Six Ways to Plan for the Next Ramadan Now!
By: Aiza Tariq
Age: 17
Country: Pakistan
The world eclipsed in darkness,
Traitors bequeathed all vision,
Something shuffled behind me,
I heard it from inside me,
As I knelt down, I saw,
The hand that hung so raw,
It bled red, it screamed agony,
But the feet stood their ground,
Everything so morose, so pitiful,
How was peace to be procured?
Just when the night reached its darkest,
The sun went aglow, the brightest,
A breeze that kissed my face,
It numbed my aching pain,
I saw that he had come,
He came bearing solace,
They called him Ramadan,
All rushed to his arms,
The accumulated dust of eleven months,
His blessings washed away,
The gunshots were withdrawn,
The grip of peace restored
Towards Mosques, Shrines and the Worshipped,
Were the thoughts again directed?
Was it human hypocrisy?
Or a lasting transition?
Walking now at the night,
I stumbled upon many a man
Crying, begging for forgiveness
And slipping in some wishes, superficial,
I stood, a silent spectator,
Taking note of it all,
Behind me, a soothing voice arose,
Hayya ʿala ṣ-ṣsalāt, it spoke,
Then the background spoke of pain,
Everyone broke the prayer and ran,
All a bustle, such frenzy,
Gaza was attacked, told she,
Bloodbath, genocide, harassment,
All shades that swam before my eyes,
Still life was to go on, so it did,
The same except for an insincere sympathy,
It is not your country, spoke the mind,
It is not your responsibility, it repeated so kind,
Still it couldn’t pass over,
The reason my heart was drowning so,
Lesson so valuable, was it perhaps,
Life was at play, another stage was set,
Once a while, a scream echoed,
But it was all supposed to be drowned out,
They fasted on a swig of water,
While I gladly extracted from the ritual,
To flourish what, I do not know,
For my mind remained weak, soul fragile,
Many a calm nights were spent
Recollecting the storm inside thy head,
I begged for answers,
I wanted advice,
The answer came booming,
From nothing unwise,
Oh mankind, you pray, you beg for all,
Yet that one thing remains gathering dust,
Your hearts all folly, thoughts insincere,
Good acts so flaunted, hate evident,
Were you to expect a change of situation?
While you remain unchanged, as ever,
I, Ramadan remained knocking at your door.
You regarded me as a gust of wind and bailed out,
With shame I woke, feelings askew,
As the curtain withdrew,
The story still incomplete,
The parchment remained unspotted,
Is change to be expected, from myself?
Or is much too hope, from myself?
Ramadan, once again, so silent,
Only my mind throbbed of its guidance.
© IIPH 2014
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