The End of Ramadan

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In the most beautiful twilight of our happiest month, between the echoes of the greatness of our Lord, sitting together in our poor chairs. I know it’s not the best place to sit. This old chair is twenty-three years old. It’s not that we can’t replace it; it’s just that we never thought we would replace it. Who will be visited our home and sit in our chair on our Glory-Day to say the greetings? We look like a poor and dirty family. People come just to give us scorn.

Tonight, yesterday night, and years ago, we used to spend our beautiful month with our poor chair. We are memorizing all the bad things and the good things that happened. We are arranging our broken piece of heart. But we never know it will be better or not.

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A long time ago. Many people with the “high level of prestige” claimed them as our relatives in the very long, long time ago. They visited our home to get our mercy. Uh! That was a long time ago. When our hut was still on the beautiful marble floor and with a golden roof. Uh! That was a long time ago. Those memories are just old memory. That was a long time ago before this fate happened. Before this chair becomes rickety. Before our floor became full of dust. Before our roof collapses with the misery.

Now, we are still sitting in our rickety poor chair. Trained to read our beautiful takbir. Our tears dripped. The sadness comes. It’s very slicing and almost killed. My mother is crying; she forgot the lovely feel of being called “Auntie”. She ignored the beautiful feel of being called “Mbakyu”. She forgot the exquisite feel of being called a “Little Sister”. And me? I don’t even know the faces of my relatives one by one. We are nobody in our prestigious relatives. Maybe, they think we look like a parasite. Again, our tears are crashing.

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