In the hush of dawn, beneath jasmine skies,
A scholar bends, ink-lantern eyes aglow.
His fingers trace script not just on scrolls —
but on the breath of wind, the grain of wood,
the pulse of numbers hiding in the earth.
He does not ask if God is here or there —
He writes with the Qalam,
counts with the compass,
prays with both.
In his heart, the Qur’an echoes:
“Do they not reflect?” *
Not just command, but invitation —
to think, to wonder, to seek
as one seeks a beloved’s face
in the patterns of the world.
The minaret’s call does not interrupt his thought.
It completes it.
His equations pause not in rebellion,
but in reverence,
the way the breeze hushes before the rain begins.
He walks the edge of numbers like a mystic
walks the desert —
seeing infinity not as absence,
but as the whisper of the Divine
in each grain of sand.
In Baghdad’s alleys, in Córdoba’s courts,
they stitched solutions with reason’s thread,
healed wounds with measured care,
shaped knowledge with hands softened by prayer.
There is no war between heaven and mind —
only the seamless blending of both.
O you who weigh the measure of thought,
who listen for meaning in silence and sound,
remember:
Revelation came not to close the mind,
but to open it
as a lover opens arms.
Each fraction solved was a hymn.
Each healed child, a prayer returned.
Each theorem whispered,
a kind of sujood.
These were not men who split the world —
but who sewed it whole.
Faith and reason,
like twin threads in a woven robe,
worn in humility, not pride.
And still the Qur’an calls:
“Travel the earth, observe the ends” ** —
see what was,
what might still be.
So let the seeker seek.
Let the mind roam vast and unafraid.
Let the question be a form of prayer,
and the answer, a kind of light.
Between Qalam and calculation,
between verse and variable,
is not a battlefield —
but a garden,
where knowledge grows
toward the light.
- Written by: Khansa Abdurrahman Al Quthmi
- Edited by: The Editorial Team
- © The Islamic Reflections Blog
