Friday Prayer At the Mosque

The holy sermon reverberates across the mosque I see rowdy boys in uniform fooling They gather in cliques at the back row And what radiates from their vicinity an aura, that makes the lord's home akin to a playing ground where ungodly names are tossed around sounds of trivial chatter, left and right just an exasperating game of hitting and shoving thy neighbours The will of God, present, in this place of worship Fear coerced these idle men scattered on Persian rugs sitting with legs crossed head on their wobbly hand, dozing off Their body would jolt awakening their sleep to which they will tell themselves the presence of body excuses the absence of mind as long as the depths of hell is always dim in thought And so they relapse into deeper slumber The preacher expounds the divine signal These words means it's time for movement to be commanded Never have I understood what they were meant to say But oh have I memorized what I am to do Thus, I raise my hands high to the empty sky posture my palms towards my face murmur words that make no sense and just follow what everyone else is doing Anyway I'm off to pray