A beautiful poem written by a close friend of mine entitled:
NOT THE PETALS, JUST THE THORNS.
How can you confuse me for a saint
When I’m but a heavy-hearted sinner
How can you think I’m pious when
My soul starves and I watch her grow thinner
My soul was God’s light
But now she has none left in her
How can you call me religious when
My soul’s died and I’m her killer
This beard I grow, the tasbeeh I hold
Is but a feeble attempt at resuscitating my soul
Don’t praise me for it
Don’t put pride in my heart
For even one atom’s worth of it
Can make the sincerity depart.
I’m not a saint
I’m not even close
You see me as the petals when
I’m but the thorns on the delusive rose
For my sake, don’t assume I’m of the pious.
Don’t paint an angel from the model of a sinner.
The outer layer you see is not what counts
What’s real is, no doubt, the inner.
This foul, corrupting diseased heart of mine needs not undeserving praise
I need pity, a mentor, anything to help my ailing self change his ways.
I am no one. Understand that and don’t assume otherwise
And till that savior come, together, let’s mourn my soul’s demise.”
– Mujahid Azfar