Man Among Us

Great was the sorrow in the City of Light, as Medina is now called. The Companions rebuked each other for weeping, but wept themselves. “Not for him do I weep,” said Umm Ayman, when questioned about her tears. “Know I not that he hath gone to that which is better for him than this world? But I weep for the tidings of Heaven which have been cut off from us.” It was indeed as if a great door had been closed. Yet they remembered that he had said: “What have I to do with this world? I and this world are as a rider and a tree beneath which he taketh shelter. Then he goeth on his way, and leaveth it behind him.” He had said this that they, each one of them, might say it of themselves; and if the door had now closed, it would be open for the faithful at death. They still had in their ears the sound of his saying: “I go before you, and I am your witness. Your tryst with me is at the Pool.” Having delievered this message in this world, he had gone to fulfil it in the Hereafter, where he would continue to be, for them and for others, but withouth the limitations of life on earth, the Key of Mercy, the Key of Paradise, the Spirit of Truth, and the Happiness of God.

 

The passage above is taken from Martin Lings’ Muhammad, and refers to the aftermath of the death of the Prophet, peace be upon him. It reminded me of a poem about the Prophet that I love:

 

Man Among Us
by Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore

Muhammad whose genealogical tree went right straight back to Adam,
who said he was a prophet when Adam was between water and clay –
how can we properly praise him, surrounded as we are by madmen
who think they are sane and saviors, but who shrink from the light of day?

Muhammad, who at six was an orphan, and whose darkness was removed by angels,
who entered the valleys and date palms burst into fruit above him –
how can we possibly taste that quality of his wisdom
when oceans of plastic silence fill our ears with their deafening din?

Muhammad, who grew to be trustworthy, even his enemies trusted him,
who waited for three days on a corner to pay back a debt he owed someone –
how can such honor be followed, in a world so ethically stifled,
when the very foundations of trust have been laughed into mud and ruin?

Muhammad who stood on the mountaintop and saw the sky fill with angels
but distrusted such visions as raving and was afraid his mind had snapped –
how can we see such stillness in the pool of his heart so thunderstruck
when our own streets are hallucinations like savage animals trapped?

Muhammad who let the Truth lead him, and his moon-like light filled the tents
of the people whose hearts were empty but open as sky,
how can our people be touched by the stature of such a being
when most of them are full of sickness and most of them want to die?

Muhammad whose talk was like mountain streams clearly crossing rocks
and splashing into pools of clarity where we could finally see our light –
how can this thick time know him? The doorways are filled with ghosts,
the dumb are leading the eloquent, the leaders are fearful of insight!

Muhammad who went through the heavens on the back of the lightningbolt mule
and whose gaze was steady and true face to face with the Face of the One –
how can mechanical thinking or the heart like a clock face in ice
begin to glimpse this other world with its other moon and sun?

Muhammad who led the armies with nothing but banners and trust
against mercantile idol-subscribers with the weapons and wealth of kings –
how can simplicity make sense to us, so overpowered by the magic
of High Technology’s sorcery which clots up our senses with “things?”

Muhammad whose victory just humbled him more than he was before
so that thousands finally accepted the worship of Allah alone –
is it the same situation now as then for us, hard-hearted people asleep
who’d rather sit in a stupor and worship bits of wood or stone?

Muhammad whose Gate-Opening crashed the iceberg rock right open
to let us enter a world where actual events shed light,
how to sit or go through a doorway, drink water or lie down to sleep,
how to face absolute Oneness without losing balance from fright.

Muhammad, peace of Allah be upon you, Prophet and Messenger of Light,
the figure you made among people put love in their hearts for the Truth –
how can the graveyard society we live in possibly hear your heartbeat
when their drunken hearts drink darkness sold at the tyrant’s corner booth?

O Prophet, O man among us, O light that goes ahead,
who gave out the last coin left to you when you lay on your first deathbed –
how can such stark reality reach into us when the air is so filled with lead
and such mention of life only bores the snoring multitudes of the dead?

O Light of the human touch in everything, Praiser and Praiseworthy in one,
we are naked before Allah at last, and we need your enlightening sun!