A Tribute to Turki

I Remember You, Turki!

3/5/2026

I remembered you, Turki, and how often does a person find memories of certain friends knocking at their heart unexpectedly, as if hearts have a hidden management beyond the control of the mind, as if souls make appointments in a realm unseen, then meet when we least expect it, and suddenly the memory is alive and warm, and the image of a friend emerges from the depths of the soul like a star appearing from behind the clouds on a tranquil night.

One might be absorbed in their affairs, immersed in the noise of life and its burdens, when a fleeting thought passes through the heart like a gentle breeze, and suddenly the world changes in their eyes, and the past rises alive after they thought it had settled and calmed. I do not know how your memory began in my heart tonight; was it because I came across a line of poetry that seemed to carry something of your spirit? Or because I heard some people discussing knowledge in a manner more akin to market chatter than scholarly discourse, and I remembered your calmness, feeling the difference between those who love knowledge as nourishment for the soul and those who use it as an adornment for appearances and gatherings?

Perhaps the matter is simpler and deeper than all this; perhaps good souls never truly disappear, even if they are hidden from sight, but remain latent in the depths of the heart, and when the heart clears a little, or the soul softens for a moment, that memory emerges from its hiding place like fragrance from a flower when touched by the morning breeze.

You, Turki, are among those who never truly disappear, even when absent; for they leave an imprint on the soul not created by fleeting gatherings or short companionships. I have known many men in my life; some you meet and forget before they part from you, some weigh heavily on your spirit as if their presence is a form of examination, and some fill the world with talk of themselves, their knowledge, and their literature, yet behind this noise, you find only emptiness inflated like the hollowness of drums.

But you are something else, for you are among those whom one loves gradually, and then wonders how they managed to live before knowing them.

Some people criticized me for forming a bond of friendship with a man younger than me, as if friendship is measured by years like merchants measure cloth by yards! How narrow is the understanding of people when they apply calculations to what is beyond calculation, so let them engage in their discussions.

Souls, Turki, are not measured by the number of years, but by the purity, intellect, and manners Allah has placed within them. How often have we seen an elder whose soul has not matured despite their age, and a young man who, if you converse with him for an hour, you feel he has witnessed the vicissitudes of the world, known people, and experienced life as seasoned elders do.

The ancients used to say that souls have lifespans different from the lifespans of bodies, and I believe your soul was born long before your body.

You are a son of Mecca, and Mecca, Turki, is not a city like other cities mentioned like other places; when people mention a city, they speak of its streets, houses, and markets, but when Mecca is mentioned, they feel a reverence within themselves they cannot resist, voices lower themselves unintentionally, and one feels they are in the presence of something where earth mingles with supplication, history with sanctity, and the world with a touch of heavenly light.

You have taken from Mecca the best it has; in you is the gentleness of its people, the calmness of their nature, and that sweet generosity seen in the faces of those who have long lived near the Sacred House, as if tranquility has become part of their features.

I have visited Mecca many times, praise be to Allah, and you have often welcomed me there! It seemed to me that the city had a door only you could open. You welcomed me as a friend rejoices in a friend, without affectation or pretense, then you would take me through the streets, neighborhoods, and gatherings of Mecca, and I would feel the journey lightened, the edge of estrangement dulled, and that one might find in some faces a small homeland to which they can retreat.

I have accompanied you for a long time, and I have never seen you but as a person combining qualities rarely found in a man of this age; you are a conversationalist who loves literature, a literate person unspoiled by pretension, a witty person whose humor does not detract from dignity, and a devout person who does not frown at people as if tasked with tormenting them.

I have known people who, when they read something of hadith, think that smiling is a deficiency in religion, and others who, when they memorize a few lines of poetry, imagine that Al-Jahiz bequeathed them literature, and Al-Mutanabbi left them pride, yet in them, you find nothing of literature but noisy tongues and heavy spirits.

But you, Allah has saved you from all this, and placed in you a beautiful balance, as if your soul has recognized the worth of everything, so knowledge did not spoil your wit, literature did not diminish your dignity, and religion did not lead you to grimness.

The most remarkable thing about you, Turki, is your sincere love for the prophetic hadith, for I have seen in this age people who talk about books more than they read them, who care for the appearance of libraries as the ancients cared for the libraries themselves, and who collect the names of scholars as children collect stamps and toys.

But you read with the love of a serene admirer, sit with scholars with the demeanor of a respectful student, and carry books with care and reverence, so much so that an observer might think you are carrying something alive, not just lifeless pages.

I have often witnessed you speak of early and contemporary hadith scholars as if you lived among them! You recount their stories, journeys, and patience in seeking knowledge, and one feels that your heart has traveled with them from the noise of this age to those times when people would cross deserts and wilderness for a single hadith, not for a picture to be published, a name to be broadcast, or applause to be heard.

Yet despite your intense care for hadith, you are not dry of spirit nor heavy of nature, but rather, Arabic literature flows in your soul like fresh water in a clear river.

I have often heard you mention poets as if you were speaking of your companions! For you, Al-Mutanabbi is not an ancient poet whose verses are memorized and then forgotten, but a living spirit, full of pride, wisdom, rebellion, and that deep sorrow hidden behind the grandeur of poetry. Abu Tammam is not a vague name circulated by critics, but a kindled intellect that shines in language like lightning in a rainy night.

I have spent unforgettable nights with you in Mecca; we would sit as the night drew its curtains, people either returning from prayer or retiring to sleep, and you would recite poetry in a calm, composed voice, without noise or affectation, then you would interrupt the recitation with a light anecdote placed appropriately, bringing laughter to the gathering without vulgarity.

Perhaps the most beautiful thing about you is that you do not feign any of this; you do not pretend to be dignified as some pseudo-scholars do, nor do you wear culture on your face as a heavy burden that makes people feel that literature is a disease of the soul, nor do you recite poetry like orators who seek applause more than understanding.

Instead, you find knowledge, literature, and wit blended in you as naturally as a beautiful nature in its owner, as if they were created with you from the beginning.

You are good company with your family and children, gentle in spirit, not taken away from your home by books, nor stolen from your family by literature. This is a rare quality; for some cultured individuals, when they marry, consider the family a conspiracy against reading, and that children were created only to disturb researchers and interrupt their solitude!

But you have given knowledge its due, and your family their due, and you have proceeded between this and that with beautiful ease, without disturbance or affectation.

I remembered you, Turki, and with you, I remembered the nights of Mecca, the scent of old books, the voices of poets, and the gatherings where seriousness mingled with humor without corruption, and the pure friendship that has become rare in this age.

I believe the secret of people’s love for you is that you remained true to your nature; fame did not spoil you, pretension did not burden you, and knowledge did not make you arrogant towards people. You remained that man who, when present, brings comfort, when he speaks, benefits, and when absent, leaves a gentle void that many cannot fill.

May Allah preserve you, Turki, and continue to bestow upon you the blessings of knowledge, literature, and lightness of spirit, and make you among those who, when remembered after their absence, people feel they are not recalling a single man, but a complete beautiful era where friendship was more sincere, literature purer, and souls closer to simplicity and loyalty.

Poetic Reflection on Loyalty and Love

I cherish those who are true to their promises, who, if ever I forget our connection, reach out to me. I am bound by a covenant to safeguard their affection and to obey them with love whenever they command me.

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