the life of the Prophet Muhammad P,B.U.H

The Rider
He’s heeled with no stabbing spurs
who comes across the desert on his Arabian
before he wears his thin Ihram.
And across the whitest wastelands
his horse gallops free, halting at his command
as though reined in by only his love.
Saddle-less it carries him, with a mane
with flanks, that can turn gold, then silver,
combed either by the sun or the moon.
We might be in our graves and far asleep
and still hear its hooves chafing the night sky.
We might be at our labour and go hushed as
horse and master pass by, making our skin tremor.
He once told a youngster riding behind, clinging
 on
behind, his thin arms round Allah’s Beloved,
he once spoke, ‘Put your faith in the Lord of
 Creation,
and fear nothing from death or from life’