Whirlwind Poem by Assayouti Jalaludeen Shuaib

What time have you
To mend the leaking pot?
What strength have you
To join the loosing thread?
What herb have you
To cure your greedy minds?

Any revolt to your rosary
Which counts on Camel fur?
Any with your Musallah?
On it, beseech is bequest,
Why have you gone berserk?

No wonder!
You mount the pulpit
And bewilder the laymen,
You have your testicles
Held in the hands of common men.

'We have witnessed what transpired
Between the moon and the sky'
Your superfluous arguments,
'The world rests on my hands,
My sweat cleanses the dirt
Of its morbid face,
My exhalation
Effaces its gorgeous look'
Says the sky.
'The Sun bowed to my feet,
I delve in to unveil
Your Charming look at night,
Far above the glitz of grandeur'
The moon replies.

What thirst have I of these?
What taste have I
In your tattle of tautology?

You are the heirs of the Noble,
The scraps of the Devout
Sallallahu ‘aleihi wasallam…..P.B.U.H

As of Royalty,
What plot have you with politics
Whose contingents lack polity,
No ounce of sense of probity,
What greed have you
To trade the pride of ancestry?
You've summoned the ache of contretemps.

Like a whirlwind in the mud
Anyone can have a splash,
But, the gifted-minds wipe the dirt
And turn to the gilt-edge end.