As I Am

“Ya Allah, we come as we are,”
She said,
Adjusting her large spectacles,
Her large dupatta hugging her shoulders through her abaya,
Large, burr-covered men’s socks in bunches around her feet.
“However we are,
We come as we are.”

Her words glimmered from afar,
For I now think I know.
When I wash to pray,
The pigment used to cover the darkness beneath my eyes dissolves.
And I go back to work.
As I am.
Ya Allah,
I come as I am.



All is erased but this,

The place that bears weight.


His was on his noble forehead,

For the world to see.

Mine, beside my left ankle.

A shadow on the skin,

Easily missed.


The darker it gets,

The more I will have remembered.

The Companion

I am stashed
with lip balm, a comb,
a small mirror, rarely pulled out
I am carried everywhere
for I am weightless
I am made to collect dust so you do not have to
when you kneel
on both hard and yielding surfaces.
My back protects you
from impurities
I create for you a space
A space that is folded, that is carried
so the prayer stays with you
wherever you may be
as long as you are alone.
I am not beautiful
Others like me have been meticulously woven
hung up, rarely used
but I am made to last your journey
to withstand wear and tear
so that I am always here
when you are distracted, anxious
or joyously calm
that is when your embrace is the sweetest.

All things are made to worship Him,
but I was made for worshipping Him.