The Wait
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I loved Iqbal’s “Complain” and “Answer.” I wanted to continue it in the context of being an American Muslim in the 21st century. I imagine the complaint against my generation is that we’ve forgotten the importance behind rituals and are losing our grip on our historical identity and what it means to be Muslim. I believe that identity is not limited to the Arabia of the 7th century.
In Iqbal’s “Complaint” the narrator focused on the glory of his ancestors and how wronged his generation has been for a lack of worldly success and status of the Muslim. My response doesn’t rely on our rich heritage and tradition. Call it the arrogance or the ignorance of my generation, but I’m used to my status as a minority. My concern is the lack of unity I see and the loss of focus I feel. With all the distractions and opportunities in the world, what am I supposed to devote my life to? Who am I supposed to lean on? Where is this great Muslim Ummah?
As I try to broaden my understanding of my community, why do the differences get emphasis over the similarities? Iqbal’s “Answer” talks about the believers as lazy people who expect to reap the rewards of their forefathers, while they busy themselves with worldly objects and forget to exercise their faith. And then they ask where their reward is. My response portrays the feeling of discombobulation from a different angle. We’re over worldly wealth. What do we want? To be happy. What do we get? Confusion. Ignorance is bliss, but we choose to open our eyes and fight for social justice in God’s name. Call us misguided as long as you’re willing to guide.
The Wait
I walk around in Nike’s, looking up at the sky
Don’t worry about tripping with you at my side.
Are you sad I check email each time I hear the beep
But often push prayers aside for meetings or sleep?
Why are grand gestures easier than the daily deed?
I’ll sacrifice in your name but forget the Quran to read.
Yet armed with your mercy I continue on my way
With big plans to eliminate poverty in Chile.
Perhaps I should aim closer, looking into my heart
You are the Creator. What good can I start?
What difference can your servants make that disasters won’t undo?
You have the power to destroy. What do you want us to do?
Build sand castles in your name for your sea to then sweep away?
After each wave of waste you give hope and send us on our way.
Of course we’re confused and struggling to find your light.
Equipped with your Word but which interpretation is right?
So caught up in trying to separate what’s right and what’s wrong
Can’t hear us using different languages to sing the same song.
Why did you give us different languages when one would have done?
Failed tests today but who knows the outcome in the long run?
Oh, that’s right. You know your beauty can never be captured fully.
But two tongues add a breadth of knowledge one could not capture solely.
So I try to listen past my prejudice when I hear the foreign word
With good intent as my translator, what truth have I heard?
Once again I’ll take it on good faith and add it to your bills.
Strangely, my trust in others heals as your growing tab fills.
I start translating, hoping for some profound answer.
Then I realize we’re all dance directors without dancers.
Foreign quests with the same desire to fulfill our production
But unsure of what you want to see, awaiting your instruction.
