Qasidah Burdah

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   On the Chivalrous Struggle Of God�s Messenger

Mention of his mission struck fear in the hearts of Truth�s enemies
The way the deep roar of a lion panics a herd of distracted goats.

He continued to encounter them in every field of battle,
Until, due to piercing spears, they resembled flesh on skewers.

They were filled with the longing to flee, almost envying
The carrion carried off by eagles and vultures.

Nights passed, but they lost track of time,
Except among the irenic nights of the sacred months of truce.

As if the Prophet�s way were a guest who�d arrived at their very doorstep
Accompanied by brave men hungry for their harmful enemies,

Followed by an ocean of hosts mounted on swift steeds,
Pouring forth engulfing wave after wave of heroic warriors,

Each answering God�s call expecting divine requital,
Bravely engaged in battle with weapons uprooting rejection of Reality.

Until, after its initial obscurity, the community of Islam,
United, became bound by profound ties of kinship.

Always protected from enemies by the finest father
And most gracious husband, they were never left orphaned nor suffered widowhood.

They were mountains; just ask those who confronted them
What it is they witnessed on every field of battle.

Ask Hunayn, ask Badr, ask Uhud- destiny days
More bitter than any drawn-out death from the plague.

Polished silver swords streaked with glistering crimson
After passing through the long black locks of their enemies� hair.

As if they were scribes, their Indian spears pens
That left no body without diacritical dots and slant marks.

So determined in battle, their most intrepid warrior�s ears
Would feign deafness to an orator standing right in their midst.

Fully armed, they had a detail that set them apart,
The way a thorny rose can be distinguished from a prickly thorn-bush.

The winds of their victories grant you fragrant news,
Such that you deem them flower-buds of fortitude about to burst forth.

As if, upon the backs of their steeds, they were firmly rooted flowers on hilltops,
Held there not from tight saddle-straps, but from taut resolution.

From the majesty of their might, their enemies� hearts fled,
Unable to tell the difference between goat herds or war hordes.

If one�s victory is with the Messenger of God, then ever lions,
Happening upon him in their dens, are left dazed and dumbfounded.

Whoever clings to you, O best of creation in honour,
God is his Protecting Guardian from every vengeful foe.

You will never see a true ally of his unless he be victorious,
Nor a true enemy of his other than dejected and defeated.

He placed his community in the refuge of his Way,
Just as a great lion retreats with its cubs to the safety of its lair.

How often the words of God have halted his churlish contender;
How often the Quran has conquered his quarrelsome foe.

Such knowledge in an unlettered man, such refinement in an orphan
In the Age of Ignorance should suffice you a miracle of his truth!

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Murabit Members Profile Send Private Message Find Members Posts Add to Buddy List Senior Member Joined: 20 March 2004 Location: Australia Status: Offline Points: 369	Post Options Post Reply Quote Murabit Report Post Thanks(0) Quote Reply Posted: 04 September 2005 at 4:59am
	On the Chivalrous Struggle Of God�s Messenger Mention of his mission struck fear in the hearts of Truth�s enemies The way the deep roar of a lion panics a herd of distracted goats. He continued to encounter them in every field of battle, Until, due to piercing spears, they resembled flesh on skewers. They were filled with the longing to flee, almost envying The carrion carried off by eagles and vultures. Nights passed, but they lost track of time, Except among the irenic nights of the sacred months of truce. As if the Prophet�s way were a guest who�d arrived at their very doorstep Accompanied by brave men hungry for their harmful enemies, Followed by an ocean of hosts mounted on swift steeds, Pouring forth engulfing wave after wave of heroic warriors, Each answering God�s call expecting divine requital, Bravely engaged in battle with weapons uprooting rejection of Reality. Until, after its initial obscurity, the community of Islam, United, became bound by profound ties of kinship. Always protected from enemies by the finest father And most gracious husband, they were never left orphaned nor suffered widowhood. They were mountains; just ask those who confronted them What it is they witnessed on every field of battle. Ask Hunayn, ask Badr, ask Uhud- destiny days More bitter than any drawn-out death from the plague. Polished silver swords streaked with glistering crimson After passing through the long black locks of their enemies� hair. As if they were scribes, their Indian spears pens That left no body without diacritical dots and slant marks. So determined in battle, their most intrepid warrior�s ears Would feign deafness to an orator standing right in their midst. Fully armed, they had a detail that set them apart, The way a thorny rose can be distinguished from a prickly thorn-bush. The winds of their victories grant you fragrant news, Such that you deem them flower-buds of fortitude about to burst forth. As if, upon the backs of their steeds, they were firmly rooted flowers on hilltops, Held there not from tight saddle-straps, but from taut resolution. From the majesty of their might, their enemies� hearts fled, Unable to tell the difference between goat herds or war hordes. If one�s victory is with the Messenger of God, then ever lions, Happening upon him in their dens, are left dazed and dumbfounded. Whoever clings to you, O best of creation in honour, God is his Protecting Guardian from every vengeful foe. You will never see a true ally of his unless he be victorious, Nor a true enemy of his other than dejected and defeated. He placed his community in the refuge of his Way, Just as a great lion retreats with its cubs to the safety of its lair. How often the words of God have halted his churlish contender; How often the Quran has conquered his quarrelsome foe. Such knowledge in an unlettered man, such refinement in an orphan In the Age of Ignorance should suffice you a miracle of his truth!
	"I am a slave. I eat as a slave eats and I sit as a slave sits.", Beloved, sallallahu alyhi wa-sallam.

