From Kayria

Bismillah,

My dear Beloved Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon you,

The journey of writing to you has been nourishing and heart opening. The first time I attempted to write to you I felt in my heart that it was an odd thing to do. Everytime I tried to write down a sentence I would not find the words because I felt that whatever I wanted to say you already knew. You were able to see what was inside my heart though physically there seemed to be no logic to that, but spiritually it made sense very clearly. God Almighty gave you the vision of seeing into our souls. Though I still wanted to attempt to write to you again, I loved that feeling of knowing that you already knew what I wanted to say to you. It affirmed in me the belief that nothing could stop your love from reaching me so long as I was open to receiving it. Your love was not bound by space, time or any wordly dimension. It existed in the realm of the souls.

To be honest this is not what I intended to write to you about. My intention for this letter was to write about how I imagined my meeting with you in paradise to be like. I will share with you how I imagine the scene of when we finally reach the gates of the glorious gardens that we have been promised by Allah swt.

Bismillah.

As the gates opened I felt a wave of beautiful, peaceful and joyful warmth rush through me, not because of what was now only steps ahead of us but because you were holding my hand. As we walked to our neighbourhood I admired the dazzling beauty of paradise from the reflection in your eyes as I felt no need to look anywhere else. We arrived to our neighborhood and entered the shared garden that connected our homes. Every time I opened my mouth to say something, you would turn to me and gave me your full attention as if all the wondrous beauty around us had disappeared and it was just you and me. The beauty of your character, which was so much more beautiful than what we knew about you in the previous life, would melt my heart and leave me with no words to say. When I regained my ability to speak I couldn’t get past the words “I love you”. When I uttered the first syllable of the phrase I was thinking I would follow it with an explanation of how much you meant to me. But by the time I reached the last syllable I felt like I had to say it again and then eventually I’d feel like I haven’t said it enough. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you ya rassul ullah”

As we walked to our neighbourhood I admired the dazzling beauty of paradise from the reflection in your eyes as I felt no need to look anywhere else. We arrived to our neighborhood and entered the shared garden that connected our homes. Every time I opened my mouth to say something, you would turn to me and gave me your full attention as if all the wondrous beauty around us had disappeared and it was just you and me. The beauty of your character, which was so much more beautiful than what we knew about you in the previous life, would melt my heart and leave me with no words to say. When I regained my ability to speak I couldn’t get past the words “I love you”. When I uttered the first syllable of the phrase I was thinking I would follow it with an explanation of how much you meant to me. But by the time I reached the last syllable I felt like I had to say it again and then eventually I’d feel like I haven’t said it enough. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you ya rassul ullah”

We arrived to our neighborhood and entered the shared garden that connected our homes. Every time I opened my mouth to say something, you would turn to me and gave me your full attention as if all the wondrous beauty around us had disappeared and it was just you and me. The beauty of your character, which was so much more beautiful than what we knew about you in the previous life, would melt my heart and leave me with no words to say. When I regained my ability to speak I couldn’t get past the words “I love you”. When I uttered the first syllable of the phrase I was thinking I would follow it with an explanation of how much you meant to me. But by the time I reached the last syllable I felt like I had to say it again and then eventually I’d feel like I haven’t said it enough. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you ya rassul ullah”

Alhamdulilah for the gift of being able to write to you. Alhamdulilah. I truly cannot wait to be reunited with you in paradise oh Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon you. Please visit me in my dreams many times. May God’s peace and blessings be upon you.

With Love,

Kayria

From Anna

Ya Rasul Allah!

Forgive me!

Forgive my arrogance! My ignorance!

Forgive me for staying behind

Hiding in my comfort-zone

For being such a coward.

Out of shame of myself

I try to keep out of your gaze

To disappear in the crowd

Knowing your honest, caring gaze

Will require of me a deeper sincerity

And commitment

To stop excuse myself

To step out of myself

To step up and become a better version of myself

Full of self-doubt

I hold myself back

I held myself back

Ya Rasul Allah forgive me! For my hiding! For not meeting your kind and caring gaze! For not meeting up to carry on your noble heritage, hiding behind bad excuses. But if I am not worthy of being called one of your followers, why do I even call myself a muslim?! Ya Rasul Allah forgive me! Ya Allah forgive me…

I ask Allah, The Most Merciful, Who know all my flaws, and Who keep pouring His Rahma over me, and His creation nevertheless, I ask Him to give me the courage to meet your gaze from now

To search for it

To hang on to it

To honour you properly

And to carry your noble heritage with grace and sincerity!  

