Black Locks Poem by Qyazzirah Syeikh Ariffin

You shot me on the heart, set me on fire,
The only rose of my fate, sweet musk-scented hair.

My enshrouding Sphere, you bestow abundantly,
Wings of the angel lay down for you on the way to the Lote -Tree.

The Station of Two-Bows Length, the highest peak of all,
You are the breath of the original nature, the cosmos lofty call.

You are the rain of mercy, and compassion from the Most Supreme,
You are the Master of Existence, prior even to Adam.

Oh the ocean of light, would your grace cascade from a mountain,
The myriads of hearts would each become a for you a crystal pool.

Black locks you must be called, oh the beloved,
I wonder if my cry can reach you, dull, enfeebled.

My troubles are far too many, and I myself possess no cures at all,
I spent summers in vain, and I am left in poverty in the fall.

Perhaps a hand will be extended, I thought, If I knock on your door,
Perhaps my master could find a cure for this sinner.

I am afraid to hear you say, ' Who is she',
Then, all abodes would become a dungeon for me.

You are a cure for troubles, let this heart burn,
Oh the Beloved of The Merciful, to ashes let it burn.

Oh Muhammad Saw.....................................................