The Ghareeb EID reads is an initiative of the Ghareeb Institute through which the literary spirit is inculcated in Muslim writers by gathering their poems and stories ahead of each EID. The 2018 edition is themed: Adha 2018.

This is the first batch of poems from the first day of the Eid reads featuring 7 poems from seven poets. Readers should endeavour to mention which of the poems they prefer.

EID reads, Day 1, batch 1.

1. SYMPATHISERS by: Abdurrahman Adedokun.

Evening starts with salaatul 'asr
but around these walls, and I mean, around cities that
have run out of space to bury their dead,
you will have to strain your
ears to hear the distant calls
of the mu'azzin, amid drone strikes.

I have stopped to dig into
roots, searching for the
best of Adam's seeds, who
would sympathise with men who
bury the body of their
daughters late, because sympathisers
will only wait for the death toll to rise
above that of the World War, before
telling you, that your daughter died
because of the hijab on her,
because Islam exists, war exists.
This city is darkness, and
in it, we have learnt to mould
hope into cubes of ice and
hold it in our palms,
the hope- of meeting our
loved ones again in Jannah,
but now, the hope is
melting, melting, as our sympathisers,
the only ones compassionate
bring forth candles to
light up this city, - and (un)consciously
melt the ice, the hope in our palms

I watched the blood of my
daughter splash over her
mus'haf at the madrasah, and I
still see the image of my smiling wife
as I told her we'd meet Leila again,
and she smiled, without asking how
I knew, because she knew the Qur'an,
but these people have a way of telling
you, that the hope in your
palm killed your daughter, even
though it is the only reason you
still live, a way of telling you
to give up on seeing your
daughter again, on laying your hands
on pages of the Qur'an to refreeze
the melting ice, a way of making
you think, they are helping.

In this city, this evening,
we too shall watch the sun
burn into a fiery golden globe
and moisten our tongues like
the world celebrating EID,
but forgive, that we might not chant
to declare the oneness of God
with you, but we will have it in
our hearts, as we are busy teaching our
sympathisers to not bring
candles to melt the ice in our
palms in the name of helping
extinguish the darkness, that they, can
come, with torchlights.

Abdurrahman Adedokun is a poet indoctrinated and nurtured by the Ghareeb Institute. Also a fellow at popular Islamic website, Knowislam.com.ng
Facebook page: facebook.com/adebanjo.abdulazeez.90


2.PINKY PROMISE by Abu A'ish MK Albani.

A Child’s beautiful world,
Filled with an extravagant smile –
one that touches the eyes,
And an endless downpour of his most exciting memories,
Some, under a laurel tree where he plays, being acquainted with every inch,
And across is where he races the prairie wind with the other kids;

A Child’s world is lovely,
One that shouldn’t suffer flying drones sent from the thorny hands of dystopia,
Accompanied by nostalgic pains and an abrupt end of euphoria,
Nor should it suffer from the poisonous Streets and TV,
Which makes everything characteristically unconducive.

Oh dear Kid!
Be patient with life’s persistent pinch,
Understand the value of harshness – make a bridge,
You are the “tomorrow's leader”
And since now trumps later,
Indulge your curiosity, chase the firefly,
And enjoy the zephyr.

He came close to my ears
and whispered “You too”.

Abu A'ish MK Albani,
Nigerian Muslim poet. Fellow at Knowislam.com.ng


3. LOST ON THIS JOURNEY by:
Mohammed Yusuf

Take Our Hands...
And arrest us
entirely
into the cells
of Your guidance
with no slave meandering
lostfully
on the lane of disobedience

Take Our Hands...
And convict us
summarily
into the prisons
of Your forgiveness
With life imprisonment
as the least of our jail terms

Take Our Hands...
And drown us
deeply
in the reservouir
of Your mercies
so much so that
we get saturated
from gulping
its flavoured waters

Take Our Hands...
And wed us
gracefuly
on the altar of truth
And let us unanimously
divorce falsehood

Take Our Hands...
And lead us
sincerely
into the works
of Your gardens
And let every worker
reap the edible fruits
of his labour

Take Our Hands Oh Lord!
For we are
Lost on this Journey
called existence

Muhammed Yusuf, aspiring writer who has been sharing his poems for over a year. Looking to explore more frontiers and build a fulfilling writing career.
Join on Facebook: facebook.com/mohammedyusuf
Tel No: +2348162411317


4. Prayers Of A Single Girl-
Muinat Zubair

Ya Allah!
Owner of the universe,
Director of affairs,
All seeing and all hearing,

Send my way,
Your most humble slave, The perfect one for me,
Who falls in love,
With my imperfections,

Who reads my mind,
Without trying too hard,
He doesn't have to be perfect,
I'd be bored to death,
A lover of books,

My own companion,
Honest to a fault,
Rich of heart and wealth,
Deliciously hansome,
Beautifully bearded,

An ardent follower,
Of the best of mankind,
Witty and kind,
Undeniably sexy,
All in a neat package.

