The Decree of the Sands
"The beast of earth shall talk in codes of markets crashed and fell, and speak their greed in trembling tones, a financial funeral knell, for a word has been decreed in a realm they cannot see: they will be gathered to Hellfire, a wretched gathering, and then the wrongdoers will be toppled, and they will never be able to escape."
-Whalid Safodien
The Feather Pen
From the Sands of Badr, A Final Wind
The ink of night was split by steel, a scene that time repeats,
When faith stood firm on sandstorm’s brink and marched with righteous feats.
But now the Pagan tribes return, with flags of godless might,
Their drones like carrion-crows do wheel, to blot out reason’s light.
They think their god is in the bomb, that falls with hellish breath,
And sows its fire in cradle’s room, and plants a crop of death.
They are the same, from age to age, the same unseeing horde,
Whose currency is innocent blood, whose covenant is the sword.
Behold the Wells! The source of life, which they believed they owned,
Shall be sealed shut by Divine hand, their value overthrown.
The liquid fire that fed their throne, that made their engines scream,
Shall curdle in its pipeline tomb, a forgotten, fevered dream.
Their economies of arrogance, their markets built on pain,
Shall drink the dust of hollow vaults, a bitter, barren rain.
The beast of earth shall talk in codes, of markets crashed and fell,
And speak their greed in trembling tones, a financial funeral knell.
And feel the Heat? Not of the sun, but of a Holy rage,
A nuclear dawn of justice, turned to a prophetic page.
This desert, witness to the Truth, where Mi’rajs touched the sky,
Will hold a fire they can’t contain, a sun they can’t deny.
It will be hotter than their bombs, a crucible, a forge,
Where empires and their arrogance are swept from history’s gorge.
The wind shall raise the very sand, a fortress and a wall,
And every dune a soldier, standing answer to the call.
From East, the land of Messengers, a unity takes flight,
No Sunni left, no Shia kept, but one unwavering light.
A single blade, a single heart, in purpose and in prayer,
To answer every orphan’s cry, to end the despair.
The schism healed by common foe, by rivers running red,
They march as one, a tidal force, by heavenly wrath led.
And you, who watch and you, who fund, who think your hands are clean,
Complicit in the starvation, in the horror and the scream—
Your silence was your signature, your deals were the accord,
That built the prison, dropped the bread, and sharpened every sword.
Your fate is woven with the beast, your end is in the thread,
When the desert wind recounts your sins, and raises up your dead.
This is a war from another plane, a dimension not of time,
Where metaphysical armies march in rhythm and in rhyme.
A truth so stark it shocks the faithful, bends the pious knee,
A revelation of the Lord that all of time will see.
It is the fall of Babylon, the crash against the stone,
That was rejected by the builders, standing now alone.
So let the rulers tremble, let the warmonger feel dread,
Let them pack their banners and their gods, and flee in panic, led
By the fear of what is coming, of the debt they must now pay,
The desert’s final, fiery judgment at the ending of the day.
For a word has been decreed in a realm they cannot see, a verse that seals their flight:
“And they will be gathered to Hellfire, a wretched gathering, and then the wrongdoers will be toppled, and they will never be able to escape.” (Quran 26:94-96)
-Whalid Safodien
The Feather Pen
