Kneeling before the Most High
Forehead to floor
Mumbling mantras which echo
Through the ether.
Prayers uttered by Kings and paupers
Sermons timeless in their wisdom.
Routine is the antidote to chaos,
The sweet elixir of serenity,
And her prayer mat was an oasis
Sheltering her from stares, words, poison.
But a mat needs space
Prayer needs silence
Cleansing needs water.
When the powers that be pull the rug from her feet
Render her people nomads
Without a word’s notice
She forsakes clenched fist for open palm
To ask a simple question:
Why us?