15/06/2024
In the shadow of the sacred Kaaba, where whispers touch the sky,
The wealthy come with silken prayers, and hearts lifted high.
They circle 'round the sacred stone, in garments pure and white,
Their lips adorned with praises sweet, their faces bathed in light.
But far beyond this holy place, where echoes rarely go,
The poor ones strive to stay alive, their burdens endless woe.
Their prayers are born of hunger's cry, of cold and ceaseless strife,
They wrestle with a harsher fate, in the scramble for their life.
The Kaaba stands a beacon bright, for all who seek the Divine,
Yet privilege gilds the pathway for those with gold to shine.
The poor, unseen, still bow their heads, in alleys dark and deep,
Their supplications rise as well, though dreams they seldom keep.
O Giver of all mercy, hear the humble and the grand,
For in Your eyes, all souls are one, each crafted by Your hand.
Let not the rich alone be graced with the chance to touch Your heart,
But lift the weary, worn, and weak, and from their suffering, part.
For every soul that calls Your name, in lavish or in need,
Deserves the grace that flows from You, as rivers from a seed.
Unveil the bond that binds us all, beyond the robes of gold,
In the sacred dance of life and death, let every heart be bold.
In the shadow of the Kaaba, let justice be the prayer,
That wealth may build a bridge of love, and suffering hearts repair.
For in the tapestry of faith, the thread that's woven true,
Is not of silk or glittered gold, but of the love we knew.
by Ayyaz Gull