32 C
City of Banjul
Thursday, October 1, 2020

Ya Muhammad!

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Show me your face

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Son of the desert

Take my hand 

Lead me to the wadi 

To quench my thirst

 

Le me climb 

On the howdah of Qaswa

And ride with you

Over the dunes

To the parting of the mountains

 

Son of Abd’Allah

Son of Abd-al-Muttalib

Son of Hashim

Son of Manaf

Son of Qusayy

 

Show me your face

Nadhir, you called

And I answered

By the white forenoon

And the brooding night

 

I hear your cry

Your grief, your pain

What has become us

That we take Baghdadi kahins

For our caliphs?

 

Wandering blindly

Like hapless asses

Frightened by a lion

In our contumacy

With eyes wide shut

 

Forsake us not

Son of Kilab

Son of Murrah

Son of Ka’b, of Lu’ayy

Son of Ghalib, of Fihr

 

What would ease your pain

When we broke the inkwells

Of your message

And slew your sons

On the banks of the Euphrates?

 

Sayyidi!

With their blood

We have written the lines

Of our divisions

On the hot sands of Karb and Bala

 

Burning thunderbolts!

Surge of angry seas!

Fires of augury

Ebola from mangonels

Aren’t these what we deserve?

 

We’ve left the beaten path

Spurned your dictats and fiats

In our hollow quest 

Hankering for a glory

Which truly belongs to only your God.

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