Day 1, batch 3, Ghareeb EID reads

14. EID-IL ADHAA by Rahmah Jimoh

His heart was a soft petal
Bowing swiftly to the will of Allah
His heart was radiant light
Fully aware that this life was a mere sight.

His heart hastened to the montane top,
To harken to his Rabb's command
To butcher not, his promise of his son's flesh.
Lo and behold, His lord is the lord of mercy.

And verily, this life is a test for the believers.
If he had butchered away his promise,
If he had forgotten the Lord of the world,
This day would not an Eid be;
For the fruits of his disobedience would be served to us all.

Jimoh Rahma is an aspiring versatile writer. She's a lover of anything art or creative and hopes to influence the world through her write-ups. Follow her works on instagram @dynamic Rahmah.




15. FRAGILE BEING by: Hameedah Oluwaranti Adenuga

What a fragile being you are!
Oh Niqabi Muslimah!
Sweeter than the sweet nectar
The flower petals may not be fresher
Glad tidings to you who cover.
What a fragile being you are!

You obey your Lord’s order
Through Muhammad being exemplar
To the believing women, his wives and daughter
Glad tidings to you who cover.
What a fragile being you are!

Islam has you placed in the high order
Maintain your dignity like revere
Show the believing woman that you are
Glad tidings to you who cover.
What a fragile being you are!

Unlike an orange, now and never
That can be thrown here or far
Being who you are is best better
Glad tidings to you who cover.
What a fragile being you are!

Much like an egg that you are
Can never be placed just here or there
Gently seeing through your thin cover
Glad tidings to you who cover.
What a fragile being you are!

Never mind the laughter they shower
On you be peace as you obey God’s order
On that day you shall return your laughter
Glad tidings to you who cover.
-
Hameedah OG is a Nigerian Muslim poet and writer. Also a fellow at Knowislam.com.ng



16. EID MUBAROQ -Eminence ibn Daud Ismail

From the corner,
the market corner of the universe,
we could perceive Al-misq's aroma.

The cloud has changed its cloth,
to the green Regalia of an unending happiness.
The moon has wore its robe of an everlasting glowing,
Preparing a diplomatic outing,
with the distant galaxy.

Oh! Here it appears,
the waiting-for Hilaal,
in its tiny brightest light.

Let's wish it marhaban
the Qurotul-aeen for the earth's dwellers.
-Eidul Mubaroq.

©Eminence Ismail Ibn Daud



17. Remember us
-Alamu Quadri Adebayo

I am that boy whose father wrestled with death
Till his breath dropped off his lungs
When horrifying past still covered my face with the veil of fate
While my mother was left to wander in valleys of hate and shame
I also took my turns with calamitous fire
That burnt my doggedness in harsh cities of despair
Sitting at the heart of teary rivers flowing in my eyes
I am that girl raided by mysterious agony
And taken into cruel custody of melancholy
In torturous dark nights interchanging with gloomy days
With her survival moulded into scarred portrait of sorrow
Made with ugly frames of constant sexual molestation
Hanging on uncertainty's walls
Built with bricks of recurring trauma

I am that man rustling through the forest of miserable dilemma
Like a scathing wind blowing with trembling intensity
Across howlers and wilderness filled with defoliated trees of broken dreams
A psychologically disabled and troubled soul
Left with handicapped reflections
Of his failing goals displaying on the mirror of complicated woes

I am that woman plunged into primitive holes of customary crisis
My image was casted upon by damnable sticks and stones
On the tongues of demented society drooling demonizing lies
That wetly stained my innocent existence with mud of witchcraft
By the evil hands of barbaric culture
Since my husband's foot got faded away on the sand of existence
While my belly still remained a futile soil for the seeds of womb

We are all garbs of tragic events
Emblazoned with emblem of heartbroken accounts
Continuously told in diverse tongues with crying tones
Yet our voices remained behind bars of suppression
Extremely loud yet with weak penetrative strength bended away from the ears of compassion

So remember us
For we are cursed as helpless creatures
Enslaved by sleepless nights on the bed of thorns
Even when you sleep at night on bed engulfed in fragrant roses Remember us

