Wednesday, June 18, 2008


The Night Before Eid
(adapted from Clement Clarke Moore's A night before Christmas)

'Twas the night before Eid, when all through the house
Only Daadima was scuttling around in her yellowed beige blouse;
The musallahs were kept neatly next to the front door,
Lord knows those mats they put out down don’t protect you from the hard eid gah floor;

The girls were all tucked in, with mendhi on their palm,
the little boys were dreaming of killing sheep at the farm;
The burfee was ready, and so was the soap,to get rid of that sheep smell in a day… or so we hope

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
a jamaat from ladysmith were making our imaan their matter.
Away to the door I ran with my might,
To shut it quickly and switch off the light.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the top
a scuttle, a scurry and then a big drop .

As I reached for my gun, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Abdul Malik came with a bound.
He was dressed all in white, with a big bushy beard,
And his clothes were all messed with curry stains that smeared;
A large miswaak in his mouth, frayed and wet,
so that he looked like a Viking smoking a wooden cigarette.
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
No sign of a moustache – there was nothing to grow

He was chubby and plump, a portly sized dude,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of my mood;
He pulled out a book, perhaps a classic by Dahl?
Who was I kidding, we all knew it was the Fazaail Amaal

I appreciated what they were doing but now was not the time
So I hastily turned them out, without a good reason or rhyme
But I heard him exclaim, resentfully as he left

May Allah give you hidayat, because verily you are bereft

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