Day 2, batch 2.
8. Islam in wrongful perception- Alamu Quadri Adebayo
My heart is swamped with a heavy flow of sorrow Seeing my religion being preached through sword & arrow By faceless demons wearing toga of ignorance Changing the peaceful nature of our faith to a wicked intolerance Driving millions away through heartless ideologies That are never in sync with islamic philosophy The world sees Islam through a prism of horror Cos sometimes the media twists lies against us in their favour Our peaceful heritage is being hijacked by confusion Moslems are terrorists in global perception Our holy home is now a dumping ground for garbages Beasts in human flesh attacking people like savages These vulnerable hijabites on a self-destruction mission With bombs strapped around them to wreck destruction Are those ofinnocence violently converted to iniquity With their venom-filled minds flooded with no pity I wonder the values they promote with tragedy Thinking they're in line with islam is stupid fallacy These dehumanising monsters armed to the teeth And their blood-thirsty movement to islam is a myth Islam, although is a perfect religion Polluted by the imperfection in human division In islam, a single soul means humanity To take it, is to lose your eternity Qoran is the manual for equity & truth While Hadith is the guidelines & proof Atrocious killings isn't a way to be pious These monsters are just misguidedly unrighteous Islam was & still an emblem of peace A revelation of beauty & bliss Compulsion is not embedded in our faith (Like those demons portrayed killing with hate Diversity is the creative skills of our creator) He couldn't have created non-muslims in error The lord created life & everything as he wished Making some to be poor & others to be rich No one is empowered to destroy & kill As existence of life is according to his will So educate these monsters to sheathe their swords And see the sanctity of the lives they destroy through his word - Alamu Quadri Adebayo


9. Legs on the road - Lustrous Muhammad
before the sun *smiles* to sow the early seeds and reap the many fruits. Coins will soon be drawn to robe the house and rub the guts with juices and chops.
His heart can't house the gloom on the faces of kith and kinship, When even the walls around *speak* festivities.
Journeying to nowhere- Under the tree to catch some breath alone with his thoughts "Why should my sweat be dried by the sun of man, Yet still be left with no coin for Adha?"
Lustrousﻣﺤﻤﺪ

10. Tears running in blood - Muinat Zubair
Oh Ummah of Muhammad! What happened to our brotherhood? We watch our brothers bleed, Without batting an eyelid, We sit in the comfort of our *parlours*, Watch them live in squalor, The once colourful towns, Are in ruins and downs, Orphans have been made of children, Yet they remain our brethren, They are rendered incapable, Most of them have been disabled, Helpless, maimed, broken, When will we awaken?
Follow her on instagram @Zubair Muinat

11. Man like Ibrahim by Ridwan Adeniran
A fresh spring of Tawheed from a dirty swamp of Shrik A prophet with pure creed A messenger speaking plain truth A father with revered faith A mentor with strong determination A leader with exemplary qualities
An intimate friend of his Lord A crusher of "Chaldeans'" ignorance An advocate against idols worshipping A condemner of seeking solace from stars A light within Azar's perennial darkness A devoted slave of his Lord A rectitude of good conduct


12. *EIDIL ADHA* by Sulayman Muhammad
It's important thou goeth, And make sacrifice to thy lord. Or hast thou not knoweth, What Allah speaks in thine word?
For thy Imam thou needed be follow'd, And thy Ram shalt thou get killed. For no reasons shalt thou goeth borrow'd, If thou hast no power for those shrewd deen.
Love thy neighbor hast Allah decreed, All ones not! hast HE giveth wealth. Ye that raise hands in alms shalt HE increase, For giving Ram meat to the less privilege and ill fated health.
In thee's holy book thou hath read, The importance why thou goeth Eid. Not to tergiversate,for thou not be greed. Obey Allah! And thy heinous sins shalt thou be freed.
Written by: Sulaiman Hassan Muhammad. contact him via email @hazcojay44@gmail.com

