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I left Ahmadiyyat because Mirza Ghulam Ahmad was a liar and a charlatan. Find out why I believe this to be true.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

The Message - Part 3

I would like to tell you all about my perfect dream
In which I saw RasulAllah and Hadhrat Ibrahim
I was in a conference hall with tables in neat rows
The pilgrims there were arguing and some had come to blows

They ran around the tables knocking over chairs and food
Surely, they knew who was coming? Why were they so rude?
Incongruent, they all were dressed in pilgrim's robes of white
Oblivious to who our guests were, such a painful sight!

I knew what this gathering was meant to be about
I knew that I'd rather be in here than be without
I feared our guests would see the fuss and quietly depart
I knew that our guests would see - what we hid in our hearts

Presently, our blessed guests filed in with company
All the pilgrims then sat down - none were known to me
I didn't recognise a single face amongst that crowd
And in the party of our guests, there was no "Masih Ma'oud"

Silence filled the room as Ibrahim began to speak
His voice so full of power - made the pilgrims seem so weak
Candles suddenly appeared in front of every man
Lit to test the best of us - or so that seemd the plan

We were asked to place our hands into the testing flame
All the pilgrims seemed to falter, thinking it a game
None of them could see that this was such a simple test
Even I, who knew what this was for, was like the rest

My soul was overpowered by my weakness in resolve
This was such a simple test! But my will had dissolved
The pilgrims all around me started arguing again
Every single flame went out; and I felt Nabi's pain

I couldn't stand the disappointment on Mustafa's face
I couldn't bear his sheer despair at our long fall from grace
I realised that time was short, that something must be done
I leapt out of my chair and felt this test could still be won

Interrupting Ibrahim's quick exit from the hall
I told him I was ready - that I could take it all
He took a lighter from his robe and lit it for my test
I knew that if I failed this time, my sould could never rest

I stretched my shaking hand out, straining from the threat of pain
I forced myself, I seized the chance to prove myself again
And as my hand touched fire, with a shock my soul awoken
Knowing, upright, in my bed, RasulAllah had spoken

The dignity, nobility of prophets from the past
Never would be matched again! RasulAllah the last!
Mirza never matched the sacrifice of Ibrahim
Yet alone to dare to be Khataman Nabiyyeen

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