A Mother's Last Words

This poem was my submission for a Ramadan Poetry Contest last Ramadan (August-September 2010). I managed to get into the finals (top six) but sadly I didn't place in the top three.



Compare, if you will, two flowers the same

Except one is vibrant and fresh, the other crumpled and plain

They lay in my hand, one in each palm

And looking at them, I experience a strange calm

My mind goes back in time, I begin to reflect

And I realise I have a lot to correct

I ask myself, ‘when was the last time you prayed?’

‘And when was the last time you freely gave aid?’

I sit down then, right there on the grass

I start crying, the tears come fast

I don’t know what made me feel this way

So sad, so helpless, so full of dismay

I stare down bleakly at my balled-up fist

I feel confused, surely there’s something I’ve missed

Something is wrong, there’s something I should know

I struggle to remember, my confusion grows

I grow frustrated, I clutch at the flowers

Then breaking through my rage, a sound that empowers

I hear my Mother’s gentle voice, so near, so treasured

And my tears run freely as her last words, I remember

She died in the month of Ramadan, the very last night

And even though she was in pain, her face was lit with light

She clasped my hand and brought me near

And whispered to me, her voice frail, yet clear

She told me of Ramadan, her favourite month of the year

And of how everyday she would spread hope and cheer

I remembered vaguely of her always being away from home

Always in Ramadan, she would go out alone

She told me of what Ramadan brings

Peace, Forgiveness, Happiness, Blessings

She told me to make sure others know

She grasped my hand tight and begged me to go

She told me to continue on after her death

She was staring at me as she drew her last breath

Then she died with the Shahadah echoing on her pale lips

And in her features I could see the toll of many hardships

I didn’t carry on her work

I refused to acknowledge her last words

I closed myself off from the whole of Islam

I had left the straight path for the path of harm

And as I stood there with the flowers in my hands

I recalled a story my Mother had taught me from our homeland 

Three dates she gave me after Iftar

She asked me to identify their differences, I thought it bizarre

I did as she asked, I examined all three

And when I was finished she asked for my decree

I told her the truth, one was fresh, one dried

And the last was cracked, brittle and split down the side

She smiled as if pleased and gathered me close

She then asked me how the rest of the lesson goes

I look up at her, uncomprehending, confused

She smiled again, picked up some dates, just two

One was the fresh one, the other was the dried

I gave no response to my Mother’s wide questioning eyes

‘The fresh date represents a true Muslim’ she said

‘The dry one is a disbeliever, instead’

She pauses before picking up the last date; she waited for a reaction

Then she holds up the last date, the one which was hardened

She waits for a little longer then she slowly tells me

This one represents a Kuffar and a hypocrite, do you see? 

I didn’t get it then but I sure get it now

I finally understand and will now make a vow

I called myself a Muslim while doing nothing at all

And now I will save myself from this head-long fall

Because that lesson my Mum taught me so long ago

Was not just a lesson but a life echo

What she showed me using just three dates

Is really what we are all trying to create

With this simple lesson we can learn

What is the key we are all trying to earn

The key to Paradise is simple to get

Just try to be the fresh date in each set

I cradled the flowers as I ducked indoors

I have to apply what I learnt to my life and more

I filled up a vase and placed the flowers inside

And ran to make wudo with Allah as my guide

That prayer was a first for a very long time

I had just started my prayer when the clock began to chime

I was full of thankfulness, cheer and more too

I’d realised I was free of the wrong I’d been going through

When I sat and studied Islam that night

I felt like a new person, full of radiant light

I looked out of the window out of pure chance

And when I saw what I saw I felt like doing a dance

For hanging up there in the heavens, was an inspiring sight

Glimmering softly against the blackness of night

 Moving slowly across the sky, slim and new

Was the brand new beautiful Ramadan Moon

Since my Mother had died I hadn’t fasted a day

But the present was different, before I had been astray

But now I didn’t fear Ramadan like I had in the past

Now I gladly went around preparing for my fast

That night long ago, when my mother breathed her last

She had told me the secret to the blessed month of the fast

I had nodded, pretending to comprehend

I hadn’t, and now I must make my amends

I am proud to be a Muslim, let everyone know

The lesson taught to me by my Mum so long ago

Stay away from harms way, try to do right

Especially in Ramadan, the blessed month of light 

A Mother’s last words everyone should heed

Often a little advice is all that you need

Follow my Mother’s lesson and pave your way clear

Build your Iman and make it sincere

Ramadan is not to be dreaded and feared

As many different things its not what it appears

Sure it’s about fasting all day

But it’s also about who you obey

Do good in Ramadan, be your best

As we all know, life’s only a test

Be a good Muslim, keep up the good deeds

And maybe one day, we shall all succeed

Peace, Sincerity, Forgiveness and more

This is what Ramadan brings to every Muslim’s door

Do what my Mum told me all those years past

“Treat every Ramadan as if it’s your last”