Revelation’s Keeper

He lost his father before he spoke,
Then lost his grandfather, another stroke.
An orphan, a child, with no gold, no throne
But the Lord of the Throne called him His own.

He knelt beside his mother’s head,
Still far too young to grieve the dead.
He buried his sons with breaking breath,
And loved through grief, not rage at death.

When his beloved uncle fell to spears,
He held his breath and hid his tears.
When ‘Aisha cried from slander’s sting,
He bore it all, yet said nothing.

And when his chest was closing tight,
Allah revealed: ‘We expanded it, made it light.’
‘With hardship comes ease,’ again He said
His Lord was with him through every dread

He’d mend his shoes, sweep the floor,
He answered knocks, opened the door.
He joked with children, shared his food,
He walked with widows through the crude.

He wept for Hamza on blood-soaked sand,
Yet still forgave with trembling hand.
His tooth was lost, his face struck deep,
But still he climbed that rocky steep.

They laughed in silk, their plates piled high
He tied two stones and looked to the sky.
He forgave the killer who stained his past
What kind of heart can hold love that vast?

He freed Bilal, and kissed his face,
While empires burned with tribal disgrace.
He rose when Fatima entered the room,
The world in war, his eyes in bloom.

And I, so flawed, caught in my screen,
With filters and noise where souls aren’t clean
I see his name dragged through the dust,
And feel in my bones a rising disgust.

If you mock him, I don’t stay still
My silence breaks, my chest can’t chill.
I won’t explain. I won’t debate.
I guard his name with love and hate.

Yes—hate for those who twist his grace,
Who spit his name and hide their face. I’d
cut the tongue that dares to stain The man
who walked through fire and rain.

Because he wept for me before my birth,
Knew I’d be weak, yet saw my worth.
He wept in sujood, his forehead low,
While I chase pixels that barely glow.

He’s the one I dream to meet,
In dusty sandals, on a Madinah street.
Not in palaces, not on a throne
But where tears and mercy are overgrown.

He loved this Ummah more than breath,
He’ll plead for us even after death.
When fear will make the prophets part,
He’ll still hold us within his heart.

So send your peace where honor lies,
Through bloody lands and burning skies
Through Gaza’s graves and Syria’s screams,
Through shattered Uyghur midnight dreams.
And let them know: we’re not ashamed.
His love still flows, untamed, unblamed.
And if I live, let me live this vow:
To never let his name fall down.

Muhammadصلى الله عليه وسلم —my Prophet, my pride,
The shepherd, the leader, the ocean-wide.
Not just light, but bruised and true,
Still patient, still kind through and through.
May my tears fall for what he bore,
And may I meet him… at Heaven’s door.

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Photo by Ayse Bek on Unsplash