A Minute, O Lord! A Sort Of Prayers based on the thoughts and teachings of Imam ‘Ali Ibn Abu Talib and Imam ‘Ali Ibn Husayn, Zayn al-Abidein Rendered in Free Style.

Thank You

O Allah, a word.

I want to thank You;

can You spare a minute,

or two, You don’t mind,

Do You?

You are not one of those

who like to be thanked but

graciously say: “Mention not”.

Anyway, I do feel obliged to say

How thankful I am To You, to You alone.

Thank You for giving me

Life on this beautiful earth;

And for the eyes to behold

All that is so wonderful, so exact,

so meticulously planned and

so very pleasing. Thanks for the ears,

Which hear;

So much that travels and vibrates

on the wingless, cooling, soothing air,

And for the nose that discerns

sweet smell from that which stinks.

And for the discretion

To refrain from poking it into matters

with which I am not concerned.

It is a long list, God,

Perhaps an endless one -

Do You have a minute,

Or two?

For the very sanity that inspires me

to thank You

is Your gift - and that deserves

A myriad thanks. And if I

Thank You for the wisdom You have granted

to thank You,

then the chain goes on for ever and ever.

Thanks a million

for the mouth and its residents,

the pink tongue and spotless teeth.

It is a strange yet useful slit,

connected with the temporal

and the sublime.

It tastes and chews and conveys

to my fathomless belly that

which is my sustenance.

And it speaks my mind,

gives an audible existence to my

silent thoughts.

It translates my feelings and my passions,

straight and undiluted,

if I am not a politician.

Some say that You are not there,

And others doubt; they say

if You were there, You would not care,

but the morning dew in its freshness,

like a droplet of tears from a shy bride.

The rising sun with all its glare,

and the full moon and its gradual decline,

the singing bird on the nearby branch,

the buds, the blossoms, the bush and pine,

the wild and mild animals around,

and my very existence with all its wonders,

Told Me You are there!

For this realization and recognition

that at times transcends

the limits of Intellect,

I Thank You.

What They Say

A minute more, O Allah,

for this is a confession.

Do you know how conscious I am,

and inquisitive about what they say?

What they say about me,

my thought, my work, my speech,

and my reactions. I deem it a challenge to

my pride and dignity, I confess

I am conceited, self-cantered, ego-centric

and selfish, and a coward.

Grant me, O Allah, the wisdom to discern,

And to speak and do, regardless of what they say –

That which is right and according to Your pleasure.

Grant me the courage - not to fight them for what they say, -

but to ignore them

so that the pilgrim’s progress is on,

free and liberated firm and unflinching,

Till at the feet of my Master,

You, I rest.

Parents And Parenthood

This is just a request, God.

Or call it a prayer.

Have You a minute,

or two, my God,

I want You to bless my parents

with all the good things

and what-have-You,

for their concern, kindness and love

shown to me

When I was tender and needed it most.

I was musing over

the helpless state in which

man is born. This again, is Your design.

small, tender and delicate;

little claws clutching nothing,

little legs kicking at nothing,

a head full of gray matter,

registering impressions,

but comprehending nothing.

Let me tell You, my Lord,

and this is in all earnest

there is no place as secure

as the nursing arm of the mother.

To me, now, it is a Paradise lost.

Father was the bread - winner,

never spared the rod,

never spoilt the child.

Under his strict but kind vigil

I grew up to regard him as my Ideal.

He showed me the ways

and taught me the ways -

preparing me to enter life,

which is not a bed of roses.

Some tell me that parents

must not be regarded so high.

It is a modern world –

where father and mother are our

mere friends, and then, later on, a burden.

They met and married and reproduced –

A natural outcome of lust and passion

I am. Am I? O God,

this is most perplexing.

Forgive me Lord,

but the appraisal seemed plausible,

and worse still, I found the parents

accepting the so-called modern trend.

Or have they resigned to what

they cannot change?

And I grew, and grew-

The sweet days of childhood

passed away like a dream

and then came adolescence.

Oh, those carefree days

when life was sweet and easy

and the Moon and the Stars

were my companions, in a world full of ecstasy

and expectations.

Then there was Youth and

I married and became a parent.

And brought into this world

a natural outcome of my lust

and Passion. My children.

O God, a minute, or may be two,

I promise, I will not digress.

But the lessons taught in Your

school come a hard way.

Suddenly, I realized that the small ones are mine,

And I am theirs.

