my father’s cracked feet
shuffle across the kitchen floor.
after fajr prayers, he retreats
into his room. he recites a surah
until the skies grew lighter.
it’s been almost two months.
his bicycle in the balcony
has been collecting dust. some days
he lies on his bed, restless.
“bapak rindu tak, dah lama
tak pergi masjid?” he shook
his head. resigned.
my father lamented
when the announcement was made:
mosques will still close for eid.
i wish some voices could go softer.
the world is hard
as it already is. every day,
his feet, aging like weathered leather,
would pace their steps
to his second home. his latest
DIY project; sewing a layer of foam
to his prayer mat because his feet
had been away from the thick
carpets in the prayer hall.
we performed the final tarawih
prayer in the living room.
i just learnt that angels
the size of mountains
are with us when we pray.
the days have been a blur
of weekends and weekdays.
then came the subdued skies,
the final rays of sunlight. we recite
the takbir. victory and glory
tinged with melancholy.
in the morning,
i let him see his grandchildren,
their tiny feet, their antics,
through the screen. their bright smiles,
and the lampu lap lip we switched on
since the start of Ramadan
will warm the nights
2 thoughts on “Footsteps”
Eid mubarak, Humairah ❤ may you be in His Love and Light always
eid mubarak, izza! ameen, i pray the same for you & your family too ❤