I looked out, above the clouded veil,
Where heaven’s silence lets the soul exhale.
Seven skies, each layered deep and wide.
Stacked in majesty, in flawless stride.
No crack, no tear, no hurried line.
Unlike the artist’s brush, divine.
No smudge, no slip, no wayward hue,
Just perfect order, perfect view.
The Lord of Mercy shaped it all,
Each height, each depth, from great to small
“Look again,” the verse commands,
Can you find a flaw in His Hands?
I gazed again, then bowed my head,
Subḥan Allah, was all I said.
A poem inspired by a view from a plane over the Persian Gulf and ayah 3 of Surah al-Mulk,
ٱلَّذِی خَلَقَ سَبۡعَ سَمَـٰوَ ٰتࣲ طِبَاقࣰاۖ مَّا تَرَىٰ فِی خَلۡقِ ٱلرَّحۡمَـٰنِ مِن تَفَـٰوُتࣲۖ فَٱرۡجِعِ ٱلۡبَصَرَ هَلۡ تَرَىٰ مِن فُطُورࣲ
Who created the seven heavens, one above the other? You will not see any flaw in what the Lord of Mercy creates. Look again! Can you see any flaws?
