2017: Day 2

Moon

The first night of Ramadan
and she the crescent moon smiles slyly off-kilter
like a devilish disappearing Cheshire cat
resting on the dark branch of the Milky Way
or an angelic man on the moon one-eyed winking.
A sliver of light in the sky finally sited
she will wax till she wanes
watching these Ramadan nights
holding back the devils
while observing to see how the cookie crumbles.
Her shine foreshadows captious or rapturous,
depending on how you look at it,
this new moon in the night sky.
Any way, she is to be our witness.

— Tanzila Ahmed

The month begins with stormy weather

Heavy darkish shifting clouds

Reside inhabit and occupy my mind

Troubled dizzy shaky and scared

Submerged deep with thoughts of death

And though I am drama this is not usual

Thoughts of death for me are not usual

More death than usual

More death than life

Death that feels imminent in spite of life

A reality we all face

Have faced will face again and again

It’s nothing new and it’s all I think about lately

Maybe I want to be prepared

As if I can soften the bite of it

As if I am manifesting an inner tube for it

A life saver to keep me from drowning

When the deluge comes

— Ramy El-Etreby

FORGIVENESS

I missed both sahoor and fajr
today, slept like a dead thing through
two sets of two alarms, my body
quashing whatever dreams of perfect
attendance I’d planted in my soul.
I woke dry-mouthed to a room ablaze
with mid-morning sun, winced when
I checked the time, my face,
when I finally found the courage
to begin my day, in the mirror
still holding that pinched expression,
as if fighting to keep the shame
from bursting from my eyes —
a cloud I’d no doubt shoulder
in and out of various rooms of piety,
looking for the most spacious
one, devoid of all furnishings,
all clocks, where my desire
for holiness had room to stumble.
If ever I found it, I’d unfold
my prayer rug in the far corner,
imagine a congregation of imperfect
souls arranged in imperfect
lines behind me, each keeping
its downcast gaze fixed, so when I fell
into sajdah, they knew exactly
where they would smash their heads,
again and again, all of us
lost, not in worship but in this
unrehearsed act of wounding
repentance that, to be honest,
brings no solace, not even in this
strange vision. If holding onto
a wish for perfection is going to derail
the stillness of these fasts,
then why bother? Better
to climb into the belly of the fridge,
spend my last hour of breath
in a chilled darkness, devouring
every last morsel of sin.

— Faisal Mohyuddin