# TAQWACORE WEBZINE

### The Nest

Posted by neodandi on January 18, 2010 · Leave a Comment

The Nest

Nested in the abode of never-ending

happiness, in the resting place of

coming to the place of no existence,

They had no form.

Beginning from end to start, they are

the limitless ending mirage,

calling out from a place of nowhere.

Some have called them infidels, others

have called them the faithful, but if

you as me, I will say they are the

Taqwacores.

You will not find them in a feverishly

wondering state of without glory of

divine wake moving in their veins from

heart to heart, becoming heedlessly

praying and footlessly singing the

praising Allahu arkbar.

Look among them there, you will find

no good or evil, in fact, there is no

pronouncement from them that carries

this molten plastic waste, no, instead,

they are drunk with the fruitless

yearning of Renunciation’s drinking

cup, for the naming of the name

they call out to the Self naming Self.

So cast away the staring eyes that

stubborn heart calls you to bare at the

crossroad of saving grace. I am found

dumb struck at the sight of this

tradition obliterating saving tradition.

If this is your state, close your eyes

and open them again, you find them

beyond the tradition of traditions.

You can call them castaways, what

does it matter? From their lips there

are no names that could be found to

come from the mirage of their

existence worthy of saying

Taqwacore.

So they made themselves to appear as

the name.

What?

Did you forget?

Did you remember that they are

the heart that the sweetheart marvels

over in the courtyard of merciful

breath?

They are at the place where you said

Yes.

That place where the faces say before

they are born.

That place called forever more.

Look there,

And how did you find them there at

the crossroad of the soul of Adam?

You know, those who are

circumambulating the circumference

“His eyes say yea, ‘in the heaven of

your glance brought me to the tower

of I am the drop in the apple of the

eye.” It is the mystic bound of calling

cards, the rig element, seen

descending from their heaven to your

earth and your earth to their heaven

making it all come to be known as “This

is the unseen world of beauty that

molding nature gave.” Call them what

you like,

it doesn’t matter,

they are the Taqwacores with

sweetheart of their daily bread, it is

the mystic-ship on it’s way to the

bewitching hidden joy.

You, yes you, come along with them to

the enamored city of rightful balance.

Why are you protesting? And what is

this strange language that you speak

at this place of moving rays?

O, fair child of beauty, it is for your

sake that the Taqwacores entered the

tavern of lovers, the place where soulful

birds nest.

Look now, when you enter into the

rest house of no existence, following

the lovers of the abode, the

Taqwacores. You will find that no

form is the limit of the limitless

wonderers. They are feverishly beginning

and ending in endlessly becoming.

Sometimes they could be found in the

desert of rays dancing in the mirage,

Forsaking the habit of yesterday gone

by while being the headless footless

dwellers in the light upon light.

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Filed under Editorial, Poetry, Short Story, Taqwa, The Taqwacores · Tagged with Michael Muhammad Knight, Neodandi, Neoillusion, Nest, Niilartey De Osu, Ovidian, taqwacore

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