In the wake of dawn, the Muezzin’s voice pierces my sleep.

I can feel God’s hands pressing on my chest to awaken me for prayer.

Memory becomes reminisce as I wash my body, reminding me how 

everything that sips water morphs. I morph into the word, reciting the 

words of God, I become God. I sit back, allowing the crudeness of my Dua

take charge. This is how I know I have arrived. I fall into a trance supplicating.

The beads in my hand, almost in sync with my mouth. My legs in fold as my body

oscillates. There’s a calling from Mum but I cannot hear, father joins,

still, the same. Until a tap, ‘It’s time for Solah’ and I rise, beads in hand, arrival. 

***

*Photo by Hussain Ali on Unsplash