Shaikh Ali Abu Talib on the spirit that seems to diminish from the Holy Month of Ramadan.
No longer protected by Men strengthened by God’s Merciful Compulsion,
Ramadan Spirit dies quickly amid one final Satanic induced convulsion
Of cultural pettiness, thoughtlessness, and foolish revulsion towards a thing that is a gift from God even more valuable than a son.
Neglected…unprotected…
After one month Ramadan’s benefits usually aren’t even inspected.
Because Ramadan Spirit’s enemy is once again free.
And as soon as he’s free
He calls on Worldly Ambition to distract me,
And Habitual Appetites to attract me…
And Cultural Norms to relentlessly attack me…
And then Satan himself murder’s Ramadan spirit, without any mercy,
At the Eid Al-Fitr celebration.
It’s never a slow death. It doesn’t die because it’s sickly.
It’s an arrow in the heart, or in the throat, it dies painlessly and quickly
Amid a brief fit…. one final convulsion,
No longer protected by Men strengthened by God’s Merciful Compulsion.
And it’s not only me.
It’s you and me… it’s most of us. It’s we.
Like the Ancient Iraqis, we flee to the table of ibn Ziyad, blind to our complicity,
With Ramadan Spirit’s Eternal Enemy.
It’s only a few,
a metaphorically scant 72,
who dare stand to protect what Prophet Loved.
The Prophet loved praying in congregation.
The Prophet loved refraining from sins and sinful temptation.
The Prophet loved rising very early to dine on contemplative postures in
scriptural contemplation.
The Prophet cherished Ramadan which calls for Satan’s one month incarceration and its God Imbued spirit of blessed exoneration
So Muhammad embodied it long after the annual ninth lunar commemoration.
But unlike the Prophet’s Great Grandson,
Who was still held tenderly by his father, Husayn, when the killing was done,
We cowardly run away and desert our Ramadan Spirit
Long before the final fatal arrows satanically pierce it.
We forget all about fasting, praying and spiritual bravery,
We re-volunteer every year for unsavory cultural slavery.
Ramadan Spirit lay cold, and dead upon the ground,
And we’re re-chained to our cultures, though our cultures are unsound.
We act like we’re glad that it’s gone… don’t have to fast any more.
Now we can eat until our bellies are swollen and sore.
We can snore until just before the sun peeks over the horizon’s door,
And then hastily pray fajr like we did before… alone… by the bed… on the floor, Then soar back to bed to snore an encore for a couple of hours or more.
No more driving all the way to the masjid every night to pray.
We can go to the gym, swim, get slim, or go to the court and play.
We can stay home and watch TV, or kick back and lay.
Aren’t we glad that it’s over? Did we really wish it would stay?
Let us contemplate on the core of this horror of a metaphor
And stop thinking about Ramadan as a glad-it’s-over, unwanted chore
Now that this month is over and Ramadan is no more.
Let’s move to improve, and our faithfulness prove, by ignoring the attractive whore of worldliness that’s seduced us every year but nevermore.
Let us divorce the cultural status quo in a sincere attempt to grow,
So we can build on what we’ve previously done and learn more than what we already know.
This year let us perpetuate Ramadan Spirit… love it… revere it,
And and not let the spirit of Babylon near it.
This is a thing we should fervently ask for.
For God loves this, and hears this, and answers for sure.