May you forgive me

May you look at me with kindness as I stumble ahead

To become of your sincere followers, with the mercy and help of Allah, the Most Generous.

From Aya

Dear beloved Prophet of Allah… peace be upon  you!

It has been a long time I gave  you news of my delightfully ever-changing world. I would love your insight and feedback about my perspectives, so that  it may be enriched with yours as well.

Well, my noble friend, it is my first winter being spent outside of Canada. And what a winter it’s kicked off to so far! We are nearing the end of December and I have yet to see  a single snowflake. In a way, I am relieved to be away  from months and months of icy snow. And yet, it makes me value it all the more; over here, people pray for a little bit of rain. By the grace of God, earlier this week,  it poured like a waterfall for a full day and night.

There is a sort of enchantment that  creeps up on you the longer you stay  and live here. Seven months have already flown by… that’s more than  half the year! The new  few will be a whirlwind, I am hopefully sure.

Dear Prophet – I feel so honored to be in the land of Israa and Mi’raj.  I feel like, somehow, I am privileged to be here. Yes! Despite the ugly, unjust, ongoing occupation, and despite many folks’ protesting here  that  I made a crazy decision by choosing to try living in Hebron — despite it all,

it is a privilege indeed. Suffice for me that  you and other  esteemed prophets once left behind your footprints here.

God’s  land is vast. This journey across different lands has given me confidence that

I can adapt anywhere I want to, so long that  I put my mind to it. It’s also validated for myself that  adapting to different circumstances need not mean  changing or limiting who I am, nor what I firmly  believe it.

Just as His earth is vast, so I have found  are minds. In Palestine, like anywhere else, you will find limited minds… but also, and more thrillingly, you can find vast  minds bursting with creativity and hope.  You will also find a variety of hearts; those which are sadly constricted and dull…and, much more common, hearts full of wonder and love of life, even in spite of death.

Dear precious Prophet! Here I am, rambling on about findings I am certain you have long known before me in the most  noble of minds and hearts. How I wish I could experience all I am experiencing with you.

Until next time, o’ Beloved.

Take care,

Aya

From Zeba

Letter to the beloved

You are the first and You are last CHOSEN ONE

It was YOU who is the reason for our existence

It was YOU who told us the meaning of LOVE

We don’t know for how long OUR LORD saw YOu and YOU saw HIM

It was HIS love for YOU that HE Wanted to show us Who is HIS BELOVED and Why we have been Created

It was YOU who want us to know Who our LORD is,how LOVING HE IS

It’s a love story which starts from HIM to YOU encompassing

YOU Were given treasures of both worlds but you chose to sacrifice it just for the sake of our sins to be forgiven By our Merciful LORD

You came with words(my ummati,my ummati,my ummati)

You spent all your life saying (my ummati,my ummati,my ummati)

And veiled from this world saying (my ummati,my ummati,my ummati)

Till the day of judgement you will be saying (my ummati,my ummati,my ummati)

Your intercession will set all us free

Your love will take us to our ULTIMATE goal

Oh our beloved Sayyidina MUHAMMAD

We sacrifice everything for you

No one can love us the way YOU do…

YOU ARE THE ONLY BELOVED because YOU ARE THE BELOVED of OUR LORD

May peace and blessings be upon you

From Assma

Dear Beloved 

As a little girl I dreamt of you. I didn’t see your marvellous face, but I touched your blessed feet. I had been looking for you in the dead of the night, looking for your resting place where you pray alive and well. Just as I had finally found you and was dusting the sand off your blessed feet, I woke up back into slumber – into a world where I wasn’t unearthing graves looking for you, your footstep, your legacy and your arc. 

Tonight i found your footsteps etched in the sand so I put my toes against the marks and started walking behind you, walking with you, after all, time is the only space between us. On this long walk i grew tired, but more hopeful as i begin to feel that what’s before me may be a shorter distance than what’s behind me. Until a familiar path strikes me as being the beginning. But I walk on, vigilantly digging my feet into your footsteps, to be sure that this time I don’t lose my way. And then again I am back on a familiar path, where the beginning not the end is on the horizon. So I pause and wonder if I’ve been misled, chasing away my demons, the sophists who speak of false prophets. Why have I been going in circles? Oh beloved is it you? Is this your path or are those my own footsteps in the sand? We ask for guidance to the straight path and here i stand circling around myself and my doubts… so i start running, still in your footsteps or mine, it’s the path of least resistance… and again, but now faster I’m back to the beginning, though the beginning is seeming further along. Then i look up to the sky, take a deep breathe, and suddenly gasp. This is not a circle, it’s a path, to the locus, the centre. The One. 

