Praise be to God and Peace be on the chosen. Many beginnings and endings. Truth has never been so clear. Falsehood has never been so ugly. As we face the storm and embrace the cold days ahead, I offer these poems in hopes of healing. Peace

Upward Climb album lyrics

Ring in the desert

what are we
but seekers of beauty
in times so trying
once a desert lion
now trying to regain the pride that died a dignified intellectual culture
now stalked by the shadow of a vulture
so we search though these sands for our spiritual oasis
to make these withered walls bloom
a rebirth from the earth’s sacred womb
for what are we
but seekers of beauty
in times so trying
our wills are dying
for finding beauty in this beast of a world
is like finding a ring in the desert
and we are lost
40 years we roam
and had we only known
that beauty is masked in shrouds
like the full moon behind dark clouds
perhaps the wind of our breath
will cause the clouds to drift
the mask to lift
and the ring to appear clear
crafted by our every breath and motion
every compassionate emotion
to give life to the rotten
to give a hand to the forgotten
for we have not forgotten
that serene are the seekers
sifting slowly
searching closely
for a ring in the desert
for beauty in this beast of a world
searching for God in this beast of a world
for God is beautiful
and He loves that which is beautiful

We at war baby

I’m a bon-afide certified
fit the profile fundamentalist
my name is on the no fly list
at all airports
but I still manage to fly high
above all hatred and bigotry
I am demonized
by the demon eyes
of wolfish men
one of them stopped me on the street
looked me straight in the eyes
and said to me:
“we at war baby – America is at war”
I said sign me up, I’ll be the first to enlist
but there is just one thing
white men can’t jump
they’ll step on the necks of others like rungs of a ladder to lift off
so if this goes well like you say
and all the terrorists are gone
who’s going to run the pentagon?
this is something greater than
AK’s A-bombs,
Saddams Osamas
Hillarys and Obamas
B2 bombers
there are some wars than can not be won by bombs nor firearms
and this is one of them
because America has been at war with itself since day one
living in a system of constant contradiction
needing constant distinction between the classes
but advertised otherwise
so I battle
I battle to reconcile flattering words of politicians
with images of police dogs dining on human flesh
in Birmingham, Alabama and Guantanamo Bay
I battle not to forget the forgotten for that is treason
I battle not to be consumed while in the belly of the beast
I must believe I will not become
just another piece of…trash
I will rise above that
Pluck wings from Icarus and flap my way across floating oceans
my brothers have lost hope
they say the statue of liberty is the epitome of hypocrisy
what do I tell them?
I say they have spoken the truth but they have lied
‘cause lady liberty is a bride
who’s been dressed up for her wedding but never been wed
‘cause all her potential grooms have been jailed, forgotten, or shot dead
those who tried to maker her symbol a reality in this nation
and not just a figment of our imagination
so I look at her with pity
Cause for too long she’s been prostituted by lustful pigs
Who instead of building a future want to build oil rigs
But perhaps it is for us to make her wedding day a reality
to get down on one knee and offer her this dowry
for liberty our blood and our sweat
and the years of tears we will never forget
so I battle
I battle to search for America’s soul because it is sold
I battle because I am told
that we at war baby
America is at war
and my battle scar is a scarlet letter A – for Arab
carved onto my chest for all to see
so that I may be
by demon eyes
lashed 1000 times
by serpentine tongues
so I battle
to find a way to love the arrogant and hate their arrogance
embrace the patient, kill the illness
or else guilty of malpractice
I battle to love
because love is an act of courage
and we live in a world of cowards
so I pray for courage
and that makes me
a bon-afide certified
fit the profile fundamentalist
my name is on the no fly list
at all airports
but I still manage to take flight
first class on the paper airplane of this folded poem non-stop to home
and hatred and bigotry
all look like little ants from up here


I sing to bring you home
My brother you aint alone
My sister you aint alone
Climb with me
Hold on with me

