[MasterONaniFiqh]

The ghost of the rows

it is the time of year again,
in the shifting months of the moon based calendar
it is that holy time when
the inner self is forged with steely hunger
it is that shifting place of sands
of memory and men who were me before
of my father who died on the 28th day they say
the friday is what he aimed for
for friday is the holy day at the end of the work week when
i stand in my row and i try not to pretend
to mean what i mean when i say to god silently with tightly closed eyes
god, give him back to me
again
and as i shuffle out
amidst the milling parishioners,
men and boys i've known my whole life
wandering aimless and amicable through the crowd,
shuffling on my shoes,
nodding to this one and handshaking to that
and being the good son and the good boy and the nice young man at the mosque
i can feel how hollow the steps i take are
and how thin the veil of the reality of my goodness
compared to their staunch simple soulless mechanical coming and going to prayer is
and they do not see me
but simply smile and nod at the ghost of the rows