My eyes see nothing without your beauty

Dedication: To lovers between material reality and the plane of imagination 

The following poem was sent to me by one of my elders the summer of 2016. The verses are from the poem by the Damascene Ottoman Sufi ʿAbd al-Ghanī al-Nābulsī (d. 1731). 

Like so much medieval Arabic devotional poetry, the poem lives on in song and recitation. To my knowledge, this poem has not been previously translated in English. I have included my attempt at an original English translation beside the Arabic text below. 

The first translation is of the form of the poem as I first encountered it. Another elder pointed out that the text differs from the version she is familiar with, including the additional "wāw" added at the end of the verses for vocalization in the first text. I have translated this version as well. 

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This is the first version I received.

 My eyes see nothing without your beauty  

Without you, my mind ponders nothing else  

You fill my thoughts above all creation

By your love, I die and I am resurrected

My lord, my heart holds fast to you

I could never bear even an hour apart from you

But you left, so my solace also vanished

And upon your distance, life became wretched

Yet God is greater than that which decreed separation

Should you leave me, to whom shall I turn?

When I advised my heart patience, it rebuked me,

"No patience for me! No patience for me!  I shall not be!"

If I sleep, you are with me in my dreams

And in my waking state, it is you that I see

There is no difference between me and my imagining you

If you should vanish, so would I; And should you be present, so would I

For in reality, the two of us are one

Except that I am of the lowest and you are majestic

And I hope that perhaps your kindness would restore me

From my diminished dignity and wretchedness. 

The final inscription at the bottom of the image reads, "Pray upon him and rejoice. May prayers and peace be upon him." 

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On the other hand, here is another version of the poem written byʿAbd al-Ghanī al-Nābulsī. I have included my English translation below the Arabic text.  

From http://bit.ly/2ts88gm

My eyes see nothing other than your beauty 

Without you, my mind ponders nothing else 

You fill my thoughts above all creation

By your love, I die and I am resurrected
Oh Lord, my heart holds fast to you

I could never bear even an hour apart from you

If I sleep, You are in my dreams with me

And should I awake, it is you that I see

There is no difference between me and my vision of you

If you should vanish, so would I; And should you be present, I would be, too

For in reality, the two of us are one
Except that I am of the lowest and you are majestic
And I hope that perhaps your kindness would restore me 

For I took flight from my own dignity and became most wretched.

How perfect you are, my lord, the Master of creation

Indeed I seek, by your glory, your succor 

And I have made my means to you a master

Whom You have sent with truth to make your Way manifest 

He is the Prophet -- Muhammad -- above all of creation

Your prayers upon him shall never cease

Choctaw Nation

Dedication: To bearing witness

A family elder used to live in a very small Oklahoma town with a population of a little over 1,000 human beings - almost  40% of whom were Choctaw Nation, 54% white, 1% black, and 5% all others. He moved there to serve as a physician for a Choctaw clinic located in one of the most beautiful valleys I’ve ever seen - and have yet to see. Generous, committed, a snorter when he laughs, and the very fulfillment of the absent-minded professor trope, the doctor was loved by his patients so much that they would bring him fruits and vegetables from their gardens, including squash, peaches, and walnuts.

His family was one of two Muslim families and the only Bangladeshi family in that town. The closest masjid that held Friday congregational prayers was 1.5 hours away.  A self-assured and proud Muslim, this doctor kept a beard and regularly wore a topi; his wife, who could not speak much English at the time, wore colorful hijabs to match her colorful saris, shalwar kamises, and jilbabs. 



When their land lady, a white Baptist woman in her 90s who owned two llamas and made her own moo moos, first saw them praying, she was genuinely curious and asked after they had finished, “So … are you … Jewish?”

They said no, so she guessed again.

“Ah. So you must be...Catholic?” 

Being Jewish or Catholic was the strangest thing she could imagine. Muslim as a category of religious difference was not even on her radar -- at the time.

