noraina
* Tawakkul *
- Messages
- 2,878
- Reaction score
- 337
- Gender
- Female
- Religion
- Islam
The Call
When the clouds still hang low and dark with dreams,
He will climb the steps in the mosque,
To the highest point of the gold-tipped minaret,
As it catches the first rays of the sun,
The world is heavy with lingering slumber,
Pale peaches and pinks leak into the sky,
Golden rays peirce the darkness,
Long fingers clinging to the dream-ridden clouds,
And as they struggle to cast away the clouds,
All falls silent,
The most beautiful silence,
As night and day battle for the sky,
And then -
From the gleam of the minaret as it captures the sun rays,
A voice,
A sonorous voice calling the faithful to prayer,
It travels with the fingers as they climb up the sky,
It is as subtle as the dream-ridden clouds,
As powerful as the blazing sun,
The voice is carried by the hot desert breath,
Over the silent trees
And patters like grains of sand,
Thrown against the windows,
And calls the faithful to prayer,
Thevoice is carried by the hot desert wind,
And drifts into the barren Meccan desert,
Grains of sand sparkling,
As they capture the first rays of the sun,
And here the voice is a distant echo,
Travelling from the centuries of long ago,
When the ancient desert first echoed,
With these words of faith,
And it is an echo of a distant past,
In the hearts of men long before
It penetrated the desert heat
The very essence of their existance, their souls
Of this world but not from it
Carrying the words of not a man, but his Master
And the voice becomes countless voices,
Calling the faithful to prayer.
When the clouds still hang low and dark with dreams,
He will climb the steps in the mosque,
To the highest point of the gold-tipped minaret,
As it catches the first rays of the sun,
The world is heavy with lingering slumber,
Pale peaches and pinks leak into the sky,
Golden rays peirce the darkness,
Long fingers clinging to the dream-ridden clouds,
And as they struggle to cast away the clouds,
All falls silent,
The most beautiful silence,
As night and day battle for the sky,
And then -
From the gleam of the minaret as it captures the sun rays,
A voice,
A sonorous voice calling the faithful to prayer,
It travels with the fingers as they climb up the sky,
It is as subtle as the dream-ridden clouds,
As powerful as the blazing sun,
The voice is carried by the hot desert breath,
Over the silent trees
And patters like grains of sand,
Thrown against the windows,
And calls the faithful to prayer,
Thevoice is carried by the hot desert wind,
And drifts into the barren Meccan desert,
Grains of sand sparkling,
As they capture the first rays of the sun,
And here the voice is a distant echo,
Travelling from the centuries of long ago,
When the ancient desert first echoed,
With these words of faith,
And it is an echo of a distant past,
In the hearts of men long before
It penetrated the desert heat
The very essence of their existance, their souls
Of this world but not from it
Carrying the words of not a man, but his Master
And the voice becomes countless voices,
Calling the faithful to prayer.
.
.
