Jabal Al-Rahmah Poem by Dr Shamim Ali

A small hill rests on Arafat's wide plain,
Where mercy fell like gentle rain,
They call it the Mount where mercy stays
A quiet witness to ancient days.
Here, tradition softly tells,
Two souls once met beneath these swells,
Adam, Hawwa, long apart,
Found each other, heart to heart.
After exile, after tears,
After countless searching years,
Forgiveness found them on this ground,
And mercy's name was here renowned.
Centuries later, a Prophet ﷺ stood,
Speaking words for all that's good
Equality, justice, rights made clear,
His final words, his parting prayer.
Now pilgrims gather, hearts laid bare,
Climbing slopes, or standing near,
Not because the stone is blessed,
But because here, hope finds its rest.
No ritual binds them to this hill,
Yet still they come, yet still they will,
Drawn by stories whispered through time,
Of mercy's mountain, mercy's climb.
For all of Arafat is sacred ground,
Wherever pilgrims may be found,
But here, at this small rise of stone,
Hearts remember they're not alone.
So if you stand near Rahmah's height,
Let your dua rise into the light,
Not for the hill, but for the One
Whose mercy outshines the setting sun