So she learned from her new neighbors who Muslims are. She also learned to love them until the day she died. 

On the day of the 9/11 attacks in 2001, this elder continued to see and treat his patients as usual throughout the day.  Before he went home, a Choctaw elder who was his patient approached him and said, "If any one gives you trouble, you let us know. We will protect you."

In that moment, the Choctaw elder had the wisdom - rooted in a long communal memory - to understand that this new Bangladeshi Muslim doctor did not know the kind of racial violence his patient sensed was coming.

In that moment, the doctor didn’t fully understand what his patient was saying -- until he saw the glass shards of broken beer bottles littering the path that led to the front door of his home where his pregnant wife was waiting, shaded by the most gorgeous magnolia tree I have ever seen. 

--

We bear witness to those who stood, stand, and will stand for us expecting nothing in return. Our hearts in turn stand and beat for them in prayer and remembrance; a prayer and remembrance that asks for the integrity, dignity, and courage to do the same; a prayer and remembrance that travels dimensions and penetrates the sky and earth; a prayer and remembrance that is affirmed and repeated by every angel bowing or prostrating, by every leaf and blade of grass, by every rock and grain of sand, by every conscious being in the water and on land, by every sunrise and sunset, by every moon birth and as it wanes, by every celestial body known and unknown. Amin. Amen. Let it be.

12 Ramadan 1438 / 8 June 2017

NYC Prayer Vigil for Standing Rock, November 5, 2016

Love & Fear 1438/2016

                                 I'm too afraid

                                                    To even whisper his name

أحيا اسمه

                        For fear

 في هوى البدر التمام

                                                         That the trembling of my lips

بافتقاري

                                                 And tremor in my voice

وانكساري 

                                                   Would expose the rapture

فحان حمامي

                                   Of his memory

يانور الوجود

                                           Traversing my veins

بشرى لنا

                                           And softly inscribed

نلنا المنى

                                    In the pulsating 

دوم تك تك دوم تك

                                       Heartbeats so loud

دوم تك تك دوم تك

                                 Chest bursting

طالما أشكو غرامي

                                     Unable to bear it

يا عذولي

                              I would beg

لا تلمني

                                 I would plead

مدد يا مدد

                       Loudly

خذ بيدي

                         "Silence!"

أبان مولده

                                                Whereby the watchmen 

فكيف تنكر حبا بعد ما شَهِدت؟

                                        Issue their warrant

فكيف تنكر حبا بعد ما شَهِدت؟

                                             To cage this madness 

كيف؟

                         I've tried

معذرة

                       So hard

عدتك حالي

                            To protect 

                      Inside.

                                                

 اللهم صل وسلم وبارك عليه وعلى آله

11 December 2016
12 Rabi' Al-Awwal 1438

New York City

Moses on Karbala

"End of the Trail" by Frank Parrish

Pharoah

Let my people go

Let me lead them home

I will split the sea

We will wander free

Freed from desire for your throne

A throne upon which

Red blood flows quick

And the tears of mothers crying

For dear Husayns betrayed

And brave Zaynabs slayed 

And all the innocents dying

Dying for the right to hope
The right to love
The right to believe

In blessed days free from your grip

Basking in divine reprieve 

10 Muharram 1429 / 11 October 2016 / Yom Kippur 5777 

A Lover's Impatience

Dedication: To searching for one thing and finding another

I was searching for a specific citation through one of the books of Al-ʻIqd Al-Farīd by Ibn ʻAbd Rabbihi (d. 940)  when I came across the following couplet:

Attributed to "the poet," the verses are recited by Muhammad ibn Salām to Muhammad ibn Hārūn al-Amīn. Here is my rough translation:

Passion recollected, the lovesick one began to sigh

Head bowed, shame appeared upon his countenance.

Oh, one who tells me to be patient, have pity!

 Patience is never borne well by lovers.

