The-bear-and-his-sunbird

New discovery about myself: I am a Sucher for yearning.

ℑ 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔞 𝔩𝔞𝔡𝔶 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔰,

𝔉𝔲𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔲𝔩—𝔞 𝔣𝔞𝔢𝔯𝔶’𝔰 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔡,

ℌ𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤, 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔬𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱,

𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔡

- John Keats, La Belle Dame Sans Merci (1819)

(based on the eponymous painting by Frank Dicksee (1901))

(prints available on my inprnt ! :))

I’m just so fucking pissed off man if they can surgically airstrike international volunteer food workers three consecutive times to ensure their operation is wiped out completely what the fuck is left for anyone to say

It is the first night of Ramadan. Ali makes the same journey that he has for the past 22 years. He walks down the same streets, once filled with the night sounds of children laughing and women chatting, the scent of coffee wafting from cafes that stay open for suhoor, the sight of streetlights and dainty lamps and scattered stars, the feeling of moving along with the hustle and bustle of men rushing towards the call of the adhan. The same streets are now eerily silent, whispers of du’a barely audible, no sound of women or children, not enough men to form a crowd, no electricity to fuel the lights, the cafes and buildings crumbled to rubble and dust, the graveyard of a city that once came to life at night.

Ali prays Tarawih on the ruins of the mosque he grew up in.

It is the fifth night of Ramadan. Ali thinks back to the time he first entered this mosque. At four years old, he walked through the doors, his excitement contained within four stone walls. Rays of sun bounced off of tall windows, casting light onto Ali, running around in circles as his father prayed Asr. Ali remembers climbing onto his father’s back as he went down into sujood; he remembers his father putting his head down slower the second time; he remembers standing in front of his father, poking his head and waiting for him to finish; he remembers his father smiling at him and taking Ali into his arms as he completed his du’a; he remembers his father blowing the barakah of his du’as into his hands and blanketing Ali in that same barakah. He remembers his laughter as he did the same back to his father. He remembers the laughter of the other children ringing through the mosque’s four walls.

There are no longer walls to contain the sound, no longer children with any laughter.

It is the 12th night of Ramadan. Ali remembers being 15, in a circle of his friends as they learned the Qur’an. He remembers the giggles and whispers that passed when the teacher’s head was down. He remembers his cheeks flushing as the teacher caught him talking to his friends. He remembers every mistake he made when he first recited Surah Mulk by memory. He remembers his teacher’s sigh when he gave the same lecture for the hundredth time that day. He remembers seeing his teacher smile for the first time when he recited the Surah with no mistakes.

Ali attended the Janazah prayer of his teacher in this very mosque only three Ramadan’s ago.

It is the 14th night of Ramadan. Ali remembers being only 21 when he had his Nikkah. He remembers his cousin sisters decorating the entrance of the mosque. He remembers his mother cooking enough to feed an entire masjid full of worshippers. He remembers his father sitting him down and lecturing him on the responsibilities to come. He remembers the laugh that came after as he told him the blessings that were to follow. Ali remembers the smile that broke as his father told him how proud he was of him. He remembers his father blowing the breath of his du’as on him once more, just like the day he first entered the mosque. He remembers Fatima entering the mosque and thinking they were destined for one another, right down to their names. He remembers lifting her veil the moment they were officially wedded. He remembers their first hug, shy and small and sweet; he remembers wrapping his thobe around her; he remembers the first Salah he led her in and taking her by the hand to lead her out of the mosque, together this time.

Fatima hasn’t entered the mosque since she witnessed her sister being shot on the musallah that their mum gifted her.

It is the 17th night of Ramadan. Ali remembers being 23, rushing into the mosque with a smile just before Isha, exclaiming how Fatima had blessed him with a daughter. He remembers that despite the ongoing attacks, the hugs and smiles and tears and du’as were abundant among the brothers he prayed beside. He remembers looking forward to the day he could bring his daughter into the mosque and she could climb on his back the same way Ali used to climb on his father’s.

Ali’s daughter went missing from the mosque only two nights ago.

It is the 20th night of Ramadan. Ali remembers being 24 and opening his fast with his brother-in-law beside him. He remembers not having much for iftar, but at least having enough dates and bread to feed all of the worshippers that day.

The worshippers lessen as the genocide continues, and yet there is not enough bread to go around.

It is the 27th night of Ramadan. Ali remembers being 25, watching and being part of all the brothers immersed in their prayers and du’as during what may have been Laylatul Qadr. He remembers brothers praying for safe returns, for the healing of loved ones, for the protection of their Lord.

Ali was reluctant to lift his head from the rubble as he prayed for his daughter to come home.

It is Eid day. Ali enters the mosque to pray Eid Salah. He remembers how Ramadan always passes in the blink of an eye. He contemplates the first Ramadan he spent praying on the ruins of his local mosque instead of within its four walls. He ruminates over how the worshippers lessened and lessened from that first night of Tarawih. He remembers attending the Janazah of the ones who were at least blessed enough to be found. He dreads how this Eid prayer will be followed by Janazah prayer, after Janazah prayer, after Janazah prayer.

Ali begs Allah that none of those prayers are reserved for his daughter.

-azeemarahman

*please note this story is fiction.

[Translations:

Ramadan - the month when Muslims fast from the time of the dawn prayer to sunset.

Suhoor - the pre-dawn meal.

Adhan - the call to prayer.

Dư'a - supplication.

Tarawih - Sunnah prayer performed in Ramadan.

Asr - afternoon prayer.

Sujood - an action during prayer whereby the forehead is lowered to the ground.

Barakah - blessings.

Quran - the Holy Book of Islam.

Surah Mulk - 67th chapter of the Qur'an, meaning 'The Sovereignty'.

Surah - a chapter of the Qur'an.

Janazah - funeral.

Nikkah - Islamic marriage ceremony.

Masjid - mosque.

Thobe - traditional garment.

Salah - prayer.

Musallah - prayer mat.

Isha - night prayer.

Iftar - the meal in which Muslims open their fast.

Laylatul Qadr - the Night of Power.

Eid (ul-Fitr) - celebration at the end of Ramadan.]

Oh this is beautiful

Master Dandelion was singing. The witcher who came with him drew his sword and clinked it on his lap as if it were an instrument. The iron sword and the silk strings played together, blending joyfully into the song.