13. IF TOMORROW IS A MIRAGE by Akinwemimo Idris
Roaming ghosts entitled not to milage When summer falls, ode to their pilages Sound of the second wind is the awaited, For tomorrow waiters, the fortune tellers. If tomorrow a mirage, it is then a spillage.
Tomorrow but could be a covered swamp, As the heavens are swamps on the hells. These mirrors of this tenor is a reflection. Of the tinted awaited judgment occurrence. If tomorrow a mirage, it is then a spillage.
What but if tomorrow a day of sorrow, A day of judgment on communal infliction, What if tomorrow eats up our marrow, With flames and heat from our cemetery ? If tomorrow isn't a spillage, not then a mirage.
Tomorrow could be but a mirage of deceit When today ends craving for life materials When the eyes see last, as sun goes down. Tomorrow could be a mirage of our hurdles, When today shall heal fractures on paddles.
-Poet loaded Akinwemimo Idris


14. ADHAN.by Bello Abdulkabir A.
What tone does sound so beautiful? Echoing beyond the realm of man, As the rain pat on the roof; Gentling patter on the pan. What voice does sound might? to call jinns, Bowing the head of slave and Kings. Blessed is the muazim call, so great!!!

Day 2, batch 1.

** THE HUNTER AND HIS HATERS by Bello Mustapha

Ada, your hunter father is going forever
And the days of hate will soon expire

I am a hunter with slender hands
But heaven blessed me with Vedinand

He was my only son with full muscles
Who hunted antelopes into our pot of soup
Even that pompous pawpaw tree did applaud my son
For smashing its climax in a few seconds

And plucked pawpaw for Papa and Maa
You also ate and felt no hunger anymore
Ada, your brother could cultivate fifty furrows
And on the same day, had bags of seeds to sow

Vedinand never came home with empty hands
We saw joy when we saw him open the ban
He fed Maa Ike, fed Ike and fed Papa
We gulped catchew juice and slurped soup of okpa

Ike, your brother fell sick for a single week
I took up his tasks but my bones were weak
Your mother would wince at the little I brought
She spoke of hunger as if food never had touched her tongue

Her constant screams soon took away my son
He died crying his mother was hurt
I added to my strength after your brother’s death
But all Maa Ike could was to pay with hate

She hated the hunter and taught her daughter
To hate and flout her father’s orders
Ada, the hated hunter is going forever
And the days of hate will soon expire.

The hunter stopped talking and started coughing. Ada dashed into the room to get some water but her mother sat her down saying the hunter was a lazy irresponsible man. Before Ada could break away from her mother, her hunter father had breathed his last. The last minute love Ada had for her father ran wild in her which made her hate her mother.

'You killed my only father!’ Ada did confront her mother. She took judgment in her hands and poisoned her mother. Ada for having murdered her mother hated herself more than Shaythorn did Adam. As her guilt grew older and could no longer sleep at nights she surrendered herself to suicide.’

Abu Jihaad at this point observed a pause as though wanted to catch his breath. His face fell, focusing the floor of the podium. When he finally motioned out of his emotions, head high-up, his voice, now a bit shaky, muffled a naseehah to his listeners.

‘I recall my teacher saying, this story is as true as I am Mr Kasali. Learn its lessons. And never advocate hate.’

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


1. Syria- by: Shukroh Abdulhameed

Dismembered bodies of victims were displayed
in a Muslim country for Allah's sake,
and we ask, where are other Islamic states
as these people clamour for help,
Strained voices of Syrians asking
for our support, and the mercy of God.
250,000 have lost their lives
and 4 million have fled their homes,
their comfort zone, women and
children fighting alone, their families have
been stricken by drones,
And the world can help
A country can help, You can help
Your prayers can help, your deeds can help
in saving Syrians, from upheavals.


2. Can the real terrorist please stand- by: Baniaz Hayila

As the call for prayer came, declaring the end of dusk,

I broke my eighteenth fast, with some dates and leftover husk.