Poetic Counsel

Dedication: To loved ones who send you poems as Ramadan gifts. Also -- to keyboard warriors 😏

On 19 Ramadan 1437 / 24 June 2016, I read the following verses sent to me by a friend before walking over to the library to continue my dissertation work: 

The short poem above is described with the heading "Invaluable Counsel." The upbeat meter of the poetry's form including the unusual rhyme of Ḥā' is infused by the charmingly gentle and clear tone of its content.  I found the verses widely circulated on the internet and shared in the form of images (as the one above), as memes, and in blogs without a writer attributed. Here is my translation below: 

 

My dear brother, give counsel and do not shame

Admonish without injury

Forgive the one who hurts (you) and say,

"May the Lord of Creation forgive."

Should you find yourself in the world's tightening grip

Reflect upon (the chapter) "Alam nashraḥ..."

And ask your Lord for reprieve

Perhaps God will grant you an opening*

Follow the best of those who were sent

Delight in the Door that will never close

Leave behind that which you desired, and seize

The more becoming desire for the Noble One

Do not (solely) rely upon your intellect

 The intellect of the Chosen One is more perceptive

Do not bear contempt for anyone

For those filled with hatred never succeed

Trade in your world for that which is to come

Truly, it is a blessed and most profitable trade!

For reconciliation is more virtuous

And the virtuous one attains success  

Invoke blessings and everlasting peace upon the Beloved
And rejoice in the most delightful of melodies.

-----------

*In other versions I found online, the following additional verse is included:

و قُلْ حَقّاً بِلَا مَيْنٍ

إِذَا مَا شِئْتَ أَنْ تَمْزَحْ

Speak the truth without deception
Should you wish to speak in jest

Ode to the Prison Shadows

Dedication: To obsessively needing to translate a song that remained with me after curtain call

[Originally posted on the blog Arabic Literature (in English)]

Image from the film 3000 Nights

On Monday, 25 April 2016, I heard a hauntingly beautiful rendition of verses from Najib al-Rayyes in Mai Masri's new feature film 3000 Nights. I quickly jotted down the verses during the screening on the paperback cover of the Song of Solomon in my purse.  That Wednesday, I googled the verses and not only found various musical renditions, including the one by Macadi Nahhas used in the film, but also the larger poem to which they belonged.  I proceeded to translate the entire poem text after midnight.  

I found the final verses confusing, so before going to bed, around 3:30 a.m., I impulsively sent my translation to a mentor.  He suggested what I have kept in a footnote.  The poem text differs slightly from the verses sung in the audio clip in the movie, so I have also included the variation mentioned in the movie in a footnote.

-----------

يا ظلام السجن خيّم
كلمات: نجيب الريس (1922)

يا ظلام السجن خيّم إننا نهوى الظلاما
ليس بعد الليل إلا فجرَ مجدٍ يتسامى

إيه يا أرضَ الفخارِ يا مقّر المخلصينا
قد هبطناكِ شبابًا لا يهابون المنونا

وتعاهدنا جميعًا يومَ اقسمنا اليمينا
لن نخون العهدَ يومًا واتخذنا الصدقَ دينًا

ايّها الحُراس عفوًا واسمعوا منّا الكلاما
متعونا بهواءٍ منعه كانَ حرا مًا

لستُ والله نسّيًا ما تقاسيه بلادي
فاشهد يا نجم أنّي ذو وفاءٍ وودادِ

يا رنينَ القيدِ زدني  نغمةً تُشجي فؤادي
إن في صوتك معنىً للأسى والاضطهادِ

لم أكن يومًا اثيمًا لم أخن يومًا نظاما
انما حب بلادي في فؤادي قد اقاما​

Ode to the Prison Shadows

by Najib al-Rayyes (1898-1952)

This poem was written in 1922 by the Syrian journalist Najib al-Rayyes when he was exiled by the French and imprisoned on Arwad Island, a small island off the Syrian coast, for resisting French colonial occupation during the Mandate period. 

