Do Not Judge The Ways Of God Poem by Mohammad Younus

Do Not Judge the Ways of God—
The calamities that descend upon nations,
whether summoned by nature's untamed hand
or birthed from the tempests of humanity,
are not for us to name
as verdicts of the divine.
To claim knowledge of God's intent
is to claim wings we do not possess,
to rise above a horizon
that was never ours to cross.

The earth groans beneath the weight
of wounds we neither see nor comprehend,
yet our response should be
a balm of compassion,
a whisper of prayer—
not the cold edge of judgment.

When we witness the trembling earth,
the howling storm,
the ravages of war,
our hearts should kneel,
surrendering to prayers for mercy.
How can we dare to rejoice
in the weeping of others
and still claim fidelity
to a God of boundless compassion?

To look upon California's flames
or Gaza's cries of anguish
and call them mere consequences
is to sever the thread of empathy,
to blind oneself
to the infinite weave
of the divine tapestry.

If those who cast such judgments
are asked why the innocent—
the sparrows, the lambs,
the bees who hum their simple prayers—
are swallowed by suffering,
their words would crumble.
For calamity knows no creed,
no human measure of justice.
It is a mystery,
a realm of God's design
that stretches far beyond
the reach of our frail understanding.

The Quran reminds us
of the veil over our sight:
"And they ask you about the soul.
Say, ‘The soul is of the affair of my Lord,
and of knowledge you have been given
but little.'"
How, then, can we presume
to weigh divine mercy and wrath
on the trembling scales of mortal reason?

The suffering of Palestine,
the trials of California,
call us to the same altar:
to kneel in prayer,
to lift trembling hands in solace,
to act with a kindness
that echoes eternity.
If we cannot find within ourselves
the strength to meet pain with love,
then we betray the breath of our creation,
the sacred essence
entrusted to us by God.

To judge God's ways
is to unweave the fabric of faith.
It is not for us to comprehend all;
it is for us to trust.
Turn the gaze inward,
to the wilderness of our own hearts,
to the refining fires of humility.

Leave the mysteries to the One
who orchestrates all things—
who scatters the stars across the night,
who humbles the mountains with time,
and who whispers life into the silent void.
In that surrender,
we might find our humanity again,
a fragile thread that binds us
to each other,
to the earth,
and to God.

MyKoul