I washed myself so clean, to stand before my Lord,

I cleaned my mouth of filth, to declare the Oneness of God,

I wore my woven cap, to head now down the street,

On my way I saw, gazes that refused to meet.

Some quietly shut their eyes, some slowly widened in fear,

Some simply couldn't believe, that a Muslim man was here. 

In a downtown European lane, with his gaze cast so low,

Was he shielding within them secrets, of the next city about to blow?

His gait was oh so careful, sidestepping all that mud,

His clothes so white and clean, was he preparing them all for blood?

Thoughts in their heads so loud, they could almost reach my ears,

Their lips, though tightly clutched, told me all their fears.

They had seen me on the TV, a grenade in my hand,

Or sometimes beheading a child, bent low on Arab sand.

They blamed me for An Istanbul, of a Syria and an Afghanistan,

And that I was behind the killing, of my brothers in Pakistan.

They said I had killed in Yemen, in Germany and in London,

They say in Burma I killed my dad and in Palestine I killed my son.

They blamed me for the murders, of thousands of my kin,

They told me I'm Muslim, and that's enough to be my sin.

As a Ramadan comes I watch, my brothers being killed,

In bomb blasts and blazing fires, their deaths guised as they willed. 

Why would a Muslim man, kill so many of his own?

In this month of mercy, will he wish to sin alone?

So many years of silence, with Muslims taking the blame,

Unsure of their part, they've naively shouldered the shame. 

A conspiracy in the making, where too many have had a hand,

Isn't it high time now, for the real terrorist to please stand?

-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.

.
3. Titleless- by: Sobur Abuamal Adedokun

This is not a love poem this is a child
and there is a city inside of her
please do not cause an earthquake
in her soul when she asks for what
beauty means and you tell her the same thing they shoved down your throat
before you removed half your clothes
to become a six letter word

when a strip of hair from your
plucked eyebrow settles on her
tender palm and she asks if plucking
your eyebrows makes you see things better,
remember that your child carries
a vase inside of her and vases break
do not tell her the things they told you
before you became small enough to fit in mascara tubes

-Sobur Adedokun is a young Nigerian poet,
fellow at the Ghareeb Institute and Knowislam.com.ng
Join him on Facebook at https://m.facebook.com/sobur.adedokun


4. O modernist - Abdulfattah Morakinyo

O modernist, catch on to this call
Of warning and admonition from the moans of
A soul that is cautious and want(s) you cautioned
That your actions are nothing but reprehensible.

Conservative is this Deen, please know!
No going further, it's complete!
No changing of rulings in some different eopch
When you opine they (the) proofs aren't seasoned.

O modernist, get (it) into your brainbox
That forever, the veil must match with the trends!
O modernist, get your instincts aware
That till the end of time, the trousers must jump!

O modernist, desist from being an orientalist
Who has got no work than to find reasons
For every action linking to the time and society
Saying that was then and happened there.

Less I have to say for succinctness matters
For unnecessary verbosity is that of the orientalist
Hate this thinking and mix with garbage
Then gain some pride from being called a fundamentalist.

-Abdulfattah Morakinyo Wittage



5...CHAINED...by: Aliyyu Abdullahi Abalhasan


I'm so clean 

Yet so dirty

Tainted by sins


I'm so slow 

Yet so fast

In the race to my doom


I'm so fearless

Yet terrified

To face little demons


I'm so heavy 

Yet so light 

On heavenly scales


I'm generous

Yet so stingy

Towards my Deen


I'm a novice 

Yet an expert

In the art of sinning


I'm a scholar 

Yet a layman 

In the next world 


I'm a victim

Yet a sucker 

Of my own follies


I'm a master

Yet a slave 

Chained by desires

Aliyyu abalHasan is a Nigerian poet who translates Arabic poems and songs.


