The Living Quran

O seeker of the Unseen’s breath,  
You ask of the Chosen One’s ﷺ essence—  
the musk of his tread,  
the dawn that clung to his shadow.  

Look not beyond the Qur’an,  
for it was not a verse he recited—  
it was the rhythm of his pulse,  
the marrow of his bones,  
the ink of his existence.  

Did he not embody:  
"Repel evil with what is fairer" (Qur’an 41:34)?  
At Tā’if, when stones tore his flesh,  
his blood pooled like a prayer.  
No wrath rose from his throat—  
only grace for those who blinded themselves.  
Mercy was his prophecy;
vengeance, a stranger.  

Did he not manifest:  
"Lower your wing to the believers" (Qur’an 15:88)?  
He knelt to wipe the orphan’s tears,  
swaddled the beggar in his own cloak,  
met spite with a smile that split the dark.  
His humility was a bridge—  
even the broken crossed it.  

Did he not incarnate:  
"Pardon them; seek forgiveness for them" (Qur’an 3:159)?  
When Makkah lay trembling at his feet,  
he named no price for her scars.  
“Unshackled,” he whispered—  
and the ages still weep at the word.  

O seeker, why wander distant shores?  
‘Ā’isha (RA) spoke plain:  
*“His character was the Qur’an.”* 
To know him,  
let your soul be a parchment  
where the Divine Script rewrites itself.  
For he was the Qur’an walking—  
revelation made flesh,  
mercy in motion.

NyKoul