Every night is a Mi’raj night!
when breezes froze, sand dunes slept
palm leaves perched, Zaytun branches dozed
Falcon feathers flaked, upon fallen fig leaves
the musallas murmured merrily,
listening the lonely love letters
of a wearily weeping worshipper.
Every night is a Mi’raj night!
when her blue-tinted Tahajjud mat turned Buraq
upon which she flew over and over
into Aysha’s Mecca, which bore memories of an unparalleled wisdom
over Hajar’s Hijaz, where sand grains never dried
through Asiya’s Egypt, where forts fall for her fierce faith
& Mariam’s Palestine, that alone vowed the virtue of a worthy woman
Into embracing every eve, her ferocious femininity.
Every night is a Mi’raj night! when she pierced time
travelled into seven and seventies of nights
Into many a Badr of believers That saw the agony of Ali’s assassin
Into the hearth of Hussain’s heart Into the fajr that saw Omar’s
withdrawal And the last of Bilal’s azans where she purged her piety,
in prayers for her predecessors.
Every night is a Mi’raj night!
That swirled and surfed across duniya
Duniya of past, past of piety Piety of prophets, prophets of the pious
Alike her dua, lacking fixities of duniya
From Isra’ to Mi’raj, as Ababeels of night to night.
Every night is a Mi’raj night!
That gifted again a morning To remind of living a life
Take thee into the abode Where love’s pining for years, finally met.
Met the lovers of past and present Gathered under a single shade
That smells greatest of all Arabian attars Melodious of all Iqbalian naats
Purest of all pious pupils
Under an only tribe ‘Ummat-e- Muhammed’!
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