I Ramble to Allah on Ramadan
This poem, written by Jeannine Hennawi, is a personal reflection that both honors the beginning of Ramadan and sheds a vulnerable light of a Muslimah’s difficulty with pleasing Allah in the traditional, Islamic ways expected of her. This is a poem in which a Muslimah confronts her imperfections through the lens of her faith, yet ultimately finds peace in the warmth of Allah’s enduring love. Ramadan Mubarak, friends.
I RAMBLE TO ALLAH ON RAMADAN
Bismillah, ir-Rahman, ir-Raheem,
In the name of God, the compassionate, the merciful.
Ya Allah, just between us…I am starving right now.
Mine is the kind of aching gut that is unaccustomed to going without.
Ya Allah, just between us…I am so thirsty.
My lips wish to sip, my throat yearns to swallow.
I have been sitting in my own contemplations about tomorrow,
how I will manage to do this again and again for thirty days.
I’m praying You’ll forgive any future mistakes. You see,
I am not the best at Ramadan, but I know what must be achieved:
The spiritual reflection, the deflection of any burning chance
to draw swords with another, or stir anguish
in my sisters and brothers’ hearts.
I know about the importance of prayer,
the importance of peace, and what it feels like
to hold it, though it never stays in my hands
for very long—you must understand this, certainly.
Ya Allah, I am afraid to ask you
what you know of me
that I do not know about myself.
Sometimes I say to me, “Man, I hope
I’ve been alright enough in this world that He could make
at least a reasonably lengthy list of my deeds.”
And I proceed to think about it,
but not too much or I’ll go crazy with concern—
frantically thinking about what grace of Yours
I have earned, and all the things left to learn.
Stuff like that.
But ya Allah, at the same time, I am not completely ignorant
of my tendencies. I used to drink liquor—like, a lot.
I stumbled into smoking—I still haven’t stopped.
I have woven some of my crimes
into tapestries, hung them by their corners
on all four walls. I used to call upon You with the rage
and regret of a drug addict’s tongue. I always swung
hammers of hatred into my own body,
until I heard my clamoring spirit ask me,
“Why? Aren’t we loved enough?” Ya Allah, how I should
be handcuffed for the arguments that I shook to life,
the tokens of compassion I took but did not return,
and the lies I told while holding hostage behind my teeth
the truths that could have nurtured. How
on this great green earth did I ever earn the privilege of
Your forgiveness?
It always comes when I ask it to.
Like a clean stream that flows and flows, all I must do is dip
my hands into its waters, slip into that quieted mind where
You and I are one and humming. In that special place
where my heart’s grimmest, darkest hallways are strung
with golden lanterns that glow and glister.
And when I return to the world I think
of my older sister, I recollect the shape of her sweet hand
over mine. I hear my baba’s wisdom and I swear I’ve learned
the mechanics of mankind. I meet my mother’s eyes
for just a moment
and before I know it,
I am in love.
…So this is what you do for me.
Ya Allah, may this holy month change us.
May this holy month rearrange the debris
we’ve gathered in our own hearts. May this holy month kickstart
the rusted faith that so many times pleaded
for something that could not be dressed in language. May this holy month
be the anchorage that consoles the souls of those less fortunate.
May we embody the Goodness that You had always intended for us,
since the day a man was crafted from clay, had life breathed golden
into his body. Insha’Allah, it shall be.
May this holy month expose our wicked, erase the arithmetic of evil.
May this holy month bring people closer and closer
until in each other we just catch the flicker of Your dazzling light. Please,
may this holy month ignite our sense of oneness, may You thread
back together our undone-ness so that when we emerge from our prayer,
our hunger, our thirst, our charity, our selves,
our selves,
our selves,
we will emerge indeed as ourselves but newer,
ourselves without wrongdoer,
ourselves but less bluer
ourselves except
You-er.
Bio: Jeannine Hennawi is an Afro-Arab poet and artist, as well as a third-year MDiv student studying Islam and Interreligious Engagement. She hopes to become a healthcare chaplain, insha’Allah. When you can’t find her anywhere else on the planet, she is probably in a messy bedroom snuggling her reptiles.