transition?
To Him I return
- Messages
- 908
- Reaction score
- 99
- Gender
- Female
- Religion
- Islam
Several cars screech around the corner near the stoplight. The sounds of faint honks and sirens from a distance enter our ears. Rubber tires and the feet of pedestrians grind against the withered tar. The drivel and shouts of a passerby and his accompanying friends unsuccessfully penetrate the air. Night creeps impalpably through the evening breeze.
As I walk out the door, my face tingles as sweat disappears and the wind touches my skin. First, looks of confusion spread on all the faces. Many of the noises are unidentifiable. As our attention turns to a melodious voice, the monotonous cacophony of the city fades.
Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar.
Above, the sky is a clash of two masterpieces painted on a dome. Strips of orange, purple and pink cover the lower half, while a chiaroscuro of blue dominates the rest. The four or five skyscrapers loom around us like unaware guard towers.
Ashhadu Allah ilaaha illa-Lah
People have begun stacking their shoes, avoiding sporadic patches of old gum and accumulated dirt. The only orderly pairs are lined up against the wall; the rest are turned over or pointing in random directions. The larger pairs are stuffed with socks, jewelry and even cell phones. My ears catch the voice of the mu’adhin again. Hayya' alas Salaah, Hayya' alas Salaah. In a sharp turn, I make my way to the prayer area, jumping over cast out heels and flats. Long cloths have been laid on the concrete for us. From around me, several smiles from acquaintances and friends greet my own. Within seconds, gleeful chaos is put into tight order. Three or fours lines form and all the familiar bodies fade into dim splotches of color. I find a stranger and a sister at my left shoulder. Her nose and chin protrude from her bright blue hijab – I cannot make out her face. The air is ringing again. Hayya' ala Falaah, Hayya' ala Falaah. The outside air captures his forceful voice well. The breeze does not fight the impact but brings the string of words far and out.
Like a falling blanket, the last moments of the day retreat. Despite the coughs, squirming, and few whimpers (of young children), people’s concentration is apparent. They know about the darkness that will come crawling and sprinting towards them. The only way to face the imminent troubles is to turn towards the Sustainer of the Universe.
Allaahu Akbar.
The world is silent, except the hearts of slaves.
As I walk out the door, my face tingles as sweat disappears and the wind touches my skin. First, looks of confusion spread on all the faces. Many of the noises are unidentifiable. As our attention turns to a melodious voice, the monotonous cacophony of the city fades.
Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar.
Above, the sky is a clash of two masterpieces painted on a dome. Strips of orange, purple and pink cover the lower half, while a chiaroscuro of blue dominates the rest. The four or five skyscrapers loom around us like unaware guard towers.
Ashhadu Allah ilaaha illa-Lah
People have begun stacking their shoes, avoiding sporadic patches of old gum and accumulated dirt. The only orderly pairs are lined up against the wall; the rest are turned over or pointing in random directions. The larger pairs are stuffed with socks, jewelry and even cell phones. My ears catch the voice of the mu’adhin again. Hayya' alas Salaah, Hayya' alas Salaah. In a sharp turn, I make my way to the prayer area, jumping over cast out heels and flats. Long cloths have been laid on the concrete for us. From around me, several smiles from acquaintances and friends greet my own. Within seconds, gleeful chaos is put into tight order. Three or fours lines form and all the familiar bodies fade into dim splotches of color. I find a stranger and a sister at my left shoulder. Her nose and chin protrude from her bright blue hijab – I cannot make out her face. The air is ringing again. Hayya' ala Falaah, Hayya' ala Falaah. The outside air captures his forceful voice well. The breeze does not fight the impact but brings the string of words far and out.
Like a falling blanket, the last moments of the day retreat. Despite the coughs, squirming, and few whimpers (of young children), people’s concentration is apparent. They know about the darkness that will come crawling and sprinting towards them. The only way to face the imminent troubles is to turn towards the Sustainer of the Universe.
Allaahu Akbar.
The world is silent, except the hearts of slaves.
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