My Poetic Buraq

O my comrade, who unraveled
The Book revealed to ‘Read!’

His face radiant with its light,
His tongue coated with its sweet.

Lord has raised his station,
And lovers in elation.

He lately asked for my rhymes,
About Meem’s Miraj, a few lines.

I felt like a noble king,
To be asked for such a thing.

Who would ask a poor
For golden treasure?

Who would find a Rose,
In the desert’s burning sands?

Yet, I realized the truth
Once again:
I, a seed, while Meem,
My real glorious grain.

He’s my fact and fiction,
And my notion and diction,
My throbbing affliction-
And its healing prescription.

My pen can write
About Meem alone,
Any else:
Its nib shall away frown.

I’ll be abased if I attempt
To praise any other,
My poetic Buraq obeys not
If I ride it elsewhere.

Hope my friend
Makes the same plead-
While I cry
For a helping intercede.
And then a voice
Call out my sinful name-
‘Enter among My servants!
Enter My Paradise.’

June 14 2012 (Rajab 24 1433 AH). Edit February 2024