Climb with me

Climb with me
Just hold on with me
Climb with me
Just hold on
walk on water
hopscotch across the continents if you must
just climb with me
we travel not alone on this slippery slope
a divine rope we hold tirelessly
in this timeless tug of war where
hands may burn
but our feet are firm
as we stand with feet not of our own
grasp with hands not of our own
Lord be the eyes with which I see
through this mirage
camouflaged reality
it beckons me
but you will find me
watching the horizon
where the sun sets in a murky pond
to see what is beyond my sight
feel hope beyond my senses
the world has left us lost senseless
so find yourself
at the shores of transcendence
glimpse the unseen
through Remembrance
the world has a lazy eye
remember to keep your eyes peeled open
like peacock feather eyes that never blink
never blink
drink from the elixir of my watering wells
let my hands shade your traveling heart
let my blood be the Nile
to carry your basket
there no denial
that we are all short of breath sometimes
but you will find us
behind you in this caravan together towards our lord
the world is hiring heroes
I am not qualified for this job
I’m just searching for a role for this soul
searching for a hand to hold
hands too tired or afraid
to be held
so let my hands shade your traveling heart
Let my blood be the Nile
to carry your basket 1000 miles
as we march in this caravan together
let us climb together
and hold on together
Climb with me
Just hold on with me
Climb with me
Just hold on

‘Ayn Jalut

this stage will be Ayn Jalut where David rises and Goliath bleeds
where Rukn al-din sees the fall of the Mongol horde
where my tongue becomes my sword
and I spit arrows of fire
And burn down the fortress of ignorance
this stage will be Wounded Knee where falsehood is unveiled for the world to see
this stage will be Patrick Henry’s platform where he said
give me liberty or give me – time out
this stage will be monitored recorded demonized criminalized and labeled as death
but this stage is life that slashes through the ashes
that crawls through the concrete
this stage is a new page in history
and the pen is in my hand
they ask me to flip a coin
and choose between an allusion and an impossibility
I am no beggar and you offer no charity
Just a perception of liberty that like the bread and circus of the Romans
and we all hail an emperor who’s not a republican or a democrat but a CEO
who puts on death row
those who refuse to be clowns who juggle words or court jesters
refuse to be T.V.’s on mute or reality’s molesters
‘cause I’m a Sufi with a sword
a monk with a machete
and I’m ready to draw a line in the sand
so cross it if you can
commit to liberation from the inner soul’s oppression
then outer world’s aggression
against the dignity of man
they ask me to flip a coin
and choose between lies or insanity
I for one do not believe in preaching to the choir
bring me those who’ll call me liar and reject everything I bring
let this choir stand up and sing
let our voices pluck at the pillars that hold up the heavens
like harps in harmony
make our hearts in harmony
‘cause some say they want change but are one and the same as the oppressor
trying to shoot down one pharaoh only to replace him with another Pharaoh
housed within them
about time for an eviction but they have an addiction to his ways
and refuse to spit him out
speaking the same language of corruption and destruction
and our language must be language of verse
a language of worth
that break free from their prison
gives life with a rhythm
with tunes sung between the silence of prayer
and the rebellion of a word
between rising up to man
and bowing to the lord
‘cause I am a Sufi with a sword
a Monk with a machete
and I’m ready to draw a line in the sand
so cross it if you can
commit to liberation from the inner soul’s oppression
then the outer world’s aggression
against the dignity of man
I’m a lyrical hitman
sleep with a pen under my pillow
ready to fill in the answer when they ask me
to flip a coin
and choose between silence and slavery
we say that we want to emancipate our brothers
but a slave chained to his ego can’t free others
so I’ll conduct my own underground railroad
follow the drinking gourd to my Lord
to break free form these shackles
they ask me to flip a coin
but when I flip my coin I want it to land right on the side
right on the mark
it’s a narrow margin but nobody said balance was a walk in the park
we are tight rope walking on the rope of God
no room for clumsiness in our character or speech
or else we fall a 70 year fall
but today we rise, open our eyes and start a new day
for this is the day
that we will clench our fists
pound our chests so loud
we awaken the forgotten dead
for today we wed our fears
tell the Navajo on their trail to wipe their tears
tell the Zulu to raise their spears
and together we will march our words
so mark my words
this stage will be Ayn Jalut where David rises and Goliath bleeds
where Rukn al-din sees the fall of the Mongol horde
where my tongue becomes my sword
and I spit arrows of fire and burn down the fortress of ignorance
this stage will be wounded knee where falsehood is unveiled for the world to see
this stage will be Patrick Henry’s platform where he said
give me liberty or give me a bullet to the head
this stage is life that slashes through the ashes
that crawls through the concrete
to break free
this stage is a new page in history
and the pen is in our hands

