The opener of what was closed
opens me up
In a London flat with beloveds-
listening to qasa’id and
passing cars, crashing through puddles
visiting the righteous and
committing to get right
in my own life.

The hype in my potential is ripe.
I need only to stand tall
inside my 5ft frame
and remain steadfast
repeating His names.
Ya Latif Ya Kafy Ya Rahman Ya Wadud
Ya Ghafur Ya Samee’ Ya Shafee’ Ya Qudoos
Ya Malik Ya Salaam Ya ‘Aziz Ya Haqq
Ya Haqq Ya Haqq Ya Shaheeeeeed Ya Hayy
Ya Awwal Ya Tawwab Ya Wahid Ya Ahad Ya Noor!
There is no me
I swear it by You.
You know you
and I know no me.
You You You
Hu Hu Hu
Anta Ya Allah
I whisper into my pillow
the secrets of my sorrow
the losses and gains of
gnosis and not knowing
Pressed palms to face
closing prayers of London longing
with the praise of the Prophet
the completion
of creation
the jewel of perfection

Love overflows
in the cup called dunya
Love overflows in the love called Sunnah
love overcomes the one called mona
beyond names and naming
the Namer.
taming the torrents of this rapture

go slowly my sweet
breathe easy my beloved
swim softly and surrender
let the water take me under…
drowning in the depths of this deep-
eyes open –
hoping i’ll only sink sooner.

London is lovely-
in the whirl of singing cities-
turning out tunes like
Rabbuna Allah Allah Allah!
above pubs and clubs
in Leicester Square-
doing the work of the world
in a little room full of
hearts dancing in the Presence of God.

I love London.
and the heat of its heart.
I love London for opening
what was closed…
in the way of the Opener
of what was closed.

Upon him be prayers, praise and peace!


The words my broken heart wrote:

I tried not to write this.
I tried so hard not to write this.
Denial of destruction
that daemon haunting me.
Denial of death
that devil on tv.

I tried so hard
but I’m writing this-
it’s coming from this womb-
giving birth
giving life
giving lives
still births
to this death.

I am giving in to this
giving up to this
I am being this.
I am this destruction.
I am this desperation
I am martyr
made insane with rage
clenched between my knuckles and fingers
grinding teeth – bearing into a fist
slamming full force into freedom.

I will tear open the hours of time
between milliseconds and minutes
between milk and malt liquor
between barely alive and barzakh
between physics and broken psyches
between deciding to drown in God and martyrdom

I will tear open heaven for the floods of my family
as they flee from the 7imma of Hama into heaven with their himma in Him.

I am the body of my people-
torn apart
like rag doll
mostly rag
tossed out
like my people and our story-
where is the world
how are you watching
as we fall through the strainer of this dictator straight into our graves,
being shaken out of life by a monster whose name would sear my tongue to say
They bury our bloodied bodies and when there is no more land to dig
they burn us deep into this living land.

We will not quiet down
we will not stand still.
even when burned to ash and smoke-
we will send signals into sky
prayers like gun powder in the power of The Powerful
we fight for honor
with God given valor
under this 3 starred banner

For the babies. their mothers.
my brothers.
my sisters.
my ancestors.
their spirits dwell inside me
inside this dimashqiya
and the road to damascus
is drowning in rubble and blood.
I will climb the shrapnel mountains
to be with you.
I will swim the blood channel to
stand among you.

I am with you
I am with you
I am you.

the victory of God is near.
I pray
may the victory of God be near
I don’t know how my belly can bear to swell with any more
adopted orphans…
Victory- come close
so I can whisper my prayer in your ear
hear me now
carry my Midani men in your heart
raise the dar3awi dream –
be Homs’s friend
be Hama’s healing
be Halab’s lover
hold Idlib high in hand
victory, carry our flag
I said-
my balad
my kabad.
I cringe each time one of us falls
a piece of my spirit ascends to heaven
with every cry of Allahu Akbar.

My soul is trying to leave my body
with the ascension of every one of the martyred.
My heart beats coincide with the last breath
of the martyred.

They are all dead or gone-
or dead and gone-
and so I volunteer as voice-

Pray for us. Pray.

We are with you. by you. in you. By God- we are you.

ma3akum. ma3akum. ma3akum. fiddinye walakhra.
ni7na ma3akum.


Ya Habibi :::: New Poem

Ya Habibi ::: Ya Tabibi from Mona Haydar on Vimeo.

Infinite peace, prayers and praise be upon the Prophet of God, Muhammad!

Full Text:

By the glorious morning light
and the night when it is still-

Cast away by men,
comforted by God
was this man of God.

Commanded to read when he could not read
Commanded to speak when he’d rather retreat
“Qul!” God commanded and speak he did.

Shaken by the force with which revelation came.
Painful and sweet upon him it rained.
It fell from the lips of the angel
The words of God- so urgent like danger.
Consistent this revelation came,
and Gabriel became his friend’s name.
Secretly he spoke this message
in the safe darkness at the house of Arqam.
Slowly grew the beat of tawhid’s drum.
In pain through sweat he kept his composure.
Through the threats he had true gnosis and closure.
Nothing could shake him-
nothing could move him.
Offers to put sun and moon in hands of the one
whose brightness they were molded after….
this begs for laughter.
“Cover me. Hold me” he said to his beloved,
for he knew what was to come.
“Zammiluni Dathiruni”
she knew the solid faith he was built from.
With Lady Khadija he found sweet tender solace.
With Abu Bakr he found fraternity that was flawless.
He came to remedy Quraysh and the world of lawlessness and forgetfulness/
Remember Allah often.
Remember Allah while you stand.
Remember Allah when you sit on this aya that is land.
Remember him while you lay.
Remember Him in every way.
With your limbs, in your heart-
let nothing from this tear you apart.
sprinting into Jennat-AlFirdawsi
Ana jaleesu man thakarani…
I am with the one who remembers me..
This was the message of Muhammad.

