My Eman, v. 2.0
by Gillette aka Hassan[uddin] Khaja
This is the version of the poem that I recited on April 21st, at the ISRU dinner.
i miss my eman
whenever i kill my heart, she beats me back to life with the qur'an
and drags me to the masjid, 'cause no one else wanted to call the adhaan
i always tell her that i miss her
but she complains that i only express my love with superficial "proud to be muslim" bumper stickers
i say, “i can't constantly feed you with dhikr
blood is thick, but my love for you is even thicker”
she asks why i run away from her quicker
than people who try to trick her creator
i insist that i don't hate her
but when i see the waiter come by,
"i gotta eat, i'll make up salah
i only see her five times a day during prayer
but i insist that i never disobey her
she asks who i want to be with, i say her
i like her towering high and stripped of all her baatil
but I still feed her with cheeseburgers
and she never seems to gain weight
at this rate, I’m gonna lose her to someone who actually wants faith
but she insists that “disbelief isn’t your fate
no matter how much the vultures of culture threaten you with rape
it’s never too late for a change of pace…”
then I just stop listening
she runs away again, but I chase her until I’m glistening with sweat
I apologize that I haven’t yet paid my debt to her
but I promised her the nicest furs in the world
and the most expensive pearls
but she’d rather i not look at girls
and ignore pseudo-muslims when they mock my beard and the way it curls up at the end
she tells me that at least i’m proud of her, everyone else flushes their eman
with their facial hair
i respond, “but i don’t care. i need a job. i don’t want to spend the rest of my life on welfare.”
she says, “who the hell cares if you draw your fair share of stares for the sake of your din
i told her, “how can i buy you expensive foods and an entertainment center with a big screen…”
she interrupted, “feed me with qiraa’ah
and declare your baraa’ah
from this worldly life
be a man and start making some friggin’ sacrifice!”
i said “would that suffice?”
she said, “like a poor desi man with his rice”
i thought i solved my strife, and she grew taller and stronger when found a wife
until my eyesight caught these women in the student center and i told my eman
, “maybe we need some time apart.”
that's how it usually starts
i hate the part when i blacken my heart
and she says "my lord is gonna be pissed.
soon, he's gonna send an angel to take away all of this.
death and destruction are the only women you'll ever kiss.
i'm a custom-made import sent by al-azeez
to protect what's between your jaws and your knees.
you'll need me if it's him you want to please.
so, you don't want me? fine! i'm gonna leave!"
she flew through the door, and i went after her, screaming "give me back my car keys!"
i saw her speed out of the driveway
i said to myself "who cares? i don't need her, i'll do things my way."
i took a look at my stuff and said, "we're fine how we are."
later, i wanted to go to the masjid, but i had no car.
"i'll just walk, it isn't far."
i needed to hurry as the sky was starting to darken
i left my house, and i saw my car, with a few minor markings
"she brought it back," i thought, "but she's terrible with parking."
the masjid harkened
i ran to the ablution area, to the sink to wash off the stink of working so hard to buy an overpriced mink ‘cause it made no sense to shrink from my obligations now that i’m here
and not shopping in london at debeer’s
or worrying so much about my career
or how many jewels there were in my wife’s ears
so i walked into the musalla
, and in the first row, who was right behind the imam,
saving a spot for me? my eman