Hello Friends,
It is Ramadan, that holy month of the year in which many Muslims feel most connected to Allah, our creator. As I wake up everyday to eat, fast, and pray, I cannot help but think of my future as a queer Muslim, and as a queer Pakistani.
It is a hard thing to do; to reconcile religion and sexuality, especially in Islam, when so many people think that it is inherently antiqueer. But I’ve been noticing lately that there really is a profound satisfaction in praying, and in being connected to my people through prayer. So in this month of Ramadan, take this journey with me; hold my hand as I take you through what I have been feeling in regards to my culture and religion these past few weeks.
نماز, To Pray:
There comes an age
in almost every Man’s life
where they realize
there is something sacred
In prayer.
Satisfaction,
Fortification,
Honour,
what more do we want
Other than a purpose?
what more could I want?
from the time of my birth
I have always wanted
I would sit on my Father’s lap
and take his keys into my small
fragile hands.
My first words,
“More”
and my last word
will be Enough.
What more could I want?
than to relish each stride
Of my sunkissed legs?
to perish neatly,
In a world of my design.
But Allah made me
With honeygold eyes
And gifted me my nose
passed down from those before
It was in his image I was created
moulded from mud by his haggard hands
So it makes sense
that I inherited his sins
When the cold dust settles
after the grand day has come to pass
What will he make of me?
something bold,
something which Reflects.
Oh Allah, is it your mighty hand I crave?
My blood runs
because my people
Shed theirs
My blood runs
because I am my Ancestor’s heir
I carry the same crown of black hair
their commanding brows
Hooked nose and golden features
How could I betray them so?
when they breathed for me,
Fought for me,
taught me to carry my culture
with the same honour
That a camel carries his master?
How could I be so queer?
Every year on the anniversary of our Nation’s birth,
My Mother would sit me down and hold me to her breast
and she would tell me stories
Of the brave
Handsome
Muslim
Men and Women who had fought for us.
had fought to better a world they never saw.
Brave Islamic warriors
Strategic and headstrong
Courage and prayer their main weapon
But my Mother,
does not do that anymore.
It used to make me angry
I would don my petulant suit of armour
and duel everyone who dared share a glance
salt would fill my wounds
but now all that occupies them now
Is sorrow
Sometimes I feel a connection in silent acts.
the way I wash my face,
Oil my hair,
a motion preformed
by so many others.
I sit and think
would these streets be this empty
In the place from where I fled?
Are the markets of Karachi
just as lonely?
but now I feel him
there is a grandeur of nature
that even the most pessimistic cannot ignore
Vast plains and snow-capped mountains
Are as omnipotent
As the arms of the creator
So now I arise
In the deadpool of night
from my infamous slumber
my skin ashen
eyes tired
I look to the glorious چاند
because the sun would stain me
and there I realize
That Allah
Is merciful
Surely, if he made me this way,
It cannot have been a mistake
If Allah has made me gay,
who am I to repent,
To act as if I am waiting for a saviour?
Who am I to waste my ambition
my god-given gifts,
the Mashallah of aunties
spoiling in my room?
Nay
I will live my life
With honour and pride
I will take my Family name
I will take my Family’s nose
And carry it onto the battlefield
And die a temptless death
My Name,
ذو الفقار
The Name of the Prophet’s sword
The Name which means justice,
And to lead.
I will be like the Men
In my Mother’s stories
I will pray.
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