Bismillah ar-Rahman ar-Rahim, I sip moonlight from a tin,
Prayer beads tangle with my sins, ledger full — let the countin’ begin.
Square with the sun, shadow with the sin, my coat’s heavy with the cold,
Grandfather’s ghost in my ribs, taught me how to move for gold.
Steel tucked like a verse in the seam, scripture burnt on the sleeve,
Every alley’s a mosque, every block a lesson I believe.
Blood on the ledger, diamonds in the gutter, prophets got no pity,
I fold prayers with my packets, stamp the hustle, seal the city.
Lady Justice got a blindfold, I stole it and saw more,
Mama cried on the carpet, I paid her rent with war.
Cipher on the stoop, chopsticks clack on tin cup soup,
Shaolin in my step, Qur’an in my notebook, loop.
Corner sermons in the night, incense smoke and lighter flame,
Enemies pray my name wrong, still I play the righteous game.
Chest of scars, chest of songs, each scar’s a lyric typed in pain,
I flip the scripture into scripture, turn the gutter into gain.
Moonwalk past the judge, duck past the snitch, pocket full of schemes,
Five pillars hold my backbone, faith sewn into my dreams.
I barter with angels, trade whispers with demons at the stoop,
My cipher got the gospel — translated into troop.
Cash is the echo, prayer is the map, karma’s ledger don’t sleep,
I hustle halal and hard, pray the night while the city weeps.
Sunrise finds me cleanin’ sins like dishes, rinse repeat,
Profit off pain, ink on my palms, this poetry’s concrete.
Hook
Holy hands, dirty plans — I move in prayer and steam,
Bismillah on my lips, stacking cream, stacking cream.
From minarets to projects where the neon bleed and gleam,
I walk the razor’s edge and turn the pain into my dream.