Oh, Prison Shadows, stay a while 

Indeed, we yearn for darkness[1]

It won't be long before the night

Is overcome by glorious dawn

Oh, Land of Pride

Oh, Abode of the Steadfast

We descended upon you while in our prime

Unafraid of death

We made a promise

The day we took the oath:

We would never betray the promise

And have taken integrity[2] as our religion

Oh, Prison Guards, we beg your pardon

Listen to our words

Grant us some air

Forbidding it was (always) forbidden

 

By God, I will not forget

The long-suffering of my country

Bear witness, Heavenly Star

That I am of the loyal and loving

Oh, Rattling Chains, grant me

A melody that grieves my heart

For in your voice[3] are meanings

Of sorrow and persecution

I was never a sinner

I never betrayed the order[4]

Rather the love of my country

Has taken residence in my heart.

---

[1] In Mai Masri’s film, the verse sung translates as “We are not afraid of the darkness,” rather than “Indeed, we yearn for the darkness.” 

[2] In Macadi Nahhas’s rendition, she sings “And we have taken love as our religion,” replacing the word "integrity."

[3] That is, the noise of the chains.

[4] This verse confused me at first.  One explanation I received is that the poet is saying he was not a criminal, a rabble-rouser, or a provocateur.

Nanu's Poetry

Dedication: In memory of our matriarchs, their lovers, and their poetry

Written Friday, 9 May 2014 // 9 Rajab 1435

Seven summers had passed when I returned to Bangladesh with my family as a new bride of one winter and spring.

The Nanu we encountered during that Dhaka visit was entirely different from the one I had known previously. Over long phone conversations, during the years I was away studying in Egypt, I learned a terrible trauma had silenced her for months -- but this Nanu, the matriarch of my maternal line, had much to say.  

This Nanu -- who had awakened from her long comatose silence -- awakened a poet.

Hundreds of verses she memorized as a child poured out. At times, she composed her own free verse. Other times, she gave the verses of her childhood schoolbooks her own personal touch. When she was in a good mood, she had couplets, longer poems, and rhymed stories ready in response to everyone and every thing. Although on the surface her selected poetic choices appeared deceptively flippant, I like to believe they were precise. She could be playfully mischievous; and at any moment -- when Nanu was filled with sadness by a memory or thought -- she would simply recite,

Things one sees on long spring walks

ভেঙ্গে গেল আমার স্বপ্নের ফুল 

ছিড়ে গেল আমার বিনার তার 

মর্ম উঠিয়া আমার হাহাকার

The flower of my dream is broken

My instrument's string is torn

Such is the depth of my sorrow

So when I returned six months newly-wed to Nanu the poet, she shared with me for the first time of the great love between her and Nur Miah--the grandfather I never met--who had passed almost twenty-five years before in Dharmapur on the bed he had made for them.

She dreamt of him often, and her dreams would leave her in a particular mood for the entire day.

One morning, in a bout of anger, she stubbornly refused to eat breakfast.  When my aunt gently coaxed her to eat, she said Nur Miah would not share his bowl of rice with her AGAIN and had THE NERVE to wink and smile the entire time. I realized she had awakened from a vision of him--and we all began to imagine that we knew him.

Drawn into her world, we missed him more than ever before. We imagined this man whom she first saw approaching her parent's home in Baraipur on a white horse must have been incredibly charming.

"What did you think when you first saw him, Nanu?" I'd ask her.

She'd smile, "I liked the horse very much."

"Was he handsome?" I'd ask her. 

"Oh, I was stunning."

Once, when I was lying down beside her, she recounted a conversation she had with him.  They considered where they would like to be buried after they had passed on.  When she cried that she didn't want to be alone, he told her he would find her even in the grave.  Then she said Nur Miah would recite:

তুমি যদি হইতা চাঁদ
আমি হইতাম সুর্য
প্রথম প্রভাতে উঠিয়ে
নয়ন খুলিয়ে
আমরা একী সাথে থাক্থাম  *

If you were the moon
I would be the sunlight
At the first break of dawn
As open eyes perceive
We would be as one. 

