The Pen

The pen was commanded to write everything until the Day of Judgment. Eero and wrote, it wrote the Adam would be created in fashion by the hand of God, that he wouldn't have it paradise and be expelled. It wrote that no would build a ship that would deliver him and a few of those who believed in him to safety from a flood that would drown the height of mountains a row of a mother in fear, yo with unbelievable courage, placing her baby in a basket in a river and that baby growing under the watchful eye of his Maker to save his people from unspeakable horrors, it wrote that David would be a king have a son named Solomon that he would be carried by the wind make minions of the jinn and

that he would have a kingdom the life that the pen would not write for anyone after his dominion. It wrote of a miraculous birth under a date palm tree, a baby speaking to his mother's accusers, his first words were written, I am the slave of God, he gave me the book and made me a Prophet his name was written, Jesus, the son of Mary, and that he would be marked for death. And it was written everything that they would say about him. It wrote of a mighty army of elephants that kneeled, refusing to march forward no matter how much they're masters push them in a row of that army looking up towards the sky, and seeing a flock of peculiar birds on the horizon. It wrote of an orphan boy,

who became a shepherd, who became a merchant who became a prophet. His name was Muhammad Sallallahu sallam, he wrote the names of his enemies, and he wrote the names of his frets, How blessed are they that their names be written by his erode of everyone who would come after them, poets and princes and sages and kings and tyrants and criminals and everyone in between. It wrote of incredible feats of his own map, thought that even Ziad entering a man that would capture its imagination for 1000 years, Salah had been a stone's throw away from Jerusalem, he met magma emerging from prison, the most famous man in the world. It wrote of incredible lows.

The accusation of Aisha the killing of Omar, the sacking of Baghdad 12 million dreams being shackled on ships traversing the Atlantic where they would be decreed to die with some dreams don't die, they transform into songs that are sung on the breaths of slaves who sing songs of kings from one generation to the next, until freedom rings erode of colonization in the world that would come to be a rotor of extraordinary courage. When selfishness arose out of the heaviest grief, and the lightest love, it wrote about benevolence and generosity, rage and sympathy, and everything in between it wrote, of my parents, who they would be and what they would be, and how they would meet and all of

their seats and it wrote my name and it did the same for me. So I neither long for days of past glory, nor fear, Days of Future loss, for all that is coming shall come to pass. Instead, my job is to be grateful upon blessings and patient upon hardship, and that I be in one state or the other until my story is through because the pen has been lifted and the ink has dried