She saw me like the crescent moon.
Called me a priority even when I’m the minority.
In the morning, she said Azkar.
At down she screamed Azan.
The melodious tone of her sound,
Mesmerized the day like the sun and,
Engaged the night like marriage tiles.
Even when she bows down to God,
Sending emails of requests in duplicate files,
Her prayer point remains Jannah for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by ilham akbar fauzi on Unsplash