Sunday, April 19, 2026

A Prayer in the Mihrab

 

In the quiet mihrab, silver crowned with age,

Zakariya stood, though his frame was frail.

'My bones have weakened, my hair is ablaze,'

Yet his hope in his Lord did not pale.


Childless years weighed heavy on his chest,

He feared for his people when he was laid to rest.

Who would guard the way if heirs went astray? 

So he turned to his Lord, and began to pray.


In Maryam’s chamber he saw fruit out of time,

'Where did this come from?' he asked in kind.

'From Allah,' she said, 'He gives without measure,'

And that answer stirred his heart to treasure.


At once he raised his hands in secret plea:

'My Lord, grant me a righteous progeny.

Never have I called You and been left denied,

Let my line not end; let truth abide.'

 

As he prayed, the angels called his name:

'Rejoice, Zakariya, the answer came.

We give you news of a son named Yahya,

A name unheard before, chosen by Allah.'


His voice shook: 'My Lord, how can this be?

I am old, and my wife is barren, You see.'

'So it shall be,' his Lord replied with grace,

'It is easy for Me. I gave you your place.

When you were nothing, I brought you to be;

So trust My decree, and soon you will see.'

 

With eyes full, he asked for a sign to hold,

'Your sign,' said his Lord, 'is three nights untold.

You shall not speak to people except by sign,

Yet remember Me, and let your heart align.'


He emerged from the mihrab, silent and calm,

Gestured at dawn and dusk: 'Give Him your psalm.'

Three days his tongue was sealed from speech,

But his heart’s remembrance none could breach.


Then the promise bloomed:

Yahya was born,

Given wisdom and judgment though still so young.

'Hold the Scripture with strength,' he was told,

He honored his parents, gentle, not bold.

Never was he tyrant, nor proud in heart,

He walked with truth, never to depart.

Peace upon him the day he was born,

The day he shall die, and when raised at dawn.


From Zakariya we learn patience and trust,

That dua is never lost, delay or not.

Even in old age, mercy can descend,

Even in barren ground, new life can begin.

The mihrab of sorrow became hope’s door,

For the One who hears is near evermore.

************     


References: 

Surah Maryam 2-15; 

Surah Aal-Imran 38-41; 

Surah Al-Anbiya 89-90.


[Dedicated with love and respect to my beloved guru, Hazrat Khalifatullah Munir Ahmad Azim (atba); compiled by R Jamaluddin Raother, 19 April 2026~ 02 Dhu’l Qi’dah 1447 AH].