Damascus Dawn

calm is the Damascus dawn
save for two feet walking to the mosque
followed by the jasmine scent
followed by the angels’ descent
under the God sent birth of the crescent moon
a new beginning
in one moment the sun springs up
like an index finger in prayer and illuminates this ancient city
a man and his mule
rolling by cart through the lively market
baskets of fresh fruit compete with cigarette smoke to conquer the airways
and as one man lays his load down with a frown
crates of cans are dragged by rough hands under the merciless sun
thick moustaches pass by colorful veils
and some not so colorful
but still beautiful in their own majestic way
they tippy-toe together in color-coded trench coats
the true soldiers of these streets
doves cast a shadow on the courtyard of the Ummayad mosque
a prayer of peace to the saints buried inside
young men on a joy ride
cruise in caravans
while the hungry gather outside Muhyideen’s tomb
as the wailing afternoon wind carries their cries
the skies darken
and the Earth breathes a sigh of relief
as the mountain side lights up
Sa’do’s wedding gang fires up
while mothers rattle their tongues
a joyous riot in a narrow alley
they are no match for Abdul Basit’s recitation
emanating from minarets glowing green
casting a spell on the city
as man, beast, and the unseen
listen in awe
what secrets lie behind these crude walls?
a thousand epic stories but all with the same few lines
wrapping around these walls like vines
bodies burdened by fatigue and destiny’s schemes
surviving on prayer and hope in dreams
alive but in dead silence
two sandals carry weary feet
on an empty jasmine filled street
calm is the Damascus dawn

The human race

I see invisible children
hold hands with those who lost their limbs
open the door of my soul to those lost within
I write name tags
stick them on the hearts of nameless refugees
who have been reduced to statistics
tattooed with numbers like in Auschwitz
we white wash their lives
that have been flipped upside down in the world’s washing machine
their inner colors bleed
as money laundering vultures feed off their putrid pride
I witness our own streets where we
spoil pooches in pouches
pump them with puppy Prozac pills
then pass and ignore
broken voices who implore
those who pass by
why do dogs receive more dignity than some men
I see pain woven into their eyes
broken are their faces
like shattered mirrors reflecting society’s neglect
and we expect them to stitch their wounds
their eyes are tombs
and buried deep within looms
a dignity that withers never blooms
I sing lullabies to sooth the cries
of the child whose baby crib is the garbage dumpster
where her mother dumped her
left her to die under the evening sky
that dresses in black to mourn the sins of the sons of Adam
this is the human race
and we are all disqualified from this race
we jumped the gun
failed to pass on the baton of life
instead used it as a baton
to crack the skulls of those who disagree with the referee
why must we peer into a pool blood before we see our own reflections
reality is bitter
and hard to swallow
we choke on the truth
like a baby choking
on its first breath of air
as we are birthed from the bellies of bliss
burst from our bubbles
and we all come out of the depths of ignorance
kicking and crying
trying to crawl back into the warmth of the womb
where life was a lot simpler in the dark
deaf dumb and delightfully deluded
from the world's dominant dogma:
it’s a dog eat dog world
but we are not dogs
not conditioned by Pavlov's bells
media spells
or a politician whose nose grows like Pinocchio’s
so who let the dogs out
how about keeping these hounds in the pounds they belong
for this is the human race
so I Usain Bolt my way towards my Lord's face
in search of healing
for our countless scars
like countless stars
I see constellations
in my brother's faces
so I tremble as I remember
how easy it is to forget
and how easy it is to let the world wait for some sacred savior saint
so I will paint murals of their faces
on the inner walls of my eyelids
so as not to forget them in my sleep
as I tremble as I remember as I weep
so let those who are blind to hope
read my goose-bumps like Braille:
this is the human race
but we will not be disqualified from the human race
we will not drop the baton
to crack the skulls
to spill the blood
of those who disagree with the authority
so tell me
how can we throw coins into a fountain of blood
and then make wishes for peace?