They must respect me, my years,

my devotion, my sacrifice ....

And at the thought of their

indifference when they grow, I shuddered.

No wonder that in Your Book,

at several places,

parents are mentioned immediately

after Your Glorious name.

You have said:

“Your sustainer commands you to worship

None but Allah, and to be kind to your Parents”

No doubt, O Allah

You are the Sustainer,

and through You,

parents are my sustainers, providers,

not for my physical needs alone,

but for the mental and the

spiritual needs.

Therefore, I pray –

and I will not take long,

my Lord bless them, please,

for their kindness, concern, love

shown to me.

Sajdah

You have a minute, O Allah?

or may be two?

I want to tell You

how very close to You

I feel when I prostrate myself before You

I speak of my own feelings,

else You are always close to me,

nearer than the jugular vein –

to use Your Own expression

in The Holy Qur’an.

I must unabashedly confess,

O God, -

and this is very important; that

I have seen men bow down

before fellow men.

Unthinkable of man to descend

so low from his heights;

But this, believe me, my Lord,

Is true.

They bend on their knees

before a King, a wealthy man,

an influential snob, a tyrant,

and sometimes a Priest.

They abase themselves before

all forms of Power. And there

is a lover who stoops to conquer.

They tell me it is in human being ingrained

to stoop low sometimes in hypocrisy

And at times in awe:

a preliminary to achieve an end.

Hypocrisy, a modern veneer of culture,

is out of question with You Who knows All.

For You have said, in the Holy Qur’an,

You know the eyes that deceive

and the secrets of the bosom.

And for the way Your Unseen Hand

guides and controls our destiny,

we stand in awe, and that You know.

Forgive me for the digression, my Lord,

but You are with me, I am sure, a minute or two,

I am coming to the point.

More than fear or favour,

I am aware of my dignity as a man,

standing highest on the rung of the ladder.

How can I bow down before those I govern?

Or before those who are

in one way or the other

as helpless as I am?

At your feet, I prostrate, myself, O Allah,

the embodiment of Power, the only Power,

The Omnipotent,

Who can do and undo,

all that I seek and desire.

In that moment of humility

before You, the Most High,

my heart is lifted,

my spirit elevated,

And I feel on top of the world.

This forehead that stands high,

Must bow down before He Who

Created, and none Other.

SAJDAH for ONE, and not everyone.

Qur’an

A minute or two

can You spare, O Allah?

I want to compliment You.

That Book of yours,

the Holy Qur’an

is undoubtedly Your masterpiece.

I was taught to read it

when I was young, thanks

to my parents,

and to my tutor,

serene, sober and methodical;

I can still remember his cane,

and the monotonous inculcations

I learnt to read,

and even committed the small

chapter to memory,

but never understood a word.

You know, my God,

it is in Arabic;

and Arabic is not my language.

Yet,

When I read Your Word

It stirred my emotions

the combination of sound that emerged

and the evident harmony=

showed that somewhere.

beyond my comprehension

lay an important meaning

And message.

Do not misunderstand me, GOD,

for I am not lodging any

complaint: no, not because

Your Book is in Arabic,

not at all.

It is a living language

spoken in various dialects,

colloquial and classic,

in many parts of the world.

And since the black gold has shown its glitter,

a paradox, my God, You will say,

but You know Your designs better

I am not digressing.

Coming to the point, my Lord,

The Arabs and the Arabic

became universally important

overnight.

No more is Arabic a language of

religion - to be looked down upon or

ignored - as it used to be,

by me and my like -

forgive my impertinence,

it is now a language of

commerce and industry.

And You made us all

of all sorts,

and it takes all sorts, You know.

Black and White, Brown and Yellow,

with different tones and tongues.

The Book was meant for

human beings,

And had to be in any one language.

Anyway.

So I learnt the language,

and pored over the

translations and the commentaries,

to understand when You spoke to me,

every time I read the Qur’an.

A minute more, or two, O Allah!

Let me compliment You

For the eloquence and an

inimitable style,

The lucid treatment to all

important subjects -

For the good tidings and the

warning -

For the enunciation of laws

governing human life;

What a comprehensive

Jurisprudence!

And when You relate the

events of the days gone by –

about the Prophets, their enemies

and friends,

Your descriptions and rendering

are so apt and pertinent that I feel

enraptured.

But somewhere between the lines,

a subtle hint here and there,

is dropped,

and takes me away, from it all,

to a new world which

transcends this temporal and transitional Existence.