When your lungs are tunnels of refreshing fluids
While ours are deserted pipes filled with demoralising dryness Remember us
As a break away fraction of negligible humanity
Condemned to hideous odour in the armpits of earthly calamities
Remember us

For there are us in you even in affluence and comfort
We are one soul sharing multiple bones
We are only divided by the barricades of differing destinies
For we are broken particles of walking dusts
Blowing from nostrils of our ancestors from the beginning of creation
- Alamu Quadri Adebayo




18. Adha: by Musa B Jibril

All abode and arranged,
Behind, beside the beautiful black,
Circumambulating calling their cosmocrat,
Dawn drowning during the daily Dawaf,
Everlasting erased their entire err,
From far forming furrow's foam.
Ballooning their words in air with labbaikallahuma labbaik repeatedly till the and.




19. Angelic aroma -Muhammad Lustrous

from the pot next door
cut short his spasm of
dream in hunger
that forced him to lay
on the corridor of
nothing.

If he could lift fews
spoons,
Even if it's two to three
morsels,
He would leave his
famishing world
for cloud nine in
ecstasy.

Seedling in the middle
of aridity,
By faith is raised in
deficiency
and requires extreme
generosity
to breathe the air of
sufficiency.

Spread the wings of
your kindness
and spare that lonely
hungry child(ren)
reasons to smile
beyond fantasising.

Lustrousﻣﺤﻤﺪ, Nigerian Muslim poet and editor.

20. THE SOLE OF HER FEET by: Yusuf Uthman Adekola


Mother is a gate,

A single gate to a double path.


Every part of this twin path seethes with red hotness

Like the liquid fire from a volcano,

Yet, these paths are laced with dancing trees

Spreading the tingling air of warmth.


Mother is a gate covering a hot and cool lane.

The fiery lane hungers for the blood-clotted soul

Of the heedless goat always battering the heart of the mother

With the horns of embittering actions.

But the breezy path thirsts for the light-infested soul

Of the gentle cat always ready to cuddle up at the mother's feet

And clothe her heart with the furs of happiness.


Mother is a gate,

She keeps her keys under the sole of her feet,

Visible to the milky eyes but invisible to the muddied ones.


Remember:

The sole of her feet is the mould of the blacksmith

Which births the key you seek in the market of knowledge and prayer.


Yusuff, Uthman Adekola is a Nigerian who is greatly in love with writing, poetry writing especially. He writes with the hope of making positive impacts on the society. He can be contacted via any of the following: E-mail, yuawrites@gmail.com ; Instagram, @writer_yua ; Facebook, adecaller01.

21. Famished Feminists by Bello Mustapha

Your memory is a short!
The thatch that roofed your hut
You shattered with your thoughtless tongue-shots.

Feminists famished of facts,
Let’s hold a meeting on history mat:

Were you not harboured by your ancestors?
Like seeds you were buried beneath the sods
By your own sods while your mothers sobbed.

Then came The Deen; reached deep down into the mud;
And salvaged you from the murderer mob.

Were you not the most wretched of the echelon?
That your mothers were divorced because you were born.
Before our Deen gave you an equilibrium.

Were you not the bell-shaped naked cashews?
Hanging so low at the reach of chaps_
Libido-drunk, itching for a thing to chew.

At the face of threat, panic and despair,
A safe pair of hands_ Islam, appeared,
And folded your fears in hijab garments.
It erects a garden and guards your tree
With a guardian angel_ old threats swopped with thrills.
Famished of facts, now you fight to flee!

Fine! You fled, and left in the lurch your womb fruits
While you itched for a chair in the national pews.
Has the chicken come not home to roost?
Your absence has raised ungodly children_
The rotten apples amongst our own brethren.

Yet, fairness you feign over your faulty trends;
You argue fiercely like an oppressed ox
But you aren't the sharpest tool in the box!


(First published in 'Beyond The Castle'— a novella)

Name: Bello Kolawole Mustapha (A Ghareeb Poet)
Social Media Handles: Almustapha Author (Facebook), almustapha_author (Instagram)
Meet Almustapha@ http://almustapha-author.com/meet-almustapha/