Poetry

Tracing The Prophets’ Footsteps

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As we leave the Arafat sunset,
And ride to Muzdalifa.
The whiteness of our ihrams
Gleams in the darkness.
“Hajj Mubarak,” a sister whispers,
As she embraces me tightly.
Her tear stained cheek touches mine,
In silent salaam.
“What are we doing here?” my ten year old sister asks,
As we lie on the sandy stones,
In the open of Muzdalifa.
“We are tracing the footsteps of our prophets,” my father replies,
As he raises his hands to the heavens.
Muhammad’s blessed footsteps from Mina to Arafat to Muzdalifa.
Ibraheem’s blessed footsteps to stoning the devil.
As we head to the large Jamrah.
With bags filled with pebbles.
A frail Turkish man on a wheelchair passes us by.
“Assalamu alaikum brothers and sisters!” he exclaims.
“Where are you going?” my brother asks him, curious.

“To Jannah,” he says,
With a huge smile.

Insha’Allah.

Born and raised in the UK, Ruqaiyya Maryam shares a roof with a mother who is obsessed with organic eggs and a father who loves to spend his time on eBay. She is currently doing a degree in Social Sciences, finding a cure to her OCSD (Obsessive Compulsive Shoe Disorder) and writing her first novel. She loves photography, is hopeless at cooking and gets her sleeves stuck in door handles (don’t ask!). She is a part of MYM as she wants to reach out to the Muslim Youth of today through her writing and experiences and of course play a tiny part in spreading this beautiful deen of ours.