Follow on instagram @Zubair Muinat.


5. I Return, O Beloved by: Aliyyu Abdullahi Muhammad Abalhasan

For long have I deserted the shades in your gardens while in search of nectars in withering flowers,

And long have I wandered at shores of refreshing seas, till I found myself lying at the banks of muddy pools.

Now,

I am haunted by memories of the moments we shared; your back reclines on the seat of my palms, my heart rests on the bed of your pages taking in all the light of your verses.

So

I return. O beloved I return, to your blissful embrace, I return. Be light on my tongue so I can taste the tang of your fruits of delight.

Abalhasan is a Nigerian poet who translates Arabic poems and songs.



6. Melting Ice by: Shehu Abdussalaam Aladodo

Dawn of guidance,
Witnessed by men of honour,
who called to the Divine injunctions;
With sets of defined instructions.

White guidance hovered on Yemen,
Swerves to the daring desert in Makkah and Yathrib.
The unrivaled seal of all Prophets;
Unlettered son of Abdullah,
Led a life guided with piety
With shrewd and compassionate companions.

In his deeds – guidance
His words – pearls
Tacit approvals – blessings
All these – Sunnah!

But, millennium after
Births the ones with ears that listens not,
Hearts, which ponder not
and limbs towards straying from his Sunnah.

Men who shave beards,
Step on trousers,
And disagree with clear cut injunctions.

They spat in the face of pious predecessors
With their ignorant mouth, and hearts
laced with hatred towards Sunnah.

Women clothed, yet naked,
They draw over not; their outer garment,
Raise their voices in mixed gatherings
and flaunt their awrah.


They turned their backs to the books,
But gulp from the pools of the ignorami.
Hence, brainless heads, spew sick ideoogies.

Peace lies in the path of the Salafs.
Yet, like dogs we choose to stray.
How sad that the ice is melting so fast.




7. Infants in Idlib by: Zainab Hayila

It was enough that I could see him, at a distance but yet so close. 
I could spend the night in awe, of just his perfect toes.
I smiled recalling how, I had pleaded through all these years,
For a child to soothe my eyes, for his laugh to end my fears.
The Lord had finally sent him, a boy to me was born,
My flawless little child, was as gentle as a fawn. 
Such a long sought blessing he was, that I vowed to keep him safe,
But in a war torn country how, would I ever find that place?
When at last I heard the news, of a center built so deep,
That who would ever suspect, it was under 60 feet of heap. 
A hospital I thought, built only for my son,
To keep him from all the harm, that the war had already done.
But silly me didn't think, that all mothers sought the same,
A centre for their child, away from all that flame.
At peace I was then, when I had finally given birth,
To a boy oh so lovely, the most beautiful on this earth.
I couldn't thank Him enough, for all that had gone well,
Away from all that bombing, now my little boy would dwell.
I had probably fallen asleep, with tears in my eyes,
When rudely I woke up, to their screeches and outcries. 
It was all such a blur, too fast for me to see.
Mothers in a rush, clutching babies as they flee.
Amidst all that chaos, a single phrase I could hear.
'A Missile' they were saying, had fallen somewhere here.
I lept off the bed, my child I had to save,
To run out of here, before the building begins to cave.
I rushed to find a rubble, where my child had once been,
There was a giant pile of rocks, and some spattered blood was seen.
The bevy of women there, did what I was soon to do,
Clawing through that heap, they looked for a beat or two.
I stood there frozen still, I knew he was but dead,
For how could a day old child, survive a Missile threat? 
But I needed to see him then, and I found him amongst the dead,
Lifeless though he was, he was still covered in red.
The rest is just a daze, my nightmares had all come true.
The war that took my home, had taken my baby too.
I later heard their talk, the ones with their helmets white,
That Idlib had been attacked, in the wee hours of midnight.
They were apparently hunting down, a rebel who'd shot their plane,
Which is why they hurt the babies, by letting their missiles rain.
Now though it's been a while, since the 'accident' went down,
For they say my boy had died, in a 'crossfire' in the town.
There's a query on my mind, still keeps me up all night, 
What rebellion could a day old do, that they picked him for this fight?

-Baniaz Hayila is an Indian writer on issues sensitive to the Muslim world.
Her works can be followed on Instagram under the handle @word_bound. Also a fellow at Young Muslim Digest magazine.