Fellowship Feature - His Beloved, My Master

Photo by Le Mucky on Unsplash

❝ I grew up going to Sunday school
Little girl with big eyes and a bigger hunger for God
Mouth so full of Arabic before I even knew what my tongue was capable of
Allāhumma ṣalli ’ala sayyidinā Muhammad
And that word — sayyidinā --
That master
Sat in my chest like a stone I was too scared to name

Because where I’m from,
Master was not a title of love
Master was not a title we gave willingly
Master was the whip that bent backs
Master was the auction block, the blood on the bark of southern trees
Master was the reason my last name ain’t the one God wrote for me

So how do I, a Black woman,
Descendant of the stolen and the unspoken,
Pray with the word master on my tongue and mean it with love?

I am not confused
I am confusion
I am not conflicted
I am the conflict given flesh and pulse and pulse and pulse--

But age will soften the corners of a thing
And God, in His mercy, will stretch your sight past the borders of your own wound
And with time, I learned
Not everything is as Black and White as old school cinema
Not every word means what history made it mean to us

Because Muhammad— ṣallallāhu ’alayhi wa sallam --
Was the only one who said “Ummati, ummati” when everyone else said “Nafsi, nafsi”
The only one who stood like a mountain in front of the Throne and asked for me
Me
A girl who still flinches when she hears the word master

And what an honor it is
To be counted among his nation
A nation so beloved that even Musa begged to be written amongst us
Even Musa — the one who split the sea with a staff — said, “Ya Rabb, let me stand with them.”
Imagine that

They say you will be raised with the ones you love
So I pray — no, I beg
Ya Allah, resurrect me with him
Not with these men we tie our souls to out of boredom and loneliness
Not with these temporary loves that taste like sugar on the tongue and rot in the stomach
But with the one who stood like a mountain in the face of God’s light
And did not turn away

We talk about being soul-tied to these niggas like it’s something holy
But if I could be soul-tied to anyone
Let it be the one who was light before light existed
Let it be the one whose name is written beside Yours above the Throne
Let it be the one who, even in death, is still being praised in a thousand tongues at every breath of every hour

Right now
Somewhere on this Earth
A baby is saying his name for the first time
An old man is whispering it with his last breath
A call to prayer is rising in a city I’ve never seen
And the muethin is stretching his voice on Muḥammadur Rasūlullāh like a bridge between heaven and soil

Right now
Somewhere
Someone loves him
And love without pause is a form of worship

He is Aḥmadun Muḥammad
He is the mercy that made mercy make sense
He is the master of the broken, the OG breaker of chains

So when I say sayyidinā now
I do not see the whip
I see the thowb of a man who wept for people he never met
I see the footsteps of someone who walked heavy but lived gentle
I see a hand raised on a Day when every prophet will step back but he will step forward

So Ya Allah
If You wrote that Adam was only sculpted from dust so that Muḥammad could one day walk the Earth
Then Ya Rabb, write me near him
In life, in death, in standing, in shade, in light
Make me of those who loved him without seeing him
So that he will know my name when the veils are lifted

I am not just reciting
I am remembering
I am not just saying his name
I am begging it to recognize me on that Day

Ya Allah
Make me among the ones
The ones You keep near Your Beloved
Make me among the ones
The ones You keep near Your Beloved 

​Ameen.❞

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Tariqah Abdul-Malik is a pre-law student and mother of one, and fluent in Arabic with two years of international experience in Saudi Arabia. She is also the oldest of ten kids. In her free time, she enjoys cooking, playing kickball, and writing poems. She is an active member of the community of the Atlanta Masjid of Al-Islam. ​​