The Night At Muzdalifah Poem by Dr Shamim Ali

No tent tonight, no roof, no wall,
Just open sky above us all,
The ground their bed, the stars their light,
Stripped of comfort, stripped of pride this night.
Here status fades, here titles cease,
The rich, the poor, find equal peace,
Lying down where dust meets skin
Trusting only what lies within.
A duty woven into the rite,
Some call it firm, some call it light,
Yet still they stay, though tired, though spent,
For rest itself becomes a sacrament.
Maghrib and Isha joined as one,
Mercy granted, journey not done,
Just as Arafat forgave the soul,
This night, too, draws hearts toward the whole.
By moonlight, hands reach for small stone,
Pebbles gathered, one by one,
Tomorrow they'll fly toward Satan's name,
Echoing Ibrahim's steadfast flame.
Between two mountains of meaning they lie,
Arafat behind, and Mina nearby,
A pause to breathe, a pause to hold
The weight of devotion, both new and old.
So rest here is not an empty pause,
But worship wrapped in heaven's laws
A quiet night before deeper prayer,
Submission found in the desert air.