Poetry
-
Yusra Dahri, Tilford I imagine Noah’s son On his treacherous mountain walk Climbing, craving, clinging to rock Until his hands are ripped up and raw. The old part of me, desperate to be strong Can almost hear his thoughts Shaking his head at his father Not trusting him at all: (Why get on a wooden
-
Sameen Rashid Chaudhary, London I stand tall, elegant and graceful. The highest point, but not boastful Rooted in earth, my head held up high Climb my ladder, reach for the sky The lighthouse of the city sea Here, to guide you back to me Each one with a singular summit Part of the skyline,
-
Tooba Khokhar, Cambridge I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils… I still remember encountering this poem for the first time, as many of us will have done, in an age its poet deems “apparelled in
-
Tooba Khokhar, Cambridge Once upon a time, a poet of the British Isles remarked “the flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly”. He wrote in praise of a beauty that was hidden, a charm that was veiled and a loveliness that sought no advertisement. A flower whose fragrance was all the more sweeter and
-
Tooba Khokhar, Cambridge Lovers share a sacred decree – to seek the Beloved Rumi, ‘One Whisper of the Beloved’ Each man has his own Paradise, woven from dreams and fantasies personal to him. Each mind paints a different picture of the abode of bliss. Within the Islamic tradition however, the true ‘lover’ accepts no Paradise
Voice of British Muslim Women 