Mothers - A Poem

When your heart aches for the masjid
When iftar and maghrib bring no rush
When your jama’a is one or five
In the place of a thousand men,

May you remember the Ramadan
of the mother of small child.

When small steps run around you
When mid-prayer fights erupt
When your jalaba is tucked and pulled
And your body in sajda climbed,

May you experience the Ramadan
of the mother of a small child.

When you crave for time alone
With the Creator of the world
When your craving must hold off
For the needs of thirds and fourths,

May you experience the Ramadan
Of the mother of a small child.

When instead of the eight raka’as
Or twenty-one you had intended
You must quench your thirst with two
So quickly wrapped, so sadly ended,

May you experience the Ramadan,
Of the mother of a small child.

Where instead of the soothing melody
Of the beloved imam’s tajweed,
You must hear but your own voice
Struggling tiredly to read,

May you experience the Ramadan,
Of the mother of a small child.

And like the mother of a small child,
May you stare into the night sky
And may you feel His sight upon you,
knowing he sees you try.

May you soon discover the sweetness
of tears flowing for your Lord,
a small body wrapped around you,
her own tears dried up and gone.

May you soon find your khushuʿ
Once disrupted by a ringing phone,
Now unshaken by the tempest
Of tumbling, turnings and sleepy moans.

May you find your hands full
Now with a mushaf, now with a chore,
Alleviating others’ burdens,
drawing you closer to your Lord.

May you find within you the patience,
of giving mothers the world-around
Some in camps, some at home,
Some in peace, many in war.

And when Allah wills that this is over,
May you return to His house in a higher station
One reserved for the lofty in character,
Who deal gently with His creation.