At Your Door

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As I gazed upon Your sacred House,
I could not help it, I broke down.
I felt so near to You, like I had never felt before.
My eyes drank from a glass filled to the brim,
From the spring of liquid clarity, pure and undefiled.
I savored every last drop.

I did not know what was happening to me.
Suddenly it all made sense, the fragments converged.
They formed one beautiful silhouette, but yet…
The light was still obstructed by doubt.
My surety was still like a fragile dream and I was afraid lest I should wake,
Lest it should once again be out of my reach.

But dawn must always come, and with a heavy heart, I awoke.
Bound for home, I took one last glance and then departed.
My soul, however, refused to follow.
I tried to quench my thirst with sweet nostalgia.
But alas!
The glass slipped out of my hands and shattered.
The spring had dried up,
And I was left hopelessly parched.

Why could I not feel that nearness here?
Were You not Sovereign of east and west and every point in between?
Was I not a soul amongst a sea of souls yearning for Your approval?
Did I not possess the truth of Your handiwork which,
Like an unfailing compass, would ever guide me back to Your doorstep?
Or was it I who knew not how to push it open?
For the welcome mat was always invitingly spread.

What I had lacked was the key that fit the lock to bliss,
Lost in the transit of my mind, forgotten,
But, recovered by Your grace abounding.
Now as the world slumbers, the heart of faith stirs awake,
And in quiet anticipation, gingerly turns the key of spiritual escape.
It is during these visits that it regains its strength,
Fed by the blessed sustenance of nearness.
And when it must finally shut the door and put away the key,
It knows that its return is never too far away.

This piece was inspired by my aunt’s very heart-softening account of her Umrah experience. Though she went quite a few years ago, she was able to recount its aspects so vividly as if she had just returned yesterday. Though I myself have not yet made the pilgrimage, her story gives me a glimpse of looking through her tear stained eyes at the Ka’bah and feeling the anguish of leaving the blessed sanctuary of Mecca, where it all seems so easy…of wondering how I shall ever maintain such intimate and extended worship upon my return to normalcy.

This piece is told from her point of view as if she is the one speaking. It is the all too familiar account of one caught in the hustle and bustle of everyday life, doing the basics, but looking for so much more. Looking for guidance, the attainment of which banishes doubt and leads one higher and higher in faith. This is the story of yet another spiritually-starved slave finding nourishment at the doorstep of her Lord, at the House of the Most Merciful.

Finally, this is a reminder that we all hold the key to bliss…we just have to find it.

Aziza, lovingly named after her maternal grandmother, is a part-Indian, part-European Ohioan. With an interest in writing and learning more about her faith of Islam, she found her niche in MYM. She is excited to be able to communicate the cherished feelings in her heart. Through her pieces, she hopes to inspire not only Muslims, but non-Muslims alike.


  1. I would’ve never guessed this was from an observer’s observer’s perspective, masha‘Allah. You carefully captured many of the emotions present when visiting Allah’s House, thus making this a remarkable piece. Keep it up.

  2. JazakAllah for sharing that – and it’s amazing that you
    could conjure this up without even having been yourself. I pray that you will
    soon arrive at this amazing piece of Earth, and that the impact of that
    experience will be enough to open the door to the continued spiritual
    sustenance you’ll need once you get home.

    I think these kinds of sentiments are very common for those
    of us who have been. It’s literally like another world over there (Makkah and
    Madinah), and as soon as you leave it, you feel the difference. For me, going
    from Hajj to just Cairo’s airport
    showed me how spiritually and morally corrupted the rest of the world is – and how
    the Harams of Madinah and Makkah are truly ‘sanctuaries’ for us – in more than
    just the physical sense.

    I would venture to say it’s actually impossible to maintain
    the level once you get home – largely because no other environment on earth can
    match the ones you’ll find there – LET ALONE the spiritually-polluted atmospheres
    of our Western societies. Over there, it feels like home for your soul – and the
    challenge when you return is trying to live your pilgrimage for the rest of
    your life. (On that point, we had a great course on this earlier this here. You
    can read a review here: http://wp.me/p12QS-i6

    Sorry to ramble on here…but this piece really just speaks so
    much to my own experience and feelings…and the yearning to go back.

  3. I loved the constant reference to the glass of water. Very creative and sentimental piece, masha Allah. Keep up the good work!

    • I know it’s been a year, but I re-read this just now, and the emotion in it hit me all over again. Just wanted to remind you that I love this!

  4. Assalamualaikum! I am only eleven years old but my mother and I have performed Umrah this month. I touched the door of the Kabah, and it was an amazing feeling.

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