Similar to the way in which Elie loses his faith in “Night” , there was a period in my life where I had distanced myself from religion. The following poem was written while reflecting back on such a time. It was inspired by a collection of prominent memories from the mosque (namely, remembering the anxiety I used to feel during prayer time, and night I sat outside on the stairs rather than praying). I’m grateful for these experiences as they led me to question and, ultimately, develop my own interpretation of what religion should look like- what Islam is to me. In my Islam, all that matters is you bring out the best in others, by being the best version of yourself. Treat others well, and teach them all that you can. Show your love for God by loving his creatures. This is, basically, what religion is to me. I believe this with everything that I am.

 

The click of prayer beads

A bead of sweat

Rolls, recedes

Down his face, he’s stressed. He sees

His father three rows ahead, one man to the right

Looking the other way, he still emanates spite

Despite this he doesn’t pray

He’s never learned, in all his days

His mother, his father, their other son and both daughters

All embrace the religion

But he has not and

He’s okay with it

 

Almost like a measured apathy

He knows just what he has to be

But chooses not to care

Defy his parents he does not dare

Instead he finds his defiance while sitting on the stairs

Almost like a metaphor for his fate

Not quite in hell, nor at heaven’s gate

Either way

He’s okay with it

 

Growing up had been strange, with each of my parents being from a different sect of Islam. Of course, the religion was the same, but there were slight discrepancies in beliefs and practices. For example, as referenced in the poem above- I hadn’t ever actually wholly learned how to pray. A combination of being taught at a young age, and a fear of asking questions culminated in prayer that wasn’t entirely correct.

Admonition for “not praying properly” was one of the driving factors of my dissociation. I believe that prayer is prayer- regardless of where you put your hands when you do it.

Not only the prayer, though, but the interpretations of Islam seemed to be a touchy subject in certain circles. Sunnis and Shiites parted ways in their ideologies when it came down to who the successor of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) should be. Now normally, different interpretations of history should they

be celebrated, as they allow for insightful discussion, and pave the way for further understanding. However, in my experience, the “discussions” did less actual discussion due to all the ad hominem fallacies tossed around. These were the first instances I’d ever seen of religion being used as status, and it appalled me.

There was something incredibly disingenuous about their Islam. It was only there when it was convenient for them (ie: in front of others). Everybody wants heaven but they do the bare minimum to get there. If I make it, I want to deserve it because of everything that I am, not just because of who I am at the mosque.

 

People have no trouble saying the devil is in the details, so why not show them God is there too?