A poetic dialogue unfolds as a lover, purified by pilgrimage, seeks entry to Medina, facing the probing questions of Angel Gabriel.

Part 1: Question

My caravan was passing
To Medina,
After completing the rites
At Mecca.

Everyone in the caravan:
Overjoyed.
Rawdha was soon:
Witnessed.

My heart began to quake,
My legs started to shake.

My fortune to enter
This place:
For lovers on earth,
This is paradise.

Just then I heard
An angelic voice.
When I looked:
I saw Jibreel’s face.

He stopped me
At Yathrib’s gate
And asked the reason
For being late.

“You claim to hold
The Beloved dear.
Why then was he not
For you prior?

You have come to see
In the end.
In your love’s well
Is a dent.

Love is the first,
Last, and the foremost.
The position is retained
At any cost.

Lord began with
The light of the Beloved;
Thereafter, the rest
In order followed.

What excuse do you
Then have
To claim for Mustafa
Any love?”

Part 2: Response

“Hey, the Trusted slave
Of Rabb-al-Alameen,
Hey, affectionate confidant
Of Rahmath-al-Alameen,

In your mighty words
Lies a heavy truth,
But heed to my tale
Before me you loathe.

Day and night
I have sinned;
All my senses
I have stained.

My body: filthy,
I smell of sins.
My eyes: dirty,
Of evil glance.
My tongue: guilty,
Of untrue words.

Therefore,

I wanted to undo
The sinful dirt.

I drank of Zamzam
To clean my tongue.

Across Safa and Marwa
I ran.
Like Hajar,
My feet be swollen.

I rubbed hands
Over al-aswad:
They shine
Like a sword.

I rounded His House
Several times:
Each atom within
Love radiates.

It is half-faith
To remain impure.
How shall I come, then,
To the Beloved near?

Do you not remember
The Beloved was washed
Before to the skies
He arrived?

Just as to the Lord:
His Mi’raj,
Reaching Rawdha:
My highest stage.

Therefore, here I am,
Wholly purified.
Allow me to walk
To Heaven’s Beloved.”

Part III: To Tasbih

The trial of love
Is to fight forgetfulness.
At all moments flow
Zamzam of his love.

Space and Time:
Attuned to his ways.
Direction: re-determined,
Love-centric, the new world.

Gold and gems,
Everything precious,
Graded in his comparison,
Humility, yet, his supreme greatness.

Hey, Tasbih!

I simply wish:
My soul parts
As my pen runs
In his applause.

I never consider
To be a content lover.
I relate this tale
For his lovers to ponder.

I repeat after Lahori:
My verses, I humbly bury:

“Mustafa, the strength
Of my heart.
A little more than the Lord,
Is he closer to my heart.”

August 03 2006. Edit June 2024