Your way is the motion to the One. The golden ratio. The logarithmic spiral. 

Your way is inscribed all over nature, on the trees, the galaxies, in a shell on a shore, and at the tip of a 5-foot fern! The cosmos sings your praise!

Thank you for revealing so many secrets to me, and mankind. 

With all my love 

crowned in yours, 

 

Assma

From Ameena

Dear Beloved of God,

Maybe some people will find it strange to write to you on a computer but they tried their best to teach me about you, and that good part deep in my heart says that it will be accepted just as well as the other ones, written by loving and reverent hand on painstakingly sourced paper. How those letters must look! Trembling, shaking script in crooked lines, smudged in rivers of salt water. How I wish I could feel what they do, what I should feel. But something inside of me has grown hard and abrasive, like irritated human skin, like a scab to protect the wound, like the inside of my mouth did against the sharp wires of my braces. How shameful to use these non-beautiful, non-loving words in front of you! The soft part underneath the hardness roils and cries but I can’t take the hardness away. The pain has ruined it, and I used to hide away from talking to you because of it, but after all I’ve forgotten about you, I remember that I never did remember you turning anyone away. They told me that people swore to kill you and they hurt the ones you loved—and after that, they were allowed to attain a rank no one in my time ever could. I never wanted to kill you, and I was invited to talk to you, and how can someone refuse this type of invitation?

I feel so much shame. Shame at the non-eloquence of this letter, shame at the flat and withdrawn tone, shame that I don’t know enough about you to write this letter the way it should be written. Shame that even though my love belongs to you, it’s missing. So much shame because I don’t have the relationship with you that you deserve from me. Shame that I’ve forgotten, shame that I’m not good enough, shame, shame, shame, so much shame. I’m so sorry for this letter, I’m sorry for my life, I’m sorry for everything. I am so, so sorry.

But you invited me to talk to you and so you must want to talk to me. I’m so, so, so sorry that it’s not enough, but I thought that this time, instead of turning away, I might reach out, and maybe it’ll be a small step in the right direction.

They’ve been telling me about you ever since I was born, and maybe that good part of me has been retaining each and every bit, shaking it once to look at it, holding it up to the light, and then folding it away safely in the treasure chest for me to use one day. In this way, I’ve always found that I automatically do things to clear the way down the path, even if I never actually go down it. Maybe it’s time.

I used to stress out about going down the path but I suppose that no one goes down it themselves, they’re taken down. Maybe I’m being taken down the path right now. How glorious it is not to have to worry about it.

I wish I could tell you everything that is bothering me, but I’m just so full of despair and shame. My love has been misplaced. I know that it is in your tradition to love but there is a hierarchy of different types of love and mine is all askew. So much so that I’ve turned away from the whole structure, incapacitated by terrible wounds, torn away into strips that scream and weep and beg for healing.

I’ve never tasted anything as terrible, as devastating, yet as beautiful and sweet as this. I’m so scared and worried and I feel so alone. It’s holding me back and making me forget everything that is important. In fact, I don’t think I’ve thought about anything truly important in three whole years.

I wish I could tell you everything, but all the pain, the longing, the torture, and hopes have been buried too deep. They are embedded now, embedded in the hardness that grew in desperation to protect me from the pain. I know this isn’t right. I know I need to try harder, leave myself open, spend myself completely. But I just am so desperate to escape the pain—even if I know it is not really going to work. I have been defeated and broken.

I have never known anything like you. I’ve never known such purity and love, and I am sure there is absolutely nothing like it on the face of the Earth. I have never seen anything or anyone else truly unite the people as you do, from different backgrounds, different languages, complete strangers, all united in you. I can’t describe it. No words are enough, no words in of themselves, not only their meanings. Nothing on the face of this Earth can describe it. But everyone who has experienced it knows it, and if they were to see these words, they would understand.

I’ve never known lovers like your lovers. No celebrity or rock star can bring people to them like you do. Their whole insane, rowdy crowds love people they do not know and who do not know them, or else they are enemies of them. For you come people of all ages dressed in their very best, people who have longed for you their whole lives and weep for you at night, and jaded, lost youth, who have come even though they do not understand—all they know is to come.

I’ve never known anything like you.

I hope you will take care of me, and take care of the ones I love with all my heart. I have always loved dramatic and special things, and the reality of Hima Al-Mustafa has always rung something deep. It is real, I have seen it. Sometimes, in massive group of people, its mark is the only thing they share in common. People of all different skin colours, ages, backgrounds, and places of living, some from across the globe, mass together with but a single explanation: you.

