Honoring the Prophet
You have occupied a space
in the western mind
for the heavy unfolding of
thirteen hundred years.
I wish I could describe
that space as a room
of such design and building
that it does honor to its
resident, that is replete
with the good will of his life,
that reflects the sacrifice
and the triumphs of his age.
But alas a believer who has
surrendered to God's will
and carries within his heart
the truth of the Prophet's being
will grieve at the contents
of that room: it is a space
of fears, doubts, ignorance,
even outright hatred. I would
refurnish this room in our minds
closer to the heart's truth.
It should be a room of radiance:
the greatest man displaying the greatest worship.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The hard truth for most is that there are no such things as prophets. It is bad enough that religion still is a thing in this day and age, but to devote your life with full belief and zeal to a myth of a man that rode a flying donkey, had talking feet and believed sperm came from your backbone is madness. Saudis kill people for witchcraft and for being atheists. I for one do not hate Muslims, I just detest all religion.