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The slow roll of thunder has him looking to the sky. The pale blue he is so used to is broken by dark clouds on the horizon. A storm is coming. He can feel it brewing in his head and his heart, not just see it in the sky.
He knows that once the darkness comes something will rip open inside him. The man he was and the man he is to become will briefly exist at the same time. The world will end in that moment and there is nothing to be done for it. It will be destruction and death for the person who brought his body to this place.
It has been building since the day the windows blew in. It’s been building since he held a limp body in his arms. It has been building since he saw the betrayal.
Knees on his prayer rug, he listens to the storm build and prays. With a crash of lightening, so similar to the crack of a missile, he puts his forehead to the ground. As the rain begins to fall around him, he begins to pray.
His path is chosen and it will be followed, by a man very different from the one who came to the desert. He may look the same, but he will be changed, washed clean. The Hand of Allah directs him now and it is as it should be.
His tears and the tears from the sky blend together, the storm muffling the sobs of a man rebuilt. When he raises his head again, he is transformed. He knows what he must do.
He must go home.
He knows that once the darkness comes something will rip open inside him. The man he was and the man he is to become will briefly exist at the same time. The world will end in that moment and there is nothing to be done for it. It will be destruction and death for the person who brought his body to this place.
It has been building since the day the windows blew in. It’s been building since he held a limp body in his arms. It has been building since he saw the betrayal.
Knees on his prayer rug, he listens to the storm build and prays. With a crash of lightening, so similar to the crack of a missile, he puts his forehead to the ground. As the rain begins to fall around him, he begins to pray.
His path is chosen and it will be followed, by a man very different from the one who came to the desert. He may look the same, but he will be changed, washed clean. The Hand of Allah directs him now and it is as it should be.
His tears and the tears from the sky blend together, the storm muffling the sobs of a man rebuilt. When he raises his head again, he is transformed. He knows what he must do.
He must go home.