That summer, Nanu determined that my signature poem--the poem she loved most for me to recite to her again and again (and again)--would be the one she recited to Nur Miah when he would return home after a long trip. Each time, the conversation would go like this,

"Do you know what I'd tell him when he would come home?"

After the night she passed

"No, Nanu. What would you say?"

"I would say --

সামনে আসার যতক্ষণ

ভালবাসা ততক্ষণ 

সামনে আইলে পুড়ে মন

দুরে গেলে ঠনঠন

When you are before me 

Love lasts the duration

When you are before me

The heart burns

But go far away

Nothing.

She would shake her right fist in front of my face on the rhythm of ṭhanṭhan - the sound of nothing. Then she would conclude happily, with a sly, mischievous smile,

"Oh, he would become so furious! He would say, 'Thanṭhan? Thanṭhan?!? I crossed rivers for you, roads for you, walked through the rain and mud to return to you...and you say thanthan?!"

She then commanded me to recite this very poem to my new partner.  

So I committed the lines to memory, archived as "love's arsenal" and prayed it would make her happy to drive a lover of my own as crazy.

Al-Fatihah. 


 

In Praise of the Heavenly Night Traveller

Dedication: To the one who flew from one sanctuary to another as the full moon traverses the night sky[1]

On 4 May 2016 / 25 Rajab 1437, after an evening conversation over music and recitation, food, animals, and the night ascension, a friend was inspired to recite and share the following verses.  I have attempted to translate them and have included my rough translation below.  

Full moon over Jerusalem (Image from Islamicity.org)

صلوا على من قد سرى نحو السما
ليلا وعاد وما برحنا نوما
بالروح والجسم المطهر قد سما
قله وعلِّم من أبى تعليما 

صلوا عليه وسلموا تسليما

صلوا على من قد رأى الرحمنَ
بالقلب بل بالعين منه عيانا
من قاب أو أدنى قريبا كان
فخذ الفوائد واحذر التجسيما 

 صلوا عليه وسلموا تسليما

Pray upon the one who traversed the heavens in a night

Returning before we barely stirred from slumber

In spirit and purified body, he took flight

Humbling and teaching the one who rejected (him)

Invoke blessings and peace upon him.

Pray upon the one who beheld The Most Merciful

By heart and, indeed, the eye was witness

To One who was but a short distance--or intimately closer[2]

Take what you may of lessons and beware of anthropomorphism[3] 

Invoke blessings and peace upon him.

---

The Miraj by Sultan Muhammad (16th century)

[1] See the first verse of the chapter on the Night Journey and Ascension in The Mantle Ode by Al-Būṣīrī. 

[2] The poet echoes the ninth verse from the Chapter of the Star in the Qur’an (Sūrat al-Najm 53:9) in which God is described as being “at a distance of two bow lengths or nearer.”

[3] I couldn't think of a more poetic replacement for the technical term "anthropomorphism." Here, the poet is warning against the doctrinal and philosophical position of reading the Qur’anic text that refers to change in space and time in a way that anthropomorphizes God and conceptualizes the divine bound by space and time.

Aleppo is burning.

Aleppo is burning.

And the cool glasses of water waiting on the nightstand
And childrens' kisses covering my face and hands
And sunflower seed husks scattered on rooftops as homage to a warm sleepless night of laughter and conversation
And bunches of raw green pistachios still hidden in rose colored petals
And wet lips and chins ungracefully betraying recently devoured succulent green figs
And bright green domes of saints punctuating the ancient cityscape
And unmatched love for the unrefined stranger
And all the ghosts haunting my memory



Cannot cleanse the vision of blood
And defuse the bombs
and quench the fires

Burning Aleppo.

Of Jewish Cat Therapists, Modern West Indian Muslims, and Ex-Bangladeshi Son-in-laws

Dedication: To Memory Lane 

[Note: I've opted to elide the "American" part of the hyphenated X-Y-American identities of the unnamed individuals below and have simply kept X - and sometimes Y - under the naive assumption that the American-ness of all involved is not questioned. Furthermore, all of the following events take place in the United States.]

