Slowly, slowly, my oldest friend goes

By Daud Mannion

Slowly, slowly my oldest friend goes,
as I sit by his bed side as life ebbs and flows,
he still clings on yet,
so grim eyed family with salams met,
but I cannot weep,
not with sadness, not for him,
though his success so obvious to me,
in grief seems hidden from his kin.

So good to me this sweet old man,
when my own elders I could never understand,
his mind strong and sprightly,
though handshake once firm, I now feel lightly.
giving advice for me to keep,
so in iman’s winter to fore-mind bring,
so remembering in life’s success I will see,
Insha’allah of us all he did win.

So restless I lay awake at night,
thinking how his iman seems to burn so bright,
if in life I reach that stage,
if Allah will me to reach such a blessed age,
then I hope to soundly sleep,
good deeds to far out number my sin,
then I can slumber, in dotage my conscience free,
like my old friend surrounded by such loving kin.

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