MusingsPoetry

Leaking Bucket

She said, “Fetch some water; and I said, “Okay.”
But then, with every added cup, a cup leaked away.
Frustrated, confused, I took the bucket home before which it got empty.
“Go back,” I was told. With a pleading look, and eyes threatening to turn to Niagara falls, I went back.

I wear abayas, put on hijabs but spray perfume with my make-up on fleek.

I honour and treat my guests well, but when they leave, I gossip about them and talk about their flaws. What a leaking bucket!

I am very kind to people and speak with them gently, but with my family, I’m always harsh

I pray salats with care, so timely
But I have not an atom of khushuü, so badly.

You keep a beard, follow the Sunnah and dress with Kamala,
But even through the haze,
You never lower your gaze.

Just like a broken bucket, with every single drop added, it leaked away.
So are our deeds, when we help the poor, we give, but then gloat that wasn’t what we did for.

We fast and have sabr for the pangs of thirst and hunger.
But we swear, insult and curse out of anger.

As I went back and forth with my empty bucket, I stopped and asked her, why are you still sending me after all you know that this bucket holds multiple holes?

And she said, “Do not gather all your deeds in a leaking bucket, but rather add them up and hide them in your pocket.”

If not, go on and continue filling it whilst it flows through the leaking holes,
Disappearing easily into the opposite goals.

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