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    Fellowship Feature - The Black Mother

    "The Storyteller" - Thierry Lamare

    ❝ ​I am the Black girl that crossed the dark sea
    Carrying in my body the seed of the Free
    Now home on Native land
    I am the woman who worked on the field
    Bringing the cotton and the cane to yield 
    I am the one who laboured as a slave
    Beaten and mistreated for the work that I gave
    Children sold away from me, husband auctioned off, mamas voided too
    No safety, no love, no respect was I due
    A prey to white violence, a slave to white lust
    No value, low-priced
    Back then I sucked salt and bit the dust
    Four hundred years deep in the South
    But God put a song and a prayer in my mouth 
    God put a dream like a steel drum in my soul
    Freedom gave fire to this body turned cold
    Now, through my children, I'm watching the seed grow,
    Post up like the Fruit,
    Now, through my children, I'm hitting the goal.
    Realize child the blessings denied to me
    I couldn't read then, I couldn't write 
    I had nothing back then, not even the night
    Some days the road was hot with sun
    But I had to keep on till my work was done
    I had to keep on! No stopping for me--
    I was the seed of the coming Free
    I nourished and nursed the dream, the struggle 
    That nothing can smother 
    Deep in my breast-- 
    The Black mother 
    I had only one hope then, but now through you,
    Black children of today, my wildest dreams must come true
    All you dark children in the world today out there,
    Remember my blood, my sweat, my tears 
    Remember my years, heavy with sorrow-
    And make of those years a torch for tomorrow.
    Make of my past a road to the light,
    A revolutionary path
    Out of the darkness, the ignorance, the night. 
    *
    Written by Zaakirah Rose
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    Historical Spotlight - A Hajj Letter from Malcolm X

    Picture

    Malcolm X has his head shaved as part of the Hajj

    In April of 1964, Malcolm X left the United States on his first extended trip aboard.  He visited Egypt, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia, Nigeria, Ghana,  Liberia, Senegal, Morocco and Algeria.

    He made the pilgrimage or hajj to the Holy city of Makkah that every Muslim seeks to complete, which entitled him to the use of "El Hajj" in his name and he became known in the Muslim world as El Hajj Malik El Shabazz.
    The Hajj solidified his journey towards traditional Islam and embracing a more inclusive and universal practice. It was a transformative experience that fundamentally shifted his worldview. The following excerpts are taken from letters written from abroad.
    Jedda, Saudi Arabia 
    April 20, 1964

        Never have I witnessed such sincere hospitality and the overwhelming spirit of true brotherhood as is practiced by the people of all colors and races here in this ancient holy land, the home of Abraham, Muhammad and all the other prophets of the Holy Scriptures. For the past week I have been utterly speechless and spellbound by the graciouness I see displayed all around me by people of all colors.

         Last night, April 19, I was blessed to visit the Holy City of Makkah, and complete the "Omra" part of my pilgrimage. Allah willing, I shall leave for Mina tomorrow, April 21, and be back in Mecca to say my prayers from Mt. Arafat on Tuesday, April 22. Mina is about twenty miles from Mecca.

         Last night I made my seven circuits around the Kaaba, led by a young Mutawif named Muhammad. I drank water from the well of Zam Zam, and then ran back and forth seven times between the hills of Mt. Al-Safa and Al-Marwah.

         There were tens of thousands of pilgrims from all over the world. They were of all colors, from blue-eyed blonds to black-skinned Africans, but were all participating in the same ritual, displaying a spirit of unity and brotherhood that my experiences in America had led me to believe could never exist between the white and non-white. 
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    Fellowship Feature - Dreams

    Dreams are often indications from beyond this place
    Where life plays out confined in time n space
    Intersecting with the mind yet flourishing from beyond thought
    A tale told without restraint meanings found yet at times lost
    Ever consider the entirety of That where they're from
    Just look at The Eternal Energy pouring forth from the sun
    This Fountain never falters and will never dry
    It's the What for all to notice - not the How or Why
    Dreams. Peaceful realities amongst this here show and prop
    Have you ever absorbed the Ultimate Reality of the thought
    Absolute is only One Source - Grand above all you hold dear
    Open yourself to This warmth and absorb truly without fear
    *
    From the Author
    Assalamu alaikum. I am 48 years old and I'm going through this life and its blessings with challenges looking to solidify and ground myself with good company insha Allah. I've sent this in because my Lord gifted me this blessing and I hope to give and receive through this connection with the Sakina Literary Society of the Arts.
    - Noorjahan Shaikh
    Would you like to publish your work with us? 
    Submit your work for consideration - we are accepting all forms of creative expression!
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    Resilience

    ​'Our story didn't begin in chains'
    Brother Malcolm reminded.
    Remember when we were free to just be?
    Be comfortable in the skin we're in? 
    Where our chests were just as expansive as baobab trees?
    Where free traders and dusty foot philosophers
    threaded red earth paths of knowledge 
    Seeking the truths we hold?
    Even held on to across the Seas?
    Where village aunties kept up tradition
    In colorful head scarves made educated guesses
    That healing was never done in isolation
    and understood that womanhood was the best hood to live in?
    Where children's classrooms were filled with wooden writing boards 
    Not only blackboards 
    To illustrate the long history of Islam and literacy in Africa?
    As lessons completed, boards were washed clean for reuse
    And the ink of young scholars flowed through the Savannah?
    Where the Sheikh and the mureed convened
    under the shade of palms from the heated sun beams
    sitting knees bent dripped in clothes without seams?

    Knowledge is a garden, if it isn't cultivated, you can't harvest it, 
    the proverb says.
    Remember when they had us cultivating and harvesting everything else but
     in foreign, unwelcoming places and in cruel and unusual ways?
    'But my hand was made strong by the hand of the Almighty'
    Brother Bob put forward 
    ​And as we forward in this generation triumphantly 
    'We are going to emancipate ourselves from mental slavery
    because while others might free the body, none but ourselves can free the mind '
    A lion name Marcus Mosiah authored
     So free your mind and be unconfined.

    Go ahead and tell your story
    Freely, in all your strength and glory
    The mind is a terrible thing to waste they said
    so don't waste time with those unworthy. 
    Know your worth and charge taxes on every gem you drop
    Pick up where the ancestors left off and don't you stop.
    You are Black history and future in the making 
    Through the joy and the pain 
    Your spirit is steady manifesting 
    The plant that God favours grows even without rain

    Resilience is a blessing
    Written by Zaakirah Rose
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    The Pigeon Man of Damascus

    The brilliant blue skies above the ancient city of Damascus are suddenly filled with small black dots moving in formation, left to right, in circles or in waves.

    ​It was a hypnotic sight that I would watch like a TV show in the late afternoon from my apartment window. The pigeon coop was on the rooftop of the apartment building across from the beautiful 13th century Mosque of Muzaffar, commonly known as Jami' al-Hanabila. The ancient white minaret adorned the brilliant blue Damascus sky and as that bright sunlight hit the white stone, the effect was transcendent.