Imam al-Dar’i wrote this prayer in a simple yet enchanting style, using the rajaz meter known to the Arabs as the poet’s donkey because of its facile rhythm and the ease even tyros find in learning it. The desert cameleers, who led the caravans of old, traditionally sang in the rajaz meter and by it spurred on their beasts to move more swiftly toward their destination. Arab poets claim the rhythm of the rajaz imitates the rhythm of the camel’s trot and is, they believe, derived from it.

Rhetorically, the poem displays what the Arabs call, the easy impossible: deceptively simple thought and language which beguiles the listener into believing that such poetry is easy to write; yet upon any attempt at imitation, the aspirant is left thoroughly nonplussed. Poets know this magical aspect of the craft all too well. It would not be an exaggeration to say that there is no invocation in the Arabic language written in such simple yet subtle verse as Imam al-Dar’i's poetic prayer.

When translating Imam al-Dar’i's invocation, I first put it into an iambic pentameter (five feet per line), but found great difficulty conveying the meanings precisely. So I decided to use hexameter that is, six feet per line. Hexameter is seldom used in English, because the doubling of the trimeter becomes repetitious and can easily devolve into doggerel. However, I chose to use it so I could convey something of the nature of the original, which is in the Arabic meter closest to our hexameter. Arabic verse is quantitative; the rhythm is produced by the length of syllables, not by their accent, as in English.

After working on it considerably and feeling quite satisfied with the result, I sent it to the American poet Daniel Abdul-Hayy Moore, who had helped so wonderfully in our previous collaboration on the Poem of the Cloak (al-Burdah). Initially, he was troubled by the hexameter, and understandably so; but he decided to work with it and, in my opinion, turned a donkey into a mule, and for that I am deeply grateful. But the original is a thoroughbred, and for those who do not know Arabic, I highly recommend listening to the original as chanted so masterfully by the Fes Singers led by Sidi Mohammed Bennis.

Speaking of the recording, I feel compelled to relate an extraordinary incident, something I consider a miracle really. It is safe to say that this poem is noted for its miraculous nature, and Moroccans who are regular in their recitation of it will confirm that belief. On the night we finished the recording in Fes, it was quiet and still when we emerged from the studio into the cool night air and went for a late dinner. Then, at around three o’clock in the morning, Sidi Abdallateef Whiteman (who also did the cover design and layout for this book) and I set out with Mohammed Bennis and his fellow singers in a car to our hotel to pick up our bags and leave immediately for the taxi stand outside Bab Boujloud. One of the people of goodness in England had entrusted me with a monetary gift to deliver to Sidi Ismail Filali, a sincere servant of God who lives in Fes, spending his days carding wool and his nights calling on God. Because we had to catch an early flight from Tangiers later that day and had a drive of several hours ahead of us, I knew I would not have time to visit him and deliver the gift; so I asked Sidi Mohammed if he would do it. No sooner had I completed the question than we happened to pass by a large, windowless van with a man standing alongside it. It must have been 3:30 AM by now. Sidi Mohammed exclaimed, That looks just like Sidi Ismail!

Many Muslims believe that the idea, “God loves everyone,” is simply wrong and incongruous with Islamic teachings. Verses abound in the Qur’an decrying those God does not love: liars, hypocrites, oppressors, the arrogant, boastful braggarts, and those who love praise for that which they have not done, among others. Reading these verses, it is easy to begin to resent such people and to believe that God does not love everyone. However, if we look closely at these people, we see elements of ourselves in them.

What is true of any man is true of all men; the only difference is in the degree to which it is true. Prophets and sanctified saints are the only exceptions to this universal truth. Jesus, peace be upon him, states, as recorded in al-Muwatta’ of Imam Malik (d. 179/795):

Do not, like lords, look upon the faults of others. Rather, like servants, look after your own faults. In truth, humanity is comprised of only two types of people: the afflicted and the sound. So show mercy to the afflicted, and praise God for well-being.

It is never the sinner that one should hate, but only the sin; for the essence of all humanity is a soul created in submission to its Creator. Whether that soul acknowledges this on a conscious level or not is a matter of grace, and this understanding enables us to look at others with compassion. All people, everywhere and throughout time, suffer great tribulation at various points in their lives. At this very moment, hearts are breaking and lives are being shattered, women abused, children violated, and people dying while their loved ones are crying. Also at this very moment, other hearts are rejoicing, babies are being born, mothers are nurturing, smiles are given freely, charity is being distributed, and lovers are uniting. The airport is one of the great metaphors of our time: sad, happy, and indifferent faces are all to be seen there, as people part with loved ones, greet their beloveds, or simply wait to pick up or let off people they barely know. Sad, happy, and indifferent are the states that sum up our collective body of souls. In the next life, however, there is only bliss or wretchedness, joy or sorrow—no indifference.

According to a beautiful hadith, the Prophet, God bless and grant him peace, said that on the Last Day, when the last two souls are brought forth before God, they are both condemned to hell. As the angels escort them to their final fiery abode, one of them wistfully looks back. Thereupon, God commands the angels to bring him back and asks the man why he turned back. The man replies, “I was expecting something else from you.” God responds, commanding the angels, “Take him to My Garden.”