The Light of Grandmother's Love in the Last Mosque*
An Essay Poem By: Leni Marlina**
In the last mosque, the twilight light creeps,
Grandmother, you sit, calm, caressing the Qur'an.
Your rough fingers move slowly,
Touching the worn pages,
As if touching the face of a distant grandchild.
I miss the fragrance of your gentle smile,
That colors the memories of my childhood,
In a small rocky village,
By the river that flows with dreams.
In the peaceful corner of the mosque,
I sit close to you,
You are my pillar of strength,
In your embrace I find warmth,
Like the morning sun before the storm of greed strikes Gaza.
My parents and siblings have gone,
Becoming martyrs, stars in the night sky,
Now it's only you, Grandma, who accompanies me,
To me, you are a candle that burns in the darkness.
You stretch out your frail, wrinkled hand,
Praying for those who have lost everything,
In a land that once thrived in peace,
Now parched because its rights were forcibly seized.
With trembling hands,
You take out a small wallet from your robe,
That wallet, thin and worn,
But full of undying hope and love.
Every coin you draw out,
Is a grain of compassion,
You gently place them into the charity box,
Like sowing seeds of goodness in a barren field.
"Dear, charity is light," you whisper softly,
"Though we don't have much,
Allah will bless us,
With multiplied goodness."
The wrinkles on your face,
Tell tales of struggle and steadfastness,
Every line is a trace of love,
That continues to shine even though our world is dark.