I don’t usually do interfaith-y events.

It’s not that I don’t think they are important.  I’ve witnessed some moving and amazing work done by interfaith organizations concerned with social justice, bridge building, and community building, but as in many things informing our political unconscious — our strange, specific prejudices have a genealogy.

-----

When I was in middle and high school, I found interfaith events interesting — and always slightly irritating. There were a number of reasons for this, but the one that I remember most clearly is the way the Muslim participants were positioned to be on the defensive, stereotype corrective mode (and this was post-first Gulf War, pre-9-11, sans support of wealthy foundations).

The other reason is that I ended up being the token “youth” for the faith communities present, because most participants were either established enough in their careers to make time to expand their horizons -- or retired.

And the other reasons involve embarrassing stories of people who may still be alive.

There was one interfaith house party, however, organized by local Muslim and Jewish women that I attended as a high schooler which was quite memorable. 

An Indian auntie from a local Islamic center invited me, so I took my short Bangladeshi Muslim middle school friend with me. I didn’t want to be the only “youth” present, and her parents thought I was an excellent role model.  We left from a family lunch both wearing brightly colored shalwar kamis, and from what I remember, we looked fabulous. 

At the event, the ladies — mostly in their 40s and 50s — went around the room introducing themselves.  The beautiful woman seated to my right began and identified herself as a Jewish cat therapist.  She specialized in relationship issues and reconciliation between cats and their owners.  She had henna tattoos and wore gold bangles and explained them as traditions she adopted from her Indian husband because she “loves culture.’

I quickly looked around the room to read the faces present.  There were a lot of accepting head nods.  Not one person flinched. 

My little Bangladeshi Muslim friend and I tried our best to be very mature, intellectually engaged, and open-minded teenagers … so we suppressed our laughter until tears came out of our eyes.

Another woman introduced herself as a West Indian Muslim — and therefore, as she described, thoroughly Western. And therefore, thoroughly modern.  And therefore, much more progressive and much more capable of getting along with American culture than — WAIT FOR IT — the girls in shalwar kamis, as you can see, sitting across from her (she gestured toward us as exhibit A and B).  With confidence, she opined, “These young Pakistani ladies might get married soon, but that’s because they come from a more conservative traditional culture. That's not Islam. There’s a difference between culture and Islam.”

My little Bangladeshi Muslim friend and I looked at each other and whispered — That Guyanese auntie is whack. 

Later, during the reception, the Pakistani host asked us where we were from, noting what sweet things we were for attending their interfaith jam session.  I pointed to my little Bangladeshi Muslim friend and said “She’s from Hollywood; I’m from Davie.” 

“No no, beta, I mean," she asked warmly, "where does your family come from?”  

“Oh!  We are Bangladeshi, auntie.”

Her smile dropped faster than you could say bhalobasha.  “My daughter married a Bangladeshi man." She paused. "He wasn’t very nice, so they are now divorced.” 

My little Bangladeshi Muslim friend and I looked at each other as we finished the last cookie in our hands.  “Thank you so much for having us over, auntie.  I think we should head out soon.  Our parents will be worried if we don’t come home before dark.”

We said goodbye to the nice Jewish cat therapist who gave us her card before we got in the car and I drove home — but not before I took a long detour and drove along the beach to let off steam and process everything that just happened at the all Muslim and Jewish ladies' interfaith house party. 

—

Interfaith-y Events Post-Script:

Earlier this year during Black History Month, I ran a storytelling workshop with my team for a wonderful group of college student-activists.  They came from different universities to discuss interfaith work and social justice and learn from each other. They were thoughtful, intelligent, creative, and kind young leaders who managed to make me hopeful in spite of our political climate. They were serious about imagining a better world; they were serious about making the world a better place; they were serious about what they believed in; they were serious about respect; they were serious about not taking themselves too seriously — and they are far from retirement. 