6. .A. Map To Heaven- Lan Rey Hassan

I have learnt to trace the lines
on my palms to God, some sweep over
the palms- like spread limbs of a Corolla
donning its fused petals- and lounge
into paradise.
you will say the lines on your
fingers lead to different places
but there are Ninety-nine gates to paradise,

Roses can be sanctuaries when given
to girls looking to hide their own
blood in its redness- from
predators preying on them, lurking
lewdly around, waiting to see the first
blood trickle down their thighs;
Mubtadi'ahs.
whispers can be music -sweeter
than dulcet songs of bird's- when they
gardle the heart with warmth,
like soothing whispers of a woman's love,
And pebbles too can be pearls
with your lover's name engraved,
a coin can have a thousand times its
value, if given out for the sake of Allah.

The search for Jannah is the
mother of all voyages, but the Maps
I have seen only
lead to safe havens on Earth, (if there is one)
but never heaven,
it is the lines on your palm
that can lead to paradise, when the
palm gives to the poor from that which
your mind carries a touch.

Quran 3:92: "By no means shall you attain paradise (Allah's reward) unless you give, out of that which you love. And whatever good you spend, Allah knows it well"

Uthman ibn 'Affan: "Your charity will never be accepted until you belive: I need the reward more than he needs the money."
.
Lan Rey Hassan is a ghareeb poet and fellow at Knowislam.com.ng. Join him on Facebook @ facebook.com/adebanjo.abdulazeez.90


7. Rabbul Ka'bah- by: Adedokun Abdurrahman

To whom much is given, much
is expected, but
Rabbul Ka'bah, I have
left the Qur'an on shelves now
besprinkled with antique dust,
but you still have not forbidden
my heart from finding rest in
the promise of Eden, like grains
of balley settle in their husks.
I have for years, turned away. from
you, going on voyages into life,
but I read the Qur'an today and
it is still there, that you are closer
to me than my jugular veins.
I have not hearkened to your call
in ages but, I walked past Gezzah today
and the muezzin still called me unto
you, unto success.

To whom God is given, much should
be expected, but the Qur'an
does not agree, except if Taubah is much,
So, after ages of deserting you,
I turn to you and say,
"I am still sinning"
And yet you reply,
"I am still forgiving"

*Seeking forgiveness -Taubah.

Abdurrahman Adedokun is a teenage poet from the Ghareeb Institute. join him on Facebook @ facebook.com/adebanjo.abdulazeez.90

Day 1, batch 2.

8. SOMEDAY- by: Lan Rey Hassan
Someday, you will hold your
daughter in your palm and cry,
looking for answers in the cheerful
spark lingering about her eye,
-to how many such beauties were
buried in an Arabian desert
besprinkled with antique dust
Someday, you will hear her cry,
in the warmth of your embrace
telling you of flowers plucked in
empty rooms, and you will not
ask if flowers have branches that
spread into empty rooms, because you remember
the girl whose flower you
plucked at sixteen in the silence
of the night, because her
father said her garden was
not cultivated yet, too young,
to be willed to you.
Her sobbing would wrench at
your heart, and you will cry
thinking of the baby girls buried
alive, in an Arabian desert,
crying against the pitch of their
voices while their fathers laughed,
thinking of the girls whose
flowers were plucked before
they blossomed.
Someday, you will watch her
smile- Her eyes breaking
into a night sky, you will marvel
at her beauty, and wish to be by
the one who saved beauties
like her from being buried alive,
-in Jannah, and pray to see the one
who-promised revenge for those
who were.
Quran 81: 8-9"And when the female infant buried alive is asked, " "For what sin was she killed? "
.
Lan Rey Hassan is a Ghareeb poet and a fellow at Knowislam.com.ng
Join him on Facebook. Facebook.com/adebanjo.abdulazeez.90

9.The Streams that Glow: by Ahmad Abdussamad
They are
together like a stream
washing filth away
From hearts of all men
5 times a day
How then
would it be
for them to fail to stream
Once, twice or thrice,
for days, weeks or months,
across the hearts of men,
So dark would be the stench,
nefarious and staunch,
dirtied and stained,
the hearts of men would dim,
would it,
then not be,
a bounty so bein,
5 times a day,
a single flow unmissed,
for the hearts of all of men,
would be lustred in glow
- Ahmad Abdussamad is a young Nigerian poet.

