Poem on the auspicious day of Mab'ath font sizedecrease font size increase font size
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Here we present you a tribute in verse to the Prophet by Iran’s English language poet, Dr. Hassan Najafi:
Not in pageant robes nor wreathed in glittering gold,
Mohammad is Prophet of God in plain, simple mold.
The truth of his Mission, the beams of his decorum infuse
His words guide at once and charm even those who refuse.
The Creator Himself knows whom to choose
Mohammad he found a gem of the richest hues.
The suns emblaze in the galaxy of his person
On earth his mold, while his light from heaven.
Mercy it was if he graced with prophetic image
Brought the Book to be his miracle in every age,
Your bright wisdom taught the art
How to quell the rebels of the heart,
Let mankind on your voice attend
In it is a guide, a father, a friend.
Stand fast and let the tyrant see
That fortitude is victory.
For the guidance of this strayed mankind
God this hallowed work to him has designed.
Like a captain anxious of ship to shore,
With patience many a year you bore.
With lodestar eyes that love the ground
Such your paces, splendidly humble and profound,
Your form benign, O Prophet I swear
Wherever you, the garb of love is there.
From East to West, beyond oceans, and cliffs afar
The march of your mission is constant without war.
Your mission would reach fulfillment with the twain
The Book of God and your Ahl al-Bayt, the Thaqalayn,
See! Your words’ tuneful echoes still languish;
Mute?! No, never to Saqifa’s voice of anguish,
Like a high arch your patience stood
Your towering mind did mind the good.
Here the Prophet retires from his toils to relax
In the House of his daughter heal his wounds with wax,
A time there was before the Prophethood began;
Every patch of land maintained its man.
Spite and revenge spread its wholesome store
By sword got what life required – blood and no more.
Their best companions: simple and easy bread,
Their best riches: ignorance and breathing blood.
Such far flowing blood sought a kinder shore
The sword went blunt, the brunt the Prophet bore.
Love meant love to charm the silent hour
A precious divine bounty blest its power.
The Qur'anic Verses started shooting the pensive ears
The prayers in solitude were irrigated by nightly tears.
The rabbles’ rage, the angry steel
The Prophet taught in Faith’s fortitude to conceal.
For the wealth of climes the Arabs roam
To pillage abroad, purchase to pillage at home.
Of the roughs, the rough life
He regulated the pace of life.
Who imagined even its notion?
Scattered tribes one day become a nation.
The Prophet did what they wanted him to do:
A great miracle indeed, the moon divided into two.
He is the Prophet, as in the fast in the present;
His Eternal Miracle is the Qur'an, none its equivalent.
