Sparrow on the Prophet's Tomb
O sparrow perched on a corner of the
cheeping above thousands of bowed heads murmuring,
whose glassy chirps hit high notes of
purity under the eaves in this
Mosque of God's Messenger
that resides in two territories of space -
this world seen, the next world
in this shadow existence of his signal presence among us
visitors from even farther away than
China pass by to greet him,
and in your little feathered body is the swooping freedom to
come and go all day to visit him
speeding from a tall beam
across choruses of hearts
gratefully weeping or tranquil with an ecstatic
just to be here.
Sparrow, what is your name? Is it "Constant Devotion?"
Is it "I Want To Be Near?" "Praiseworthy Friend?"
Is your name "Generations To Come?"
You fluff your breast and preen your wing
where men cannot go, you dart into the
dark of the tomb for deeper conversation.
We would all go with you if we could,
squeeze our tiny feathery bodies through the
gold grille work, past the
guards in their pea green uniforms,
to sit on a corner of the Prophet's tomb in the
dark to hear him
return the salutations of
such outpouring awed adorations of men and women,
passing by that undying presence, trying to
sneak a peak through the golden porthole,
hearts boiling with overwhelming emotions.
You land and sing.
You cock your head.
You watch us from your high perch with a
Sparrow, you are more than a sparrow.
You are a continent of sparrows.
You are The Minister of Internal Affairs of all
You are the song that laces the margins of the deep message,
the message of God's Magnificence, the
thunder of tremendous shock, earthquake and
heaven crash of the
stark glare of God's Might.
You trill and fly,
your song like a tiny tune from paradise,
delicate celesta of celestial light.
The mosque in Medina expands
all the way to the
ends of the earth.
Forget about walls, where
marble pillars mark
the mosque's original dimensions,
the Prophet's precincts now
encompass our houses and the
invisible courtyards of our
love, interconnected by
sparrow-song, perched on a
singing to Timbouctou,
Medina song bird
heard around the
Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore is a Muslim poet who has published many poetry books and organized poetry reading festivals. Born in 1940 in Oakland, California his first book of poems was published in 1964. He became a Muslim in 1970 and travelled extensively around Europe and North Africa. Although he stopped writing for ten years he continues writing Islamic and spiritual poetry.
Gentle breeze of Jannah that satisfies the heart,
Constantly quenching our thirst.
Daniel Servant of Hay,
You have certainly drank from the Hawzeh Kawsar.
Thank you for sharing it with us.