The moon rises, and with it, the weight of my sins.
I see the faithful rush to the masjid, heads high, hearts light—
while I stood here in the shadows, drowning in regret.
How many prayers have I missed?
How many whispers of mercy have I ignored?
How many times has my Lord called me back,
only for me to turn away?

Yet, Ramadan arrives like an old friend,
knocking at the door of my troubled heart.
I hesitate. Do I deserve this mercy?
Will Allah even listen to someone like me?
Hunger comes, thirst ensues,
and with every thorn pricked against my skin
I realized—this is not punishment.
This is love.

I sujud for the first time in months, maybe years.
My forehead presses against the earth,
and suddenly, I remember how it feels to be home.
Tears spill, fervid and unrelenting.
Ya Allah, I am broken.
Ya Allah, I am ashamed.
But Ya Allah, I am here.

The nights stretch my past, and so do my regrets.
I stand in the depths of Qiyam,
my voice trembling as I beg—
Don’t shun me away.
Don’t let me leave this month the same, again.

Then comes Laylatul Qadr,
the night that could erase everything,
the night that could rewrite my destiny.
My hands shake as I lift them.
What do I ask for first?
Forgiveness?
Guidance?
A heart that remembers Allah the way it should?

And then, like a gust of wind, Ramadan is gone.
The Eid moon shines, but my soul aches.
Not for the food, not for the thirst,
but for the nearness of Allah I fear I will lose.

I was a sinner.
I am still a sinner.
But in this month, I learned—
Allah’s mercy is greater than my sins.
And maybe, just maybe,
I'm not lost after all
I am reborn
I am found


Erennwrites