A thousand and one nights

He said: be
and it was
love and be loved
we said love is ridiculous
but that’s ridiculous because
revolution without love is lifeless
hopeless and down right blasphemous
how do the oppressed demand deliverance
by becoming oppressors of the oppressors
why not be liberators of both
the restorers of hope
for revolution revolves around
reading and rewriting reality
to reclaim humanity
so He said: read
and recite
I said I will read and will write
till I shine with the light of a thousand suns
speak with the voices of a thousand tongues
and emanate peace like the calm of a thousand one nights

Toys R’ Us

there are two types of people
the fake and the real
and some are fake since the day they were born
slaves of the norm
buying stock in status quo
although they be courteous,
they’ll hold open the door for you
smile, tip their waiter
but are fake like toys
like action figures
they only move how they’re told to move
only speak how they are told to speak
only think how they are told to think
entrapped in a plastic prison without vision
they be nothing but birds with clipped wings
nothing but puppets on strings
but “I’m a real boy”
and fake people real nice and courteous until
their masters turn on the switch of fate
command them to hate
command them to kill at will and fill their cups
with the blood, sweat, and tears of others
and they wont object
‘cause they only move how they’re told to move
only speak how they are told to speak
and only think how they are told to think
but too many courteous people were tricked into hatred and murder
for the homeland’s sake
for pride’s sake
because they were fake
so they didn’t stand and say this is psychotic
out of fear of being called unpatriotic
so plain to see complacency is weaved into our lives
like the air we breath to justify the unjustifiable
but how?
how do men become toys?
I wonder sometimes where courage went
but I know the industry of fear only manufactures consent
homeland security levels are like traffic lights
green light – go
yellow light – slow
red light – stop thinking
the industry of fear only manufactures consent
but in this factory
out of every batch of 100 toys made
one is thrown out with the pretext of defects
‘cause this one toy doesn’t move how it is told to move
it don’t speak how it is told to speak
it don’t think how it is told to think.
and maybe the machinery is broken
or the assembly line is choking
‘cause this one toy is making a strange sound
and its fist is stuck raised in the air and it won’t come down
so the manager’s starting to frown,
the manager - he’s getting appalled
he wants this toy recalled
because it ain’t nothing but a pest and it’s corrupting the rest.
but this toy ain’t broken
no this toy ain’t broken
it has spoken
and it is saying
silly rabbit, mind tricks are for kids
rabbit you got big long ears but refuse to hear so I’m gonna get near
and say it loud and say it clear:
we will not be silent –
not to hatred, exploitation, or racist wars that feed our greed
that leave young dreams outlined with chalk on the sidewalk
we will not be silent cause silence is betrayal
and if you aren’t screaming you fail
thrown in intellectual jail without bail
sentenced to life.
so I’ll tell this Pinocchio tale with a different twist
even if these snakes put my name on a list
or do insist that chains be put around my wrist
I’ll tell you this – nothing will stop this fist
from rising this body from striving this soul from climbing
coming alive in good timing
this toy aint broken
it’s just not fake
it is awake,
and wants to regain its humanity
wants to read and feed its mind
to free the rest of its kind
wants to see wants to hear wants to feel
‘cause this toy ain’t a toy
it is real

