Until I See You

You're the best person I've ever known. Best friend I've never met. Your sincerity to me is blinding enough to completely canvass the world with drapes that read, respect, honor, love, protect, while creating a window for me to zoom in on the important things, but those are the things that I forget or neglect, I will do better. Your Ummah is fine, not because of me or mine or wounds that heal with time those would die for $1 sign but because of promises divine, so when we feel like we're at our worst, and our sadness would cause our hearts to burst, it feels like there are times when there are angels within our lines, or hovering over squares with chance of freedom in the air, and though

tyrants may step on our necks we smile, for history has always been on our side, yours is an ummah that simply does not die. I am sorry for my weakness. For every time I've been ashamed of your name, and as someone to call me mo for not knowing enough about you to defend you when they drew cartoons or accused you with the most heinous of accusations for not getting over my distaste of reading and waiting for Hollywood to put you on the big screen so I can know something about you, as a Steven Spielberg or Mel Gibson or Johnny Depp would somehow be able to recreate the twinkle in your eyes, or a beautiful betta sweat as it scaffolds on your forehead, frantically fighting gravity not

wanting to fall off your body. I keep thinking of seeing you.

And if you would smile at

the thought gives me goosebumps. You told me to meet you at the pool. So on that day, I hope and pray that I will see you through the crowd. There are no angels barricade me as I sprint at breakneck speed, I hope you recognize it's me I will crowd the companions to get access to your vision, I will obey my thirst by quenching it from your hand. So until that day, I will pray I will stand and I will pray as if my feet are holding the Earth from splitting. If I make it, I cry at the thought of seeing you. For I know the words that I used to read from books with all too thin pages will do no justice to your voice, your set your touch your face. My Messenger of Allah has always

existed between the curves and dots of the Arabic alphabet so Mohammed bin Abdullah in 3d, and whatever other dimensions the hereafter brings with it will be an overboard of senses. I will fall in love with your shadow, and will tell it that his description did not do justice. Tell my mother I show him how we heard her story of how you passed away between her chin and her chest over and over and over again. And it made us cry every single time. For we never suffered any disaster that was greater than what we suffered before our souls merge with flesh of entering an earth that was without you. Does the sky even recognize us anymore. And I will sit in the shade of your smile. And

we'll ask you your story directly from your mouth as we sip onset of severe ice cold and we'll be terribly embarrassed if you asked me for mine because I never did anything right other than loving you. And then if you let me I would love for a hug