The doors of the Ka’aba shine
Where the hand of man has carved
Kalimaatullah
And mankind flocks to that blessed house
It is indeed Baitullah
Yet on these Western shores
Lives a shrine made of Noor
Baitun Noor
Ya Allah! In Holy Islamville!
Come see, oh Lovers
Come see, oh Friends
Come see, oh Doubters
The Noor does live within.
How did we arrive here, out of the cities?
How did we arrive here, from our wounded hearts?
How did we get here, though the ithn of our Nabi
Flying so gently on the wings of our Beloved Sultan.
Oh where, oh where is the vase of my heart?
It is sitting near the floor
In the shrine of Baitun Noor
As the rays of the sun of our Nabi Pak’s heart
Shone through the clear vessel
Changing and moving
And changing the forms
Of ism Allah, ism Muhammad, ism Hoo
All made of Noor
And as Allah ta’ala promises that you Ya Nabi, will make clean the hearts,
Wash mine in the vase
that is that house.
Where sits my heart.
Where sits my heart?
In the arms of my Nabi, under the beard of my Sheikh
In this holy most shrine of Allah.
Where once we cooked, but are now being prepared.
Where once we dreamt, but are now shown the reality.
Where once we laughed to make it through calamity…
Now we laugh in true love and joy!
For not far are we. Not far is our big family.
From life with Allah.
This shrine our threshold to the Holiest Realm,
To remember our Most High and Merciful Rabb
Constantly and without restraint.
The ism Allah’s hanging from the ceiling
Like the men, clement, patient and standing tall.
The roses even imitate the ladies who
Lean lovingly and longingly against the walls.
Oh! Oh, Baitun Noor
Your sweet scent I will miss
Of flowers sweet
And rain unseen
And ittar through the floor…
Where my Beloved Rasool stood
Oh! To rest my head in sajda once more.
(With love for the living Baitun Noor Shrine and all those, seen and unseen who pass through her blessed doors, from Noora Ahmad) |
Holy Khanqah 
