Not The Petals, Just The Thorns

A beautiful poem written by a close friend of mine entitled:


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


3 thoughts on “Not The Petals, Just The Thorns

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