New York City Jams: Jackson Heights Baul and Jhaalmuri

MTA Trip to Jackson Heights: $2.75
Mildly spicy Jhaalmuri: $2
Vendor dropping baul sangeet: Priceless

#JacksonHeightsHustle #NYC #NewYorkCity #Bangla #Bangladeshi #Sufi #Muslim #soulfood

New York City Jams: Cathedral Parkway

Address: Cathedral Parkway Station
From: 7 August 2013
To: Me waiting for the 1-train

The Stranger, not by Camus

Dedication: To remembering before I forget 

Another photo of the sky on my phone @saharishtiaque

I’m sure the stranger who followed me on Thursday evening wanted me to write about him — because everything about the encounter made me feel uneasy. 

His disposition was unsettling enough to feel discomfort but not flirtatious enough to feel sexually harassed.

His concerns were poignant enough to feel sympathy, but his method of serial-questioning was threatening enough to be cautious.

I hadn’t left a symposium on oral history in the Black Lives Matter movement and walked down Broadway for more than three minutes when I heard him running behind me. 

I stopped and turned to see him catching his breath and then ask, “How long have you lived here?”

I looked at his face and recognized him from the symposium.  He was the one person who said “As-salamu ‘alaykum” to me as I looked for a seat.  Listening to his voice, I guessed he might be West African. 

"Excuse me?”

I began walking again, and he continued to follow along and again asked, “How long have you lived here?”

“You mean, here — in New York City?”

“Yes.”

“Six years.”

Hearing me speak, he concluded, “You grew up in America?” He then proceeded to ask a series of questions. “Where did you grow up? Where is your family? Where do you go to pray? Do you like it here?”

We continued to walk.  I looked ahead thinking about what fruits I wanted to buy from Morton Williams.  I decided, at that moment, I would not answer any questions from a stranger; instead, I would ask him my own. 

“What’s your name?”

His name was AbdulK--.

"How long have you lived here?”

He said two years.

“Where are you from?”

He was from Nigeria.

“How do you like New York City?”

His body language and facial expressions were restless.  As we kept walking, he didn’t take much time to consider and respond that he believed New York City is far better than Wisconsin; he said, however, that he finds his faith took a blow here; he said he works all the time, and he misses his family; he said that he’s constantly struggling and fighting, and that he wants to leave the U.S. and return home where he can be a good Muslim.

Then he said, “I’m black AND I’m Muslim. I’m attacked on both accounts here. I can’t take it anymore.”

Listening to him, I took a deep breath and said, “You know, Ramadan is really nice in the city.”  As we approached the 116th/Columbia University Station, he asked, “Where are you going?”

“To a musalla — to pray.”

“Ma sha Allah,” I heard him say under his breath.  For the first time, his demeanor softened and he smiled before he turned toward the stairs and disappeared into the train station. 

I paused a moment wondering, "What. dafuq. just. happened???" — and then walked over to the supermarket to buy a bag of mandarins.

Goodnight Liberty

"Give me your tired, your poor
Your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free"

Statue of Liberty/Instagram @saharishtiaque

Footnote1: Before they're returned to the slaughter
Or left to drown in the sea

"The wretched refuse of your teeming shore"
Footnote 2: Including darling beached babies risen from the ocean floor

"Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me"
Footnote 3: Since the ‪#‎AllLivesMatter‬ folk care about homelessness (finally!)

"I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”
Footnote 4: Erected and sustained in part by our pesky war.


(I’m only being a little silly. Footnote 5: The worst of things makes one laugh. See Arabic Proverbs. Also see Emma Lazarus, "The New Colossus," Statue of Liberty Inscription, 1883.)

Genocide

Never again,
they proclaim,
Will Hell reign on earth
And yet again,
Hell is here
Witness its rebirth.

Image from "The Plight of the Rohingya" by James Nachtwey, TIME, 2015