My Guardian

my Guardian
I try to write faster than the angels can mark my motions
their memoirs are but memories
and now I author my own stories
in the mirror of the supreme author
whose words can not be depleted
though His pens were as numerous as the Earth’s trees
His ink like seven seas
His words can not be depleted
Can not be deleted by foolish scribes trying to rewrite truth
for truth is written in permanent marker
yet some fools think their words can blow out Your light
like the one who thinks he can huff and puff and blow out the sun
but they are fools for trying
dying to avoid Your light
but You are the light upon light that makes our hearts yearn
they’re wearing sun block but still getting God’s sunburn
yet man thinks his words be giving him a tan
my Guardian
what can I say to the One whose beauty and wisdom are manifested in all things
I write only to take notes
I am your lost student who has slept too much in class
and now I just want to pass
so I try to excel with my word
but Microsoft is telling me my rhymes
got too many words with curvy red underlines
so I ask you to tear out these pages
for the angels write with a faster pace than I can erase.
my Guardian,
You told me to read in the name of my Lord who created
hear the Prophet who related
seek knowledge from the cradle to grave to pave the road to honor
and then you taught man to write with the pen
but in writing my future I am drowning in the ink of my own illiteracy
and I know that Your pen has been lifted and your ink has dried
so why am I staring at my book wide eyed
my Guardian
I swear by you this aint a rant with rhymes
but a letter of my love for You
I seal the envelope with my spittin’
and stamp it with my heart
I stamp my heart onto it
and pray the angels don’t say:
“insufficient postage”
for this is all I have to give to My Gaurdian
who is praised by all that exist although we perceive it not
and there comes a time where I must ask the Lord to untie the knot from my tongue
so that my speech may reach hearts
breach minds
so my prose may pierce souls
and synapse with our spirits
‘cause there may come a time
when these same words of mine may be the chains that drag me to a flame
or drag me to shame
and there will come a time
when I will be asked about every word
and you all about what you heard
from the time of creation to our final destination
so perhaps I must stay in secluded silence
and only open my mouth
to praise the divine
not just with the tongue but with the mind
and not just with the heart but with a rhyme
so I try to write faster than the angels can mark my motions


Fun, games, and amusin’
a mirage of disillusioned confusion
the game of Life has become a game of Monopoly
where everything’s an object of domination or a commodity
we try to play our cards right
but most of us just jokers who can’t see
that we are deluded in believing we live in Candyland
nothing sweet about this bitter addiction
to the world’s contradiction
we playing Hungry Hungry Hippos while some die of malnutrition
our minds Scrabble when our supremacy is in Jeopardy
so we take a time out and huddle
sit in satanic circles to synthesize
tall tale fables and pitch out labels like
radical extremist animal –
smack ‘em for the home run
run home to where you came from
‘cause around here racism is foul play
that’s why we still have a football team named the Washington redskins – no lie
we put them in the same category as lions tigers and bears – oh my
lions tigers bears terrorists extremists fundamental-the-list goes on
but words have lost meaning
‘cause they changed our dictionary into a fictionary
words have lost meaning
cause they changed our dictionary into a contradictionary
I see one thing and I’m told the contrary
and my mind is playing Pictionary
with images of the children of this misfortune
who have become victim
of their wheel of fortune
whose spokes are exploitation
they just soldiers of fortune
spinning the wheel on the price is right
but this aint a game and the price is wrong
this aint a game and lies don’t belong
on front pages of newspapers with truth in the obituaries
for truth does not die as long as we sing its song
veiled women scare some but veiled truth turns them on
they placed a veil on reality
yet ravage her innocence
and their decadence be begetting this contradiction we be living in
but to some
it’s all fun, games, and amusin’
A mirage of disillusioned confusion
but mirages only end in dirt
and some will say at the end that I wish I was dirt
and they flirt with death but death will only assert its certainty once
and there’s no flipping the hour glass over
no flipping the game board and starting over
you just stuck with game over
we just God’s pawns in life’s game of chess
sweeping up this mess
until fate dishes out check mate
so make your move now before its too late

Blessed are they

they say some women turn heads
but blessed are they who turn hearts
who can reverse a soulful eclipse when theirs lips part
to breathe life into the tombs of men’s chests
where mummified hearts reside
these are the hands that uplift that soul that’s so unreachable
these are our daughters
presence so divine they twist the heads of the blind 180 degrees
cloak us 360 degrees all around to absorb our wounds
make us yearn for the mercy they nurse this earth with
glow so glorious
the sun has become envious and bashful
given up on burning now it just blushes
cheek touches the window of this world
while peering in to take a closer look at these earthly constellations
spirit encased in
two eyes like two jars of fireflies
flickering in flight despite the light of day
and I am the moon child nailed to the night
waiting for their light to leave me with a bright side
to mask my dark side
these are our daughters
the living martyrs
scholars of sacrifice
who burn from their own to give off such warmth
that they are causing global warming
melting the polar ice caps of this frozen body
stricken by numbness
and this is a proclamation of my utter bankruptcy
for I am in debt to them but love is their only currency
so how do I pay back that which was given to me
the star lit sky has no need for my candlelight offerings
what gift can I give to uplift those who beautify themselves with piety and gems unseen
their beauty queen is mother Mary –
how dare we feast on the flesh of fiery woman told to dance around arctic poles
cold places
the devil wears nada
so we placed her body on a pedestal and buried her honor
like bedouins who buried there baby daughters
who will unearth these buried treasures
perhaps God will give them heavenly wings so they may sing for our mothers
who are perched upon the gates of paradise
welcoming home the purified
as they enter below their dangling feet
but keep your voices down
lest they hear us
this aint for their attention
this is a prayer I whisper to God for their protection every time they pass by
so I keep my voice low lest they come to know that which we speak of
because maybe some women can turn heads
but blessed are they who make
even the angels do a double take