I am a simple soul.
Slaving, striving to turn this heart back from coal into gold.
Muhammad is alive in this heart.
He dwells in the praise of him that is art.
Mosaic coming together for God’s pleasure.
Arrangements orchestrated by Muhammad-
the noble craftsman of hearts.
He saw past pieces-
saw collaborative unity.
Unity in diversity-
not in a stifling uniformity.
Red next to purple and pink.
All shades of rays of sun-
Ayas to make people think.
Easing people into easy fikr.
Unmasking releasing beautiful latent thikr
Like how he chose his inner circle-
guided by how maybe red can compliment purple.

This is an ode-
An epistle to my apostle:

You are the medicine that was never bitter.
You are the remedy that was never better.
Ya tabibi ya habibi
Ya dawa’i ya shifaa’i
Ya anisi ya unsi
Ya qudwati ya uswati
Ya Rasuli

My dearest one,
God is curing me of every malady.
You are the remedy.
Upon you are the always accepted salah.
I bear witness that you are indeed the messenger of Allah.
You live on in my heart and in my head.
And that is why
I call out
AlMadad AlMadad
AlMadad ya Sayyidi ya Muhammad!



While the world is at war
we sleep soundly in america
far in land of the free
home of the brave.
when syrians starve
and freedom is all their bellies crave.
it is every free person’s duty
to bring freedom’s beauty
to every seeking bit of soil
why then do we merely watch syria toil
and claim to be bringers of freedom…

but only if you have oil…

your paradisiacal shorelines
and ambitious infrastructure
never had a chance
your president made sure
to keep your beauty impure
so he would be the only one
who would ever want you
the only one who could ever
rape you.
he kept you ugly, and in the dark
so that no one else would want you.
so that one one would even want to help you.

My Sweet Syria. Land of the Coming of Christ.
I wish you would come now
for the anti christ has come to shore.
they call him bashar
i call him naffar

I call on ALLAH in the face of this modern day pharaoh
and i’m callin out this false idol

ya wailak ya Naffar
3am ti2til likbar wizghar
ya wa7sh
ya qatil alatfal-

Allahumma ya qahhar
ya 3aziz ya jabbar
3alayka bi bashhar
3alayka bi hadhal naffar
hadhal dhalim YA sattar
ustur 3ala baladna
irfa3 3anha

Bashar the butcher,
Cant wait for the day your name comes true
cant wait for the day our brave lions eat you
cant wait for those day glad tidings accrue
the day our bravehearts will prove to you
that you really are a fool for not believing you are already through

dignity would be that i don’t address you
because i am a lady but let me put it plainly
because today is the day we all knew would come
today is the day that you pigs are through
today is the day we oust you.
today is the day freedom reigns true
today is the day the hypocrites lose
today is the day we choose to refuse any more abuse
today is the day the civilian turns his mind to martyrdom
rather than live another day in your unjust kingdom
today is the day he reached the end of my fuse
today is the day you made sure he had nothing left to lose

yes you-

That’s your dead brother’s lady
pregnant with the baby of the man who murdered him
800 raped in homs alone
the worlds silence condones these atrocities
death and destruction in every city
this isn’t a syrian issue
this is human
this is i want to hold you human
bless you warm you kiss you
wipe your hurt away with your sister human tissue.
little boys tortured and raped
littles girls running for turkish borders, enemy lines, suicide
anything to escape
while russia and china patrol the gates
sure to wrap everyone up in their red tape
no US
no UN
so every little wound is fatal

the child cries out
aroo7 li meen
wi 2ool ya meen yinsifni minnak
to whom shall i go?
to whom shall i complain to?
when my father is dead at my doorstep
and my mother has been enslaved for sex.
and i cry out ohh who will give me my justice from you?
Who will gather my fragmented heart
who will help me when I fall apart?
Who will turn my father’s spilled blood into art?
who will tell this story from the start?
who will embrace my message and do their part?
You are my hope, my joy
I am just a little boy
childhood they have destroyed
so now i am a man of the revolution
but in these small hands i have no solution
i have only tears to wash away my sister’s hurt
with only more hurt
all my sisters and brothers
fallen fighting for freedom and honor
giving everything fighting harder
giving their lives so that i might have the chance
to stand taller than they could in life
so that i wouldn’t be stifled by oppression
i am orphaned for freedom
she has become my mother
she is my warm my will my survival skill.
hope in her is all i have.
my mother khansaa said
what good is it to raise a child
who will not stand up for what is right?
courage in great stock
men like mountains
in spite of geo political grid lock
Syria’s soil
wet with the souls of martyrs
Cousins in dar3a-
you were the first dam3a
that fell from this sama
that opened the sky and prophetic flood
noah and moses
floods and pharoahs
graves and roses.
spears and arrows
deep and desperate-
my midan
your time is now.
15 thousand dead
fifty five thousand detained.
this is raw. yes. this is real yes.
heart sinking when we see the bombs and the bruises.
the blood and the babies. Body bags. raving mad.
seeing red. what is left to be said. support syria. support freedom.
Pray. Allah Sooriya Hurriya o bas.
bes ya 2elbi bes.


bare knuckle knocking

i watch 
at the door
You leave open 
just enough
for me to see-
You are dervish 
Your dance
dizzies me-
i forget how
to breathe-
Your spirit
dances in 
my consciousness-
remembrance of You
is fluid, cyclical
like the skirt
that spins-
i am at Your feet
bare knuckle knocking
begging to be
let in.