Six Feet By Three 

The last ten days of Ramadhan. Holier and most glorious than all. Supplication and repentance fill the air. No better time to perform I’tikaaf, staying in a mosque, devoting oneself to ibadah and staying away from worldly affairs. I could try to talk about it, what goes through ones head, what it means, but I find poetry paints a better picture .

Six feet by three. Such is my world

for these ten days. My weary feet, though always finding ways through the shroud, have all the rest they need after Ishraq. 

Six feet by three. The exact dimensions of a tomb. But it feels like a womb. And it’s not made of earth. The epitaph only reads a date of birth. And it’s Eid. 

Six feet by three. It does remind me of my grave. But at least now in my cave, I lie with a bag, a book and some cloth. It’s nothing, yet more than enough. 

Six feet by three. And it’s all the room I need to eat, sleep and pray. Why’s my house that big anyways? For I keep losing my way, in this tiny place. 

Six feet by three. And my lamp is not bright but my neighbor is blind. Yet he stays up all night and sobs like a child. And every sunrise brings him a smile. 

Six feet by three. The curtains leave some space open to pass a plate. Maybe a word might be spoken. And though the plate is slightly broken, it’s never empty. 

Six feet by three. The food could be a little cold, or not. Or a little raw, or hot. But here, there’s always something to share and always someone to care.

Six feet by three. It’s not a classroom as such. But I learned so much. And to me, the one thing that sticks, is if there’s enough for three, there’s enough for six. 

How I choose to live, is how I choose to die. And the more I give, and the harder I try, the better I’ll feel when I’ll wear all white. It all starts tonight, in six feet by three.

Credits: anonymous 

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