The Echo Of Prophets Poem by Mohammad Younus

The prophets come not to invent, but to remind,
Of mercy, justice, love, and truths enshrined.
They bear no burdens, nor atone for sin,
Nor mediate the souls that dwell within.
No nirvana grant, nor liberation's key—
These are the tales of men, not prophecy.

They bring a faith both simple and profound,
A guiding light where truth and grace are found.
The divisions, rituals, dogmas we see,
Are human layers, not divinity.
Their message soars above the worldly fray:
One God, one soul, one final Judgment Day.

They call to minds the covenant of old,
When souls stood pure, their destinies foretold.
"O human, rise! Your station is divine,
Why bow to idols carved by hands of mine?
Each deed is writ, each word is etched in stone,
And you shall stand before the Throne alone."

The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) spoke,
In Quran's verses, wisdom he evoked.
A Bedouin asked of faith, and he replied,
With words from God, a truth both deep and wide:
"True righteousness is not in east or west,
But in the heart that seeks the Highest Quest.
Belief in God, the Last Day, angels, books,
In prophets' paths, in justice, in the looks
Of orphans, widows, travelers in need,
In charity, in prayer, in righteous deed.
In patience through adversity and pain,
In promises upheld, in love's pure chain.
These are the marks of those who truly see,
The essence of faith's vast eternity."

Once asked if Hajj should yearly be performed,
The Prophet's face with gentle warning warmed:
"If I say yes, it binds you as a law."
He sought to ease, not burden, hearts in awe.
In Farewell Hajj, when errors were confessed,
He smiled and said, "Your Hajj is still blessed."
For faith is not a chain, but wings to soar,
A path to peace, not weights to make hearts sore.

No structured lessons, no exegesis penned,
He lived the Word, and let its light extend.
He knew the world would change, new minds would grow,
Yet three great truths would ever brightly glow:
One God, one soul, one life beyond the veil—
These anchors hold, though human efforts fail.
Prayer, fasting, Hajj, and Zakat's call,
Remain the core, though details may be small.

He shaped a people rough, yet pure of heart,
Who rose above the self, played their part.
In battle's heat, a dying man would give
His last drop of water so another might live.
Can intellect alone such grace impart?
Or philosophy refine the human heart?

A tale is told of one who wisdom taught,
Whose student dreamed of prophethood's high thought.
"If you claimed it, " the student oft would say,
"The world would follow you without delay."
One night, the sage pretended deep to sleep,
While student's faith its silent watch did keep.
At dawn, he arose and called the sage for prayers,
The sage arose and softly spoke:
"You called me to the prayer, and forgot,
Your plea to me to claim my being a prophet.
You see, the Prophet's glow is a divine light.
Centuries pass, yet still their words remain,
A call that stirs the soul, a sacred chain.
No one can claim their role, their voice, their place,
For they are God's eternal gift of grace."

The prophets' work is done, yet still they guide,
Their echoes in the hearts of those who stride
Toward truth, toward love, toward the Divine,
Their legacy a star that will not decline.

— MyKoul