I try to be like you as much as I can, and love what you loved. Even if it just means picking pens up off the floor, or the colour green. We have always been taught not to belittle the little things, so maybe they are massive steps down the road, not just the clearing of fallen boughs in preparation.

I am so sorry I was not able to finish 273 salawat each day of your month for you. I really did intend to, and it was going so well, as well. But then my French exam arrived and I was so scared because I had skipped so many classes due to the unbearable hurt. After that, the days kept accumulating, and then I lost track, then I lost the pink finger counter I used to use. But inshallah I will make them up for you, and continue doing 273 salawat each day until God eliminates my suffering on this account of love that I am currently suffering unbearably from.

It’s so hard to be patient. It’s so hard to breathe, to live, to even move under the weight of love. I am amazed that the pure pain did not just end my life long before this. I cannot imagine how your true lovers must feel.

There are so many things I do not understand. There are so many things that break my heart. Feeling lonely, rejected, or out of place. Seeing suffering, or even disappointment. My heart breaks in half because the hard part isn’t hard enough to protect it and it screams out in unbearable pain. I wish someone would comfort me. I wish I had someone to talk to.

Every day, I pray for my situation to be resolved. I know that God must love him too, and so must yourself, or God would not allow so many praises of you to be sent in his name. God would not allow his name to be mentioned in such blessed gatherings. His birthday this year fell in your very own blessed month; the anniversary of our meeting fell exactly on the beautiful, hopeful, joyous day of the 12th of Rabi Al-Awwal. If God did not love him as well, then He would not have allowed a small and regular donation for the sake of spreading you to the world, be set up in his name, to celebrate his day of birth, within your beloved month of birth. This gives me hope, and I pray every day to God, using your own name, that He rectify the affairs between myself and the young man I love.

I am grateful for this chance to speak with you. Let the ones that mocked you for being unlettered know that you read all the languages of the world, that you understand any tongue that speaks to you. No, but let them know that you hear and understand a language they believe no one can—the language of thought and feeling!

I hope that one day you will come to see me in my sleep. I hope that one day this will be the way it should be.

Until then, dear Beloved of God, I love you so much.

From a weak lover

From Umair

Why is my yearn so strong tonight?

Reminiscing Thy sacred city

Has brought tears to my eyes

And hollowness to my heart!

 

Standing before Thee

Truly was a great honour,

The utterance of poetry

So beautiful yet so difficult!

 

The constant thought of Thee

Has driven me insane,

O how we rejoiced upon arrival

But cried rivers upon departure!

 

Indeed I am patient of love

My cure lies in Thy chamber,

Love is a cruel and painful friend

For it can heal but also wound!

 

Let us travel again God willing

For I fear I may not return,

If death decides to take me

O Beloved, return to me!

From Maryam K

Dear My Prophet

I’m so happy to have you, to know you and to love you.

Thank you for being my Prophet.

Thank you for loving me more than any other created being.

People will always fail me, it is in their nature – except you oh Prophet for you are flawless and perfect, the perfect creation.

How blessed you are, how much I love you, words cannot express.

I wish I could love you more than my limited heart can – I want my soul to yearn for you with all of its might and life. I want to love you more than anyone else has ever loved anyone before.

I love you Prophet – for so many reasons and in so many ways. I love you with my tears, I love you with my heart, I love you through my fears. I love you in high gears.

I wish I could see you to experience your love for me in person. I want to see your skin and glow, your smile. I want to be with you when I cry. I want you to comfort me, like the grandfather I never had.

I wish everyone who ever loved me could love me as deeply as you do.

I love you so much Oh Prophet. I miss you so much even though I never met you. I can’t explain this feeling and love.

I don’t love you because of how much Allah swt loves you. I love you because of how much you loved and cared for us, people you don’t even know. People who can barely return your love. Why do you love us so much oh Prophet. Thank you for loving us though we aren’t worthy many of the times. It is from Allah swt that you love us so much. We should realize this more.

Those of us who feel broken and depressed, small and belittled, oppressed and hurt and torn into pieces – we should allow ourselves to be healed through your unending deep love for our souls. We are hurt ya Rasulullah – please never leave us. Please ask Allah for our forgiveness. Please help us be closer to you and to celebrate you and make you happy.

Please ask Allah for help in loving you more than we love anyone in the universe and please love us, love us, love us more.

We love you.