The Unfit times

Mujeeb Jaihoon explores a journey of internal conflict, faith, and the quest for solace amidst self-censorship and oppression.

My friends and foes
Everyday grumble:
What good can we do,
Everywhere is evil

Our brothers:
Cruelly killed.
Our sisters:
Can’t be veiled.

Our enemies:
Race with each other:
Who can inflict,
Suffering greater.

Disasters fall upon us like
As if none suffered alike

Some have been driven mad:
Resort to means violent, bad

Hey Jaihoon!
How do you console
Your soul?
What advise you have
For us all?”

I said in reply,

“The system has fettered
My hands.
My voice silenced,
With fearful bands.

I can no longer sing,
In the open;
I sell the fruit,
Without ripen.

At present I can only,
Silently hum;
I proclaim my message,
Sans any drum.

To please the enemy,
I hide my anger.
To my own self,
I point the finger.

I craft my words,
To fit the unfit times.

I am weak of faith:
I strive for an easy death”

I, a wounded nightingale
How then can I heal?

May Allah accept
My lil’ deeds
Pray that my song
To Him leads

That’s all I can do
Feel not any rue.

Ah! I throw mud,
In my head;
Where shall I find,
My soul’s bread?

I cried much,
For my mentors’ reach;
I have waited long,
On Destiny’s beach.

I want the drink
Of ‘My Merciful Him’
I crave for the love
Of the Beloved Meem!

January 4, 2004. Edit Aug 2024