The cold breeze,
Hits,
Workers in the rice paddies,
Pause,
And say alhumdulilah.
The eagle cries!
Circling on hot air columns,
butterflies flutter,
Delighting on buds,
Like saints savor ayats.
All of creation dancing,
Saying Al Wadud,
Love,
what my heart needs,
To crack open,
My chest yearns for dhikr,
Like the well longed for Yusuf (as)
Nowhere to go,
With baraka in delay
And Shaytan in haste,
I call on names of Allah,
And realize how many more I have yet to learn,
Knowing paradise is in the chest,
From saints,
Bestows patience.
—
Jack Whitacre lives in Boston and blends nature writing with the Islamic tradition and sciences.
