WHY?
Sharifa al Khateeb
Why are the heartache and the pain
From those who did it in your name?
Why did the words not come
To stop the hand that sought to hurt and maim?
Why did her mind bury itself in fear and shame
Instead of staking to injustice her claim?
Where was her sick mother when the lights went out
Fighting blindly in that basement: tiny arms flailing about?
Again and again she cried for help but no one came
Incredulous eyes called her stories against authority: shame.
The helpless child cries still
When the world of power plans its kill.
So deep inside her psyche dove her soul
That after half a century she's still not sure of life's goal.
And all accomplishments seemed like dust and mold
Once her psyche forced the story to be told.
She is a walking wound that winds its way from day to day
Crippled, guilt-ridden and torn
Preventing her from even allowing herself to play.
The slightest word brings forth a flood of tears
And calls to mind the endless empty years.
When love seems wistful and so far away
Feeling that if worthy of love, it must be only
For a day. All her life she watched the joyful frolic in the sun
Knowing she was forbidden to have fun.
Why else would God forsake her every night
Allowing Satan's arms to violate her body and her right?
To cause her almost never to know Grace
Thinking the world could not see the shame she wore upon her face.
Dear God, you've taught us all Your
Names
Yet till this hour we've parroted them in vain
In all her work she fought against the Abaser
and Compeller
Seeking instead the Pardoner, the Preserver
and Protector
Not knowing that the Just, the Wise,
the Truth and Judge
Allowed her soul to be dragged through life's sludge...
Yet this same God, at fifty, let her know
The Reckoner, Eternal,
Witness may sometimes move slow
But Justice, God will bring to Light
To the Noble, Hidden
child God will, at last, give Life.
The all-Hearing, all-Powerful
was indeed Aware
Always Patient, the Ever-Lasting
provides care.
Yet her hurting heart can only offer prayers
To the Distresser, the Dishonorer,
and the Cause of Death
But perhaps, much later to the Forgiver
And so, Allah, I write this song to
You
Hoping You give the strength to carry me through
Confusion of my life, my loves, my dreams
The hollow in my soul that wakes in mid-stream
The lack of memory that holds so many fears
Monumental questions that overflow with tears...
They have no answers yet
I hope they will.
I'm waiting God, for You to give me my Just fill.
These are but 26 Names of your ninety nine
Help me, Oh God, with even these,
To feel You are Sublime! |
