Unsaid Prayers
She rose at dawn
and laid the mat,
not from longing,
but from old habit.
She bowed, then sat,
hands curled in form,
but the heart lagged—
a breath behind.
Whispers once lush
now stumbled dry—
echoes of names
once called with fire.
The tasbih clinked
without intent,
rolling bead by bead
without a soul.
She used to plead,
soaking her sleeves,
but now she blinked
and called it done.
Ameen, she mouthed—
not out of hope,
but in fear of what
silence might mean.
Her faith remained,
tired and thin,
folded like cloth
kept from the sun.
She loved her Lord—
but the fire dimmed
in the hurly winds
on dusty paths.
And so she kneels,
devout and hushed,
with prayers unsaid
threading her tongue.
One day, she hopes
her tongue will stir,
and her lips will lift
to pray aloud again.
Copyright © Salma Malik | Year Posted 2025
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