• Published on

    Fellowship Feature - His Beloved, My Master

    Picture

    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?
  • Published on

    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
  • Published on

    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
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