Confessions of a Mean Lover

Prophetic lovers have no other choice but to sing his praises to cool their hearts set on fire.

Hope: No one recognized me,
Until I stood beside him.

Honor: I’d turned to ashes,
Until I took refuge in his shade.

Harmony: I ceased to exist,
Until I saw myself in his mirror.

Humanity’s cup remained empty,
Until his love-wine filled to the brim.

Allah!

We have no other choice
But to sing his praise
As Meem sets our hearts on fire,
His love consumes our desire

To calm the breath
And heal the heart
And still the shivering feet
And tame the insane mind

You know well our mean intentions
We knit our ‘lies’ with the love-thread

We admit his praise
Surpasses our human words
Yet we try in vain
To relieve our throbbing hearts.

Oct 28, 2025 | Jumada al-Awwal 6, 1447