Ramdh, “burning of the feet from heat”
Ramadha, ‘intense heat”
Ramad, “the heat of the stones arising from the intense heat of the sun”
And yet Ramadaan brought a coolness of spirit; satin pools offering respite from the insistent fingers of the sun.
And the whisperings of the Shayateen, kept far from us, we’re told, during the fast, which amplified to me just how much of our baseness is our own, the internal conflicts – civil wars.
Praying in evening congregation – hundreds of souls binded by the lifting of one finger, “God is One”, wired firmly by the “Aameen”, in one supplicant voice – I held Hope by the shoulder, “we will smash through our schisms, if only we all prayed together.”
And don’t tell me that women should not pray like this, don’t tell me that masaajid and congregational Eid salaah are not for those born without a y-chromosome. These are times of Fitnah, only because we’ve kept mothers away from that which will feed their children.
And as swiftly as Ramadaan shades us, that is how it leaves us, open; with a longing for 11 lunar births to whole the soul. May its legacy live on in the little things we forget; give off yourself in ways that will not lessen you- smile without motive, acknowledge those with hands cupped at traffic lights, be kind to all who join you on your path.