The faces
of some, grown old
Mouths
shrivelled, move rhythmically to praise
Hands tremble as they count
Hands tremble as they count
To one
hundred.
They have
spent their efforts, their wealth
Their life.
Yet to my
untrained eye
Their hands
are empty, upturned.
Irrelevant to patient hearts, at ease
Irrelevant to patient hearts, at ease
She stands
at the podium
The fragility of her words carry
The fragility of her words carry
She shakes
fervently trying
To convey a
message of wisdom and truth
To stir the
hearts
But they do
not move
The girl I
sit next to
Is my age
and MSA
She is
texting and tweeting about
The
programme today
And though
there is a hijaab
Piled on top of her head
Piled on top of her head
It is not
the same
Spiritual
limbo
Is being
torn between
Aunties
with scarves that cover their chins
Slim fit
Abayas, brooches and sparkly things
It is
standing on a broad line
And being told both sides are correct
And being told both sides are correct
It is
knowing but being unable to accept
The former over the latter
The former over the latter
I cry tears
of the unworthy
Unable to
associate with either
They stack
green, plastic chairs
So I am
left in a room filled with believers
Alone
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