The Muslimah Ya-ya

Monday, June 06, 2005

As I was browsing around on the Internet and looking at the website for Azizah magazine, a Muslim women's magazine, I found this poem. Give your thoughts on it.

Pop Islam versus the Real Struggle

by Maliha Balala

Cute hijabs, matching tight pants,
perfectly manicured hands
drumming restlessly to the beat of the latest Nasheed pop.
Nice rides, sipping caf? lattes,
halaqas embraced in the depths of cozy rooms,
speaking of distant dreams and privileged existences.

Do we know the real struggle?

Club ISNA, throngs of fans milling air-conditioned convention halls,
pop star speakers glimmer in the spotlight,
beckoning distant hearts to spirituality and deeper lives;
chastising in that, oh so mesmerizing voice,
as the crowd yells a deep bass,
takbir followed by shrills of, Allahu Akbar!

Do we really comprehend the Greatness of our Creator?

Trekking the globe in search of meaning,
disenchanted existences within treasure-filled homes,
dreams of substance blocked by trivial minds;
apathy radiates in different colors;
squeezing potential out of our beings
like deep soaked sponges inflated by muddy waters;

Can meaning seep into a suffocated heart?

Following zigzag paths of nothingness;
in search of, Deen or the other half of my Deen,
whatever comes first.
So we step in style, mouthfuls of Subhana'Allah;
gleeful, Masha'Allah;
echoing from empty hearts frenzied by empty lives.
Scratching the surface of submission;
echoing lines from distant lives;
dreams of greatness shelved away;
as we pander our Proud to Be Muslim shirts;
cheap prices for cheaper wares.
Pardon my jaded writing;
perhaps I forgot
the subtle depths of this struggle,
as I begin to still
the meaningless symbols clanging in my heart.

Please remind me:
Do rays of the Divine
ever illuminate these darkened corners ?

Labels: poetry

Hi assalamualaikum sisters all...
juz wanna posting some nyce wordz forwarding from my mailing list group....
Ok take care.... and keep proud 2 be a muslima!
:P

It isn't the size of your house as such,
That matters so much at all;
It's the gentle hand and its loving touch,
That make it great or small.

The friends who come and the hour they go,
Who out of your house depart;
Will judge it not by the style you show,
But rather ... by the size of your heart.

It isn't the size of your head so much,
It isn't the wealth you found;
What will make you happy is how you touch,
The other lives that are all around.

For making money is not hard,
To live life well is an art:
How people love you and how they regard ...
Is all in the size of your heart.

Labels: poetry