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  • Writer's pictureHannah Shields

Mawla and Me

My chest pounds as my forehead touches the prayer mat. I try to shut my eyes to concentrate but something makes them roll to the back of my sockets, so far back in my head that I can actually see myself think. And my thoughts, how my thoughts disgust me! Bodies enveloping one another, head after leg, arms slicing torsos like snakes eating their own tails. The wastage of the world in the flash of a memory, or worse, in the snapshot of a desire, a sordid seduction that my mind knows very well not to entertain.

Mawla, be the light in my darkness, guide me like the Prophet guided his caliphates. Refuge me from the shadow of my soul and cage me within the mountains of your strength for I know there is a deep darkness amidst me that I do not wish to learn.

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