about making time for some worship It's about synchronizing my time to the divine Following the holy flow The drumbeats and chanting of the cosmos Paralyzing the limiting mind Performing acts that first seem senseless to the selfish senses Preparing to break free By the grace of Allah Another home has turned into an empty house before my eyes I walk through the cold structure making sure we are leaving nothing behind We get used to places But are destined to leave One day even this body will stop being home Nothing but a bunch of bones I prefer the term 'North Africa and Southwest Asia' (NASWA) to 'the Middle East' (the region is only the Middle East from a Western European perspective but not, say, from a Chinese one). Nevertheless, despite its problematic title, this website is a very good source of poetry from the region, updated regularly with new entries. Any effort to celebrate the beauty and diversity of the cultures found in this region is to be encouraged at a time when they are under existential threat from violent extremists of all sorts, from inside the region and from abroad.
Here are the links: http://middleeasternpoetry.tumblr.com/ https://www.facebook.com/middleeasternpoetry Casablanca I’m packing my bags and selling my furniture again After two years it’s time to go home Not that I wouldn’t like to stay I haven’t grown tired of your endless cafés Palm trees Minarets Beachside juices Crazy taxi rides Fast deals Dreams of Paris New York Dubai Mecca… Silent Sufis Loud weddings Drums and beggars Loyalists royalists and football hooligans White walls Intersections tram stations train stations bus stations ports and airport You’ve been generous to me Kind Even caring sometimes A base for me to explore this holy country even more No I haven’t tired of you Casa I just have things I’ve got to do Back home Sure I could be critical Poverty humiliation crime impatience vanity and envy Plague you I know But I also know you are doing your blessed best And after you let me in As a son not as a guest I can’t separate myself from your warm noons and cold nights Broken sidewalks Slaughtered sheep heads roasting on charcoal and the smell of burning hair everywhere Stray cats Pushers Young women desperate to go up or get out Frightened boys inhaling glue And saints oh yes your saints All are mixed into my body now I am part of the problem and solution Casablanca you’ve become one of those cities I can never really leave Salam Alors que vous vous demandez
Si cette femme arabe a le droit de considérer Que ses cheveux font partie de sa nudité À couvrir par pudeur et pour préserver Sons sens de l’honneur Et de l’identité Ses sœurs sont attaquées partout Ses filles Ses fils Ses frères Sous pression Accusés De vouloir perpétuer Les supposées superstitions de leurs grand-mères Encouragés à cracher Sur leurs grands-pères J’ai connu des Arabes au moins par milliers Et je n’ai pas trouvé ces femmes soumises faibles et idiotes Que vous me décriviez Je n’ai trouvé que des femmes et des hommes sous pression Trop souvent sur le point d’exploser Toujours exposés à des indignités Quotidiennes banales incisives excessives C’est avec leurs vêtements qu’on fait notre lessive Ce sont leurs corps que traversent nos innombrables controverses Nos guerres froides chaudes financées libératrices impérialistes économiques et culturelles Ont excité leurs fanatismes Mis en danger les subtilités Et pourtant la nuance est toute Arabe Les arabesques et les broderies Les savants mélanges d’épices Le soufisme Tout est menacé Par l’intégrisme Le libéralisme Le néocolonialisme occidentaliste Les wahhabites sont votre miroir patriarcal Vous vous complétez Vous vous embrassez Vous vous embrasez Vous vous encouragez À détruire l’Irak la Syrie le Yémen Et votre viol pénètre masculinement l’Afrique De l’Égypte au Nigéria Mais restons concentrés sur les Arabes pour l’instant Qui vous étonnent tant De résister encore Après plus de 500 ans En refusant encore trop souvent De prendre pour unique modèle l’homme blanc Je sais en occident presque tout le monde Et depuis longtemps A adopté le modèle de la chapelle Sixtine Le Bon Dieu blanc barbu Touchant de son doigt viril Son lieutenant imberbe Pas de hijab ici Même les féministes sont tombées sous le charme de cette nudité musclée En occident que l’on soit blanc brun noir femme ou enfant Il faut aspirer à être égal disons pareil à ces hommes blancs Renaissants modernes divinement humanisés Et voilà que des femmes brunes et voilées Osent se différencier Jusque dans nos terres javellisées Nos tribunaux aseptisés Normal nos juges sont scandalisés Et nos journalistes fascinés À la vue de ces fichus Alors que moi à Casa je vois se refermer les forces divisées D’un grand sandwich mondialisé La tranche du haut est un Arabe occidentalisé Celle du bas un réformiste musulman violent Entre les deux trop de salade et de viande arabe Et au-delà Les dents d’un géant blanc I just didn’t fully appreciate the value of water back in Canada From dust and crust |
AuthorTransdisciplinary scholar of Islam and Sufism. Archives
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