He stops to throw his shawl across himself, making it tighter and closer to his body, hoping to ease the wind's cold teasing. He has completed his maghrib prayer in a congregation, a more blessed affair than by himself. He keeps walking; the sun is soon setting, and the rushing moon is hurrying to punch his card for the night shift. He continues with the dhikr of his Lord as the path home grows shorter and more familiar. He recites loud enough for the vegetation and the animals to witness his worship, his heart a symphony hall reverberating his inner peace in submission to the holy.

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As soon as he sees the roof of his hovel, he notices some small yet tough sticks. They are perfectly dry, and as he gets down to gather them, he remembers who's granted him this provision: "الحمد الله." He stands and prepares them to be sold tomorrow. He may only get a few coins, but it is more worthy to live in poverty than to beg when his Lord will provide, whether in this life or the next.

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He arrives home with his right arm folded around the sticks he found. He opens the door and is greeted by a home, bringing images only darkness can veil. He sets down his stack of sticks and picks up a plate with a candle in the center. It was nearing its end; it would not survive tonight.

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He walks to his rug, which shows its age in its raggedy features. He sits down and places the candle on the cold, hard floor beside him. The dying light worked hard to illuminate the slightest bit of its master's face. He lays out his coins and ponders how much he will need to get a new candle. He had earned 20 coins today for selling sticks to people in the market. He can get another one for three coins, and he may get some rice for the next week, around seven coins. That'll leave around ten coins, an unnecessary leftover. He decides to give it to a needy person; perhaps the mercy he shows to the creation will bring forth mercy from the creator.

He puts the money away and lies down on his rug. He hears his belly call out to be fed behind a thin prison, but he only answers the cry with a neglectful silence. He can't afford dinner with the money he can spend on food. The food he has is enough; there is no need for more.

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He has no dinner and has no plans for anything but to be in worship. He has grown old, as all living beings do, yet he has spent his life in prayer from when he was a boy with no hair on his chin. He had forsaken this world; its glamor and beauty were just a facade to a heart aware of its mortality. This world is nothing but a prison for the believer; he only hopes the warden will admit him into a garden where he will indeed be free on the day when he will answer for what he has done.

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The adhan is called as he sits and ponders over what might happen. As the muezzin calls those who believe in their Lord, he repeats what he says. As the muezzin finishes the adhan, the tears drift down. Like a river, they create their paths, going and making their way past the wrinkles and beards grayed by time. He sits back and lets the ecstasy of Iman wash over him.

​

The older man gets up and wraps his shawl across his body, tightening it closer to his body in preparation for the wind's cold teasing. He picks up his candle and walks to his door. He sets the candle down and puts it out. As he opens the door, the teasing wind welcomes him back. The moon that a while back was rushing is now doing its job comfortably. He illuminates the path as if nudging him. The man smiles and starts his walk to be with a blessed gathering.

"بسم الله"

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Dictionary:

Maghrib: This is the evening prayer

Dhikr: an Arabic word that means remembrance of Allah

الحمد لله:This means all praise is to Allah

Adhan: a call to prayer; this is called aloud to announce the prayer time has started

muezzin: The person who calls the adhan

Iman: an Arabic word meaning faith

بسم الله: This means, in the name of Allah