The whisper

on the day of my birth
they whispered your name into my ear
on the day of my death
I hope my love was sincere enough
so I may answer the call and pray behind you
who am I to speak of beauty without mentioning your name
praised by the heavens first
second’s the Earth
because your nobility
was not displayed with gold
no royal robe
your smile was your crown
ornamented with God’s light
so the angels crowd around you
like moths pulled towards the light
your smile was your crown
and now we frown and call it piety
how far we are
they sang to welcome you to the city
and I sing to welcome you to my heart
my beloved
I sing to welcome you to my heart


May God’s peace and blessings be on Muhammad
How beautiful it is to send blessings upon the messenger
I am in love with the beauty of the messenger
May God’s peace and blessings be on Muhammad

Upward Climb

it's just you and me
but who you be other than a mirror me
I am left fearful of darkness
for in darkness I see images
of the self in scrimmages
with a beast that is
darker than the darkness
my conscience pushes me
to a soul-split personality
my skin is telling me
that the soul that glows in the dark
is the mark of the faithful
stripe of the tiger
but the flame of our fire
is blown out by
TV and tunes
that leave me in ruins
bloody but ready to wage a world war with what’s within
for when the scales of balance shift
it’s an inner apocalypse
solar eclipse
I'm facing annihilation
pacing in circles
the compass of my soul spinning like a whirling dervish
but even in the depths of darkness
the iris of the soul will adjust to see
that God has ordained us to be
night flowers
upright in dark hours
but I have yet to bloom
yet to grow out of my spiritual cocoon
but soon I will flutter my butterfly wings
and search for the crossroads
where creed and deed intertwine
for indeed that is the upward climb
it is a journey without distance
the path less taken, forsaken
not to the east or west but a quest to the depth of my heart
to a world of words without voices
where the poets are speechless
the roads are endless
yet all lead me to discover my fragility
it is a prayer without any request
just a prayer of the love in my chest
to the One who is praised by everything
from the very atoms of my existence
to the Lotus tree in the distance of the highest heavens
and all that is in between
and all that is seen and unseen
or known and unknown
it is a realization
that the tongues of the eloquent can not praise Him
as He deserves to praised
raise His name as it deserves to be raised
above all inner idols of the self
somebody strap me down
beat me like the mukhabarat into a confession
that I have an obsession with the faults of others
and blind to my own home grown ills
blind to the fact that these tear are always tears of regret
instead of tears of love
but now its too late
and I try to compensate with these words
swinging like double edged swords
so I keep them few firm and true
make ties with the wise and sit with the eminent
let the sum of my actions equal a difference
I met the full moon while he illuminated the sea of darkness around him
I told him
I too want to make waves
But too overwhelmed
Over and over and overwhelmed
with images of bloated bellies
broken bones and Dying dreams
my soul screams
let my people go Pharaoh
but oddly the response comes from within me
I fling fury at Goliath but the stone comes back and hits me
fear no enemy but when the oppressor of souls lives in me
I tremble at the beast in the mirror
staring back with hypocritical eyes
the burden makes want to die
and maybe this poem is just an alibi
so its just you and me
but who you be
other than a mirror me
my shadow trying to break free
but I drag you by your feet
and some days you drag me by mine as a reminder that we shall meet
at the crossroads
where creed and deed intertwine
for indeed that is the upward climb
and its time
to stock up on faith,
to pick up the pace
and climb

Two roads

two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference

-Robert Frost