Murabit Members Profile Send Private Message Find Members Posts Add to Buddy List Senior Member Joined: 20 March 2004 Location: Australia Status: Offline Points: 369	Post Options Post Reply Quote Murabit Report Post Thanks(0) Quote Reply Posted: 04 September 2005 at 5:01am
	On Seeking Intercession Through The Prophet I have served him in this poetic praising to redeem The errors of a life misspent in courtly verse and patronage; Since both have fettered me with a yoke that portends a bad end, As if I were a sacrificial lamb, singled out for slaughter. In both pursuits I obeyed the desires of a delirious youth, Gaining nothing in the end but wrongs and the remorse that follows. What loss my soul has suffered in its commerce! In exchange for this world, It didn�t purchase the next, nor even enter into the transaction. Selling off long-term assets there for short-term gains here, One soon sees the treachery this type of dealings brings. Even should I have future sins, in this prophet My faith remains firm and my connection tightly bound. Simply by my name being Muhammad, I must have a covenant with him. And of all creation, he is the most faithful in keeping covenants. In the next life, if he takes me bounteously by my hand, then say �What a jubilee!� If not, then cry, �What a catastrophe!� Far be it from him to withhold his virtues from anyone in need, Or that reaching his refuge one should return empty-handed, unprotected. Since I have focused all my thoughts on praising him alone, He has proved the best of those committed to my ultimate salvation. His charity will not exclude a hand that poverty has soiled, See how rains bring forth flowers on foothills that were barren! But it is no longer the prize-flowers of this world that I long for, Like those the court-poet Zuhair received for praising King Harim.
	"I am a slave. I eat as a slave eats and I sit as a slave sits.", Beloved, sallallahu alyhi wa-sallam.

Murabit Members Profile Send Private Message Find Members Posts Add to Buddy List Senior Member Joined: 20 March 2004 Location: Australia Status: Offline Points: 369	Post Options Post Reply Quote Murabit Report Post Thanks(0) Quote Reply Posted: 04 September 2005 at 5:03am
	On Intimate Discourse and the Petition of One�s State O most generous of creation, who but you can I turn to When the Universal Cataclysm occurs? Your pre-eminence, O Messenger of God, is not diminished by my need Even if the Generous One should manifest as the Avenger. From your largesse flows the good of this world and its counterpart in the next, And from your knowledge is some understanding of the Tablet and the Pen. O soul, do not despair of a mistake blown out of proportion- When God forgives, even mortal sins become mere blunders. Perhaps when my Lord apportions His mercy, It will come apportioned in measure equal to one�s transgression. O my Lord, don�t let my hope in You be deterred, And don�t leave my expectations unfulfilled. Be gentle with Your servant both Here and in the Hereafter. My patient is so wanting that when calamities call, I�m at a loss how to answer. And let a cloud of Your incessant prayers Rain down gently on the Prophet and pour forth forever. As long as the levanteer�s gentle breezes waft the willow�s quivering branches And cameleers spur camels on with their moving melodies. Show pleasure with Abu Bakr and Umar and Ali, And with Uthman as well, the openly magnanimous. And on the family of Muhammad, his Companions and followers, Those people of piety, purity, forbearance and nobility. O my Lord, by the Chosen One, realise our goals, And forgive us the wrongs we�ve committed, O Vast in generosity. Include in your forgiveness, my God, everyone who bows before You, Reciting in the Furthest Mosque and in the two Sanctuaries. By the pre-eminence of the one whose house is in the Pure Land, And whose name is an oath among the greatest of oaths. This is the Poem of the Clock composed for the Chosen One- All praise is due to God at its outset and at its end.
	"I am a slave. I eat as a slave eats and I sit as a slave sits.", Beloved, sallallahu alyhi wa-sallam.