10. IT'S ANOTHER EID by: Sulaiman Hassan Ibrahim
Alhamdulillahi! It's another Eid,
Happy and joyous we are, indeed.
Fights and wars here, we do not need,
Let the slaves be freed
For Islam is a religion of good deeds.
At all stops are foods for feed-
ing, wives dressed in good beads,
To Allah's instructions they heed.
Alhamdulillahi, it's another Eid.
Islam permits us to breed,
We should beget and have kids.
Let us place before Allah all our needs,
And His instructions we should strictly heed.
Let's be passionate and let's not be greed-
y, Islam is fast growing and getting geed
with activities demonstrating peace.
Written by:
Sulaiman Hassan Muhammad.
contact him via email: hazcojay44@gmail.com

11. Behold the good news- Aaminah Qaasim.
For the one who wishes her heart could be read
and mind could be read.
who craves help, ...screaming, in silence.
For all those whose trauma cannot be explained.
And those whose mouths are too light for the heavy words.
Behold the good news,
for your wishes have long been granted
There is ONE who can read your mind without speaking hate.
who understands that your mind works differently
who stated that His help is near.
While experiencing the trauma, He was right there.
And I tell you, you don't need to open your mouth before He knows.
Shall I tell you about the one who created your heart?
Instilled thought in your mind?
Assisted you without expecting returns?
Heal your trauma and make you whole again?
Listen!
Your Lord is never tired to listen,
And when you can't speak,
Convert your fears to tears.
Each and every drop of it. He understands.
Say some words of prayer.
Empty your affairs into his domain.
He perfected the health of Daud
Daud persevered and prayed.
He saved Yunus from the belly of three fishes.
Yunus seek forgiveness and prayed.
He granted Muhammad SAW victory.
Muhammad was patient and placed his hope in Allaah!
Allaah is sovereign, and He only needs to say
"Be" and it will be.
Aaminah Qaasim- Fellow at Knowislam.com.ng

12. O'ALLAH! ! ! by Abdul kabir Bello
O'Allah the one,
Myself is surrender to thee,
Mould me once again,
As thou hath when I am but dust;
When I have feelings not.
When I can decide not for thee,
Nor seek anything of worth nor value,
Nor can I chose my driver(mother)
Down the narrow path to this dangerous world,
Yet, ye have set me upon the right path.
O'Allah, I called upon thee,
Truly majesty is ye;
The beneficent, Merciful,
The Lord of mankind,
You alone will I worship and,
On you will I seek help.
Thee that have decided the good for me,
When I have no tongue to
twist in my precious mouth,
Do for me what I seek from ye,
From thy Glorious House
I seek mercy tonight;
Bless me far beyond
What I can't imagine;
Do my likes and push dislikes,
Away far where I can't perceive,
Ye that do for me what's good
When I can't oblige.
Do for me now,
The request of which I beg.
Moulds me to my *utmost*
Satisfaction and to thine

13. Dead, by: Khadeejah Olaleye
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the piano with muffled drums
Bring out the coffins, let the mourners come
Let the airplane circle, roaring overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead
Put the bows round the white neck of doves
Let the guards were black cotton gloves
The stars are not wanted now, put out everyone
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun
Pour away the oceans and sweep away the woods
For nothing now can come to any good
Malakul Mawt has done his job
All there is left is to sob
For he is dead
His soul with the HEAD, Allah.
Khadeejah Olaleye is a teenage Muslim poet and short story writer from Nigeria. Follow her works on Wattpad @enamored beauty

Ghareeb EID poetry

.

