Nothing much to add
What else can I add to the extensive literature on you? Hundreds, thousands have written about you. One writes about your perfect character. One writes your life story. Another writes a poem, a qasidah, a prose. Imam al-Busairi has written whatever I would never even think of writing. Imam al-Jazuli has praised you with words I would never have dreamt of. Countless have dreamt of you and touched you and kissed your blessed hand. Countless others have come into contact with remnants of you – your cloak, your turban, your blessed hair.
In Tarim, people march through the streets when Rabiul Awal arrives. In Pakistan, qawwalis are sung in praise of you.In Madinah, lovers iktikaf in your mosque to soak in your presence. And here I am, unable to do all of these things.
What could I possibly offer the Beloved? I don’t march through the streets, celebrating the day you came to this Earth. I can’t write qasidahs to sing & share my joy. I can’t even follow in your footsteps in the little daily Sunnahs that you used to do and that millions have emulated. I don’t obey your teachings & I can’t be consistent in the few Sunnahs I’ve tried to adopt. I am heedless and sinful and broken. And yet, a gift is due to the one whose birthday is being celebrated. My measly salawat can’t be compared to those who conduct & attend maulids every night, or every week. My hands can’t play the duf or the kompang to accompany the lyrics sung by your lovers. My pocket hasn’t got enough to feed others to commemorate your blessed birth. I write poems and prose and still I can’t conjure up anything remotely poetic to dedicate to you.
All I have are these tears that roll tonight, and missing you has hijacked my heart completely. Accept this from me ya Rasulullah..
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