In the Veil of Night
I felt it’s sweetness
In this mi’raaj, my heart, took flight with lightness
And it flapped its feathered limbs, in transcendance
Burāq and the man of praise, in their ascendance
God is the greatest.
My hands are raised
The world shuts behind me, and I’m amazed
Just a few numbered days, all times but this
To stand before eternity, I wouldn’t miss
This submission, the milla of Ibrahim, the pure
To stand before Him like I see Him for sure
I am not of this world gliding through space-time
Back to when these primordial movements sublime
Were given to the chosen one whom He raised
So start In His beautiful names, then say His praise
Not mute nor absent, the Most High I call on to
“My servant has praised me,” he responds too
“The most Compassionate, the Merciful,” I say
He says I lauded him. “Sovereign of the last day.”
He says “my servant has glorified me”
I melt in these words of peace be unto he
Whose way I’m upon each waking day.
“You alone we worship and you alone we seek help,” I pray
And I’ve entrusted my affairs to Him, says He
Is there more to want from He who has to just say “Be”
Who I ascribe to my worship and all my turnings
He makes that what is between us, my timely earnings
So I ask for guidance, which he guarantees
The all-encompassing in knowledge, and He who sees
I don’t tire of this conversation
Which He listens in each succession
How Great is He!—
Greater, than all delusions of my human spree
The shy Generous Lord I servilely bow down to
It’s all passed down, these movements, nothing impromptu
I say, Glory to My Lord the Most Eminent
And raise my poise to the posture adjacent
“My Lord responds to he who praises Him
So My Lord upon you is praise,” the hymn
How Great is He!
I bow further down in prostration
Whereupon I increase in His mention
At my lowest, Praise is to the Most High
Never ever closer to my Lord in the sky.
This most primordial state, head lower than my heart
The manifestation of the covenant from the start
There is no God but He, a statement unuttered by the worst
“Am I not your Lord?” Yes, we answered, yawm alast
And the tears run out, reminisce of a past mistake
My Most forgiving Lord will let me catch a break
Sometimes your heart breaks to drain you of its content
Put together with but love for Him, and beat with new intent
And when we speak of sweetness, if I may be bold
Can we hear more often, of this servant and His Lord.