By Anum Ali
In finest hours and finest of times,
I sit down to compose,
The Ramadan rhymes.
A month at my doorstep,
The month of the Quran,
It shall make my destiny,
It shall guide me on.
It promises Mercy from my Lord,
And Forgiveness of my record.
It promises Refuge from fires of Hell,
And vows of favors no words can tell!
My guilty heart, my ashen soul,
Turn to Him who can console.
I am no saint for I have sinned,
But I belong to the Lord who's Mercy within!
I have hope for not all is lost,
His Mercy comes for zero cost.
The tears that I'd shed on my prayer mat,
Will cleanse the angst, misery, and all that.
His Forgiveness will heal the deepest scars,
I gave my soul in my darkest hours.
My thoughts, words, and worship will reflect,
The hurt I earned from my own neglect.
He'll heal me though, grant me Refuge,
As I put my existence to better use.
This Ramadan I'd win them all,
Mercy, Forgiveness, Refuge,
They'd heal my fall.
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