KHADIJAH. The prose below is recorded today. It is a love prose. I was walking in a garden when someone showed me a star. Later he brought a book to me. In the book was the story of Khadijah, the first wife and in my humble estimation, the most beloved wife of Muhammad Prophet of God. The wife whom the Prophet loved and in whose lifetime the Prophet married no other. The wife whose voice was similar to her sister's, and such was the Prophet's love, his countenance changed and was in awe when he heard the late Khadijah in the voice of her sister outside the door, many years after the passing of his beloved Khadijah.
AZRAI'IL ANGEL OF DEATH. But it is also a love story about Azra'il, the Angel of Death. When he finally met his own death at the deathbed of a mortal, Muhammad the Beloved of God, Muhammad the Mercy of All Creation.
THE CHAPTER OF KHADIJAH AND THE ANGEL OF DEATH
I was a garden,
Then a gardener came and planted
The most beautiful and delicate seed
I have ever embraced in my earth,
Now, I am a garden of Muhammad.
I was a star,
Then an astronomer was guided to
Turn his telescope my way,
And for that brief moment in eternity,
I twinkled bright enough, thousands upon thousands
Of years ago, for him to see me.
And He named me the Star of Muhammad.
I was a book unwritten,
Then a hand took a pen
And the writer began to write.
And the working title he gave to me
Was the Book of Muhammad.
I was a beautiful woman of Mecca,
A chaste widow of a noble husband,
A merchant woman prosperous and famous
For baking the best bread in Mecca.
I saw him one day, and I lost myself to him
And he lost himself to me.
We were wed in a simple ceremony blessed by God,
Attended to by Angels and the line of Prophets -
As I became and shall always be
The Bride of Muhammad.
Azrai'il, Angel of Death
I am an Arch Angel feared by all,
I am Death and death is in my touch,
I end the good and bad dreams of all mankind.
Then one day I was ordered to take
The life of a man and I came upon him
Lying in his deathbed.
In his last breath he uttered the words three times,
“My people… my people… my people…”
And some have called me the Death of Muhammad.
But if you truly wish to know,
I have never come across a soul like Muhammad,
And on that fateful day, I, Azra’il,
Became not the Death of Muhammad.
Muhammad was the Death of me.
For I did not take his mortal life
Unaffected or unchanged.
And since Angels never change,
The Azrai’il of old must have perished
At the same moment when Muhammad passed away.
I died in his sweet countenance,
I died in his merciful gaze,
Which he bestowed even unto me,
The Angel of Death
The ender of lives,
The ravager of humanity,
The killer of hopes.
I died in his delicate words when he
Saw my discomfort and he said,
“O’ Azra’il. You are doing what
You are ordered by God to do.
As I do what I am ordered
By God to do.”
You might not be a Muslim, my friend. But I am writing in the language of love and it is the universal language, yes?
May God bless your life with Love Undiminished and Passion Higher that the Highest Mountain of Creation.
wa min Allah at-taufiq.