Time is rapidly moving to inevitably interfere
With what I deem auspiciously dear,
And yet, I am so oblivious… so void of fear
That I fail to make ready, though the end is so near.

When Ramadan first dawns it is always a chore.
Then time moves on, and our chained souls soar
High above the mundane; lighter, brighter… loving right more.
We're changed for the better from our skin to our core.

Then at last come the nights of power supreme
When blessings flow forth like a monsoon of cream…
And what do we pray for? What's truly our dream,
More cream to grow fatter, or redeemed to God's scheme?

But time slips away like life on this earth.
And Ramadan ends in laughter and mirth
Though Satan is freed to reclaim a berth
In our souls to confuse worthlessness with worth.

Is this a time to get lax or a time get stract?
What should I think? How should I act?
The end is so near, and that is a fact.
Shall I relax or continue Ramadan's tact?