Thursday, 8 February 2018

Gross Injustice

After today's guardians exposé on the black ops detention centre I penned this. 

"When you hear of gross injustice. 
Does your heart bleed,
Does that feed the cycle of revenge. 

Or does your religion dictate,
Or your ethics demand,
That you cannot remonstrate. 

That from every heart that bleeds,
That demands it's needs,
A monster may be born. 

That your heart should be above it all. 
In order to be civil. 
In order to keep peace. 

But greater still is he,
Who reminds of God's mercies. 
Bringing solace to bleeding hearts. 

To those in need. 
And with peace in his heart,
Demands justice.

Leaving no rock unturned. 
In meting out that which was not met before. 
Perchance he might right injustices wrongs.

Bringing solace to those whose hearts bled before.
And in that struggle,
Whether living, by it,

Or dying, by it. 
In God's eyes he would live forever
And more.”

Tuesday, 30 January 2018

Nation of Ghifar

Nation of Ghifar. 

Our celebrated hero,
May Allah t’ala bless him
Once could not stand that people be free Through the declaration of faith

And so he asked the Messenger 
And thrice he (saw) replied
With the last a humorous chide. 

And when the blessed one left us,
And Abu Dharr (ra) sought to impose 
His understanding of charity and frugality 
The companions had him banished 

And so befell the words of the Messenger
That he would be left alone. 
For the obligations were set 
A trust to be kept 

So that we might be free
At not slaves to a false religiosity. 
How my heart bleeds 
That these people have stolen 

A religion made pure 
Flowing as a river 
They damned with their fiqh
And every now and then cull silver fish. 

So that the people believe 
That orthodoxy is conservatism 
It never was 
For this revolutionary religion 
Will burst their every bank. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts 30th January 2018

Monday, 29 January 2018

impressionist Journey

Impressionist Journey

The brush strokes of my life lie thinly veiled

Beneath the glossy veneer, of this charming smile.

Endearing me to a city that I do not know

Or is it the foreign dollar that, unbeknownst to me, opens those doors. 

Where they say three climes, in a day, can come and go. 

Where every rain chases away laughter

And every drain, gurgles with pending disaster. 

They say that these rouge bonhomies have sponge brain

Not a communicable disease, but a talent no less,

Who yap with accents that can make even cockneys cringe.

A true impressionist would use delicate colour 

But in this drear city what better postcard can I offer

That captures this venture from the new world to the old. 


Shafeesthoughts 28th January 2018


A London Cabbie’s passengers story. 

Thursday, 25 January 2018

Scorched Remains

Scorched remains 

If the sky had eyes, it would bleed salt tears
If the earth had mouth, it would tell inconsolable truths 
If the sea had it’s way, what could we offer by way of sacrifice?

Do we deserve to pollute the conscience of the World with our disharmonies? 
Do we allow these warmongers to innovate still new ways to decimate?
Who profits from war, but the military industry 

Are our lives, and our children’s, prey to their every product cycle?
Who justifies death in the millions 
How can you give a name to a product that burns people’s skin off
Torture to the death is not something that should be for sale. 

And they justify to themselves by their want for dominion 
But it is not theirs 
For no land, no sea, nor sky will bear them 
And theirs will be an end much worse than that they sold to men. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts 25th Jan 2018
😢 Feeling raw. 

Tuesday, 23 January 2018

Blossom Breeze

On a Blossom Breeze. 

Forget that we met
In the dire straights of war 
Where no man controls his destiny

Forget not what it was meant to be
At least for me, at most for us both
Thrown together, we were never meant to live apart. 

Forget my foolishness, when in my fear 
I  bit into you. Never meant to hurt you. 
And in my dreams you come to me on a blossom breeze. 

And we talked and we chatted 
As if there had never been
A time of sorrow, where our hearts bled never stopping for the morrow. 

But the memories of these dreams fade as if they had never been. 
A memory of a memory
That was never meant to be. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts 23rd January 2018

Monday, 15 January 2018

unasked ruse

Unasked Ruse  

There are puzzles 
and there are games
There are ruses 
And conundrums 

And then there is this, 
That is all those cubed. 

There are problems
That go unanswered 
And answers that go unasked. 

Then there is this
That does not ask to be answered
But begs to be picked up

Pushed and pulled 
Whilst it taunts you without so much as a word. 

Like a wad of gum 
That you cannot get out of your mouth 
Not for want of trying 

And when you do 
And it’s thrown in a corner 
Or hid under a bed
You will always know it’s there

It beckons even then. 

And then you get those 
Know it alls
That solve the unasked question
A reflection of our soul 

When even they 
Cannot leave it alone 
And every day 
Try to beat it quicker 

Or in other multifarious ways. 
Whilst they are sitting
Upside down 
Or blinkered with monochromatic lenses. 

The unasked question
Seems even then
To be completely elusive. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts 
15th January 2018
On the Rubix Cube. 

Saturday, 13 January 2018

Rain of Mercy, Rain of Flood

Subject : Rain of MercyRain of Flood
Posted Date: : 10 Dec 2007, 22:55 MySpace
Thanks to my friend Conor, for the stimulation for this poem. I would never have contemplated writing on Rain as a poetic subject matter.

For Muslims, faith is between hope and fear. Hope of God's Mercy and Fear of HIS Wrath.
It is this fear that keeps us from wronging ourselves.
And it is the hope that is its life's blood.

Rain of MercyRain of Flood...
                                     by Shafees
The earth is parched, unrolled,
Patiently waiting, patently sighing.
My praying eyes look skyward, and behold.

The heralds pull and lift heavy water.
The ink wells fill with pure water,
And I see the cock swings, and does not falter.

Glad am I to see that sight,
That the condensate clouds.
And the pen is readied to write.

Me, and my people's fate on the land.
I sincerely hope for God's mercy,
But fear the wrath of HIS mighty hand!

What do we deserve, Mercy rains?
Or when we wrong one another,
Then possibly Judgment pains?

Will the rain flood?
As it drops,
Will our rivers run with blood?

However, God is not unjust!
Who sends us pure water out of the sea,
A reminder to cleanse from our hearts, it's rust.

The rust of ingratitude,
Of forgetfullness, full of sin.
But to GOD belongs every and all tribute.

The ONE who gives us without measure,
Whose Glories are independent of us all,
And whose mercies outweigh HIS displeasure.


An Explanation...
Once again the imagery I use is Qur'anic.. see Surah 51, S. Adh-Dhariyaat.. The Winnowing Winds.

The Earth is a parchment, unrolled.
This imagery relates to our ages past... where we were highly dependent on the rains.
We are no less dependent today, although we forget!
The heralds are the winds that GOD sends.
But are they heralds of blessings and mercyor wrath and anger?
Anger for our corruption in the land, man killing and oppressing man.
It is the fear of GOD that cleanses the rust from our hearts, just as easily as the rains cleanse the dirt from the air and path.
But God's mercies abound, and even HIS promise of judgement is a Mercy, that keeps the mindful good, and sane!
See S. Rahman!

Your Friend and Brother Shafi

Sent from my iPhone