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/

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.

Call to submission, Ghareeb EID reads 2018.

With another EID just around the corner, Ghareeb Institute announces the 2018 version of its annual EID Reads, themed: Adha 2018.

What is the Eid READS all about?
The EID Reads is an initiative through which the best of Islamic poems and short stories (flash fiction) are gathered and posted in batches on a host of websites over the four days of Eid, and on the long run- gathered into an anthology of modern Islamic poetry and collection of short stories. Prior to this year's event, the theme had been strictly restricted to: EID related topics, but in order to open the door to more participants and writers who already have an alluring piece on the shelf, but which does not relate to Eid, the theme is being made an unrestricting one.

What do participants gain?
With the copious number of websites (up to twenty local and international websites, and 3 social media) set to publish the pieces, each participant will be afforded the chance to have his writing showcased to the world and the faculty of a linkback to their social media handles or websites, and an opportunity to briefly introduce and promote any prior literary works by the writer and details of how they can be got. On the long run, writers whose pieces are picked for the collection will be contacted for further discussion. (All submissions will be posted on websites and social media but only the best will be picked for the collection)

Events.
Well, bragging is not Islamic, but having the rights to - is. Various events will afford the writers bragging rights (which should ultimately not be used, *wink) as each publishing website will pick the best of write-ups from each batch, each day, and over the whole course.
Also, special expressions, quotes and verses will be gathered into a slide-video to be posted on YouTube.

Guidelines:
All submissions must be made on or before 19 August 2018.

Poetry: *Pieces should be on any slamic topic of interest and not more than twenty lines. (The shorter, the better).
*Up to three poems from each writer will be welcome.

Outline: Include your name, country, age (optional), link to social media handle (optional), a very brief introduction to other literary works and how you can be contacted to get them. (optional). Then, the body of the poem.
The sequence does not matter as long as all required information is available, and neither does the format matter. (Doc, Docx, PDF, TXT, or even plain copied and pasted texts).

Flash Story (fiction or not):
Story must have a vividly Islamic connection and not more than 400 words. The outline is just as that of poetry submissions.

All submissions/ enquiries sould be forwarded to:
Ghareebpoetry@gmail.com or
Submitarticles@knowislam.com.ng or
almustaphaauthor@gmail.com or
lilzmalcolm01@gmail.com
or, in the case of extreme laziness,
should be forwarded as a Whatsapp message to:
08092298142
08127719081
08189264462
09056187226

A list of publishing websites will be made available soon. We therefore plead with participants to scribble with utmost care, spice their pieces in intrigue, glamour and quality, as your submissions will be a standard for the Muslim community's younger literary generation.

Please, Copy, paste and share.
#Adha2018

Come oh friend let's sing a song.
For times that were and are no more.
Surely!surely! The doom is near.
I see it coming, i see it here.
.....
Alas! staring forth,i see not but hell.
Thermal springs gushing down earth.
And stand-offish menhirs tearing us apart.
The door's to be shut and the world closed out.
,....
The wind howls,heralding the end of time.
Oh son of man,your time's at its twilight.
But amidst the aloof sound of doom.
And before our world is engulfed by the gathering gloom.
...
Let me tounge the sour taste of love.
Taking me aloft,away from our world.
Into a sublime trance,forgetting the doom.
Is so near.vanishing!vanishing! First our roof.

I have been lost/
chasing shadows/
through a pale gate/
and by the shallow bank of a lough/
that sent my soul into the depths of despair/
where my mind lurked around/
hunting for one last saviour/
my heart has found you/
a luscious dame./
whose glittering eyes/
illuminated my days and served me a ray of light./
away from my spell with lone and fright./
and swimming amid the tide/
of love lost and gone./
i have been found/
on the far end of a dicey mirage/
by a heart loving and tender./
i have found love once and again/
but not to let it slip/
away from me and my loomy dreams./
and be lost again/. Chasing shadows with pain.