men in orange

Ya Allah please save me,save me! My cry desperate& silent as I was afraid to attract anyone’s attention. Everyone around me was baying for the blood of the Muslims. Guantanamo Bay detainees were being dragged out by vicious guards who twisted their arms even though the prisoners were weak and frail and had no chance of escaping. The people around me and the media were smiling the smiles of foxes, the hatred towards Muslims was so strong I could almost reach out and touch it’s poisonous skin. My heart ached looking at them torturing the inmates, numb with helplessness, I had to escape before the mob turned on me and then a voice called out…

I woke up with a start for sehri. The pain of the dream clung to my memory. It was Ramadhan 2010, the last 10 nights. That dream bugged me, especially since Guantanamo Bay has always been the jab of conscience for me. I phoned Maulana Yunus Patel AR, that gentle giant of Islam,who even though his busy schedule, graciously made time to take my call. Since Maulana had the gift of interpreting dreams,he explained it meant that the Muslim prisoners of Guantanamo and the world over were being given the status of Mujaahideen by Allah Ta’aala and being rewarded as if the were actively fighting in Jihad. Allahu Akbar!

And that they had a vary high status in the court of Allah.  It filled me with hope and peace and renewed determination that we will keep on fighting,making dua, talking,writing,reading Quran for, spending sadaqah in their name, for these unsung heroes.

Here is a submission by a Gitmo activist.

                                          Image

The Men in Orange jumpsuits

Flippin’ thru the paper back in 02

Saw a picture which tore my heart thru’

Men in Orange Suits

Kicked by boots

Of big white crew-cut guards

Screamin’ in their faces

Trying to push them prisoners

In their places.

Down on your knees

In a cage

Under the burning sun

It made me rage.

No charge, no trial

Day after day passed you by

Your hair turning white

Your pain filled sigh.

And me?

As the decade rolled on

It was my time in the sun

My pleasure,my life,my fun

I saw your pictures again

Averted my eyes

The music,the movies,the malls

The internet boom, my latest update

Chatting,chatting,typing,tripping

All kept me busy

My heart was too dizzy

To stop and feel the pain

You’re my brother

Someone’s son

Somewhere a mother

Cries all the time.

You went in for no crime

Why can’t I see

it could have been me

 

Looking at the pics again

Your tears streaming down your face

Their paws shoving food down you.

Darkness

It’s time for you to depart

The men in orange jumpsuits

I won’t just look and wince today

now when I raise my hands to pray

Before I pray for me

I ask for you

Oh Allah let them all go free

Let them see the warmth of their homes again

This time I can promise you I won’t let the lust of the world kill my heart

This time from your conditions my thoughts from it, will never be far apart

And your torturers..

those torturers

For them I pray

that their hands are stilled forever.

I pray every single day

For the men in orange jumpsuits

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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