The Middle Eastern Man

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He prays for good prosper to himself and his family.
He sits alone on a once colorful rug in the corner of the vacant library.
His glasses forgotten, untouched, on the table, his eyes closed in prayer.
His face is weathered with the characteristics of a Middle Eastern man.
He prays to be rid of the sins he has committed.
All of the lies that have been said, all of the times he ever took Allah’s name in vain, hurtful thoughts never said out loud.
He moved to America in -01. For a PhD. For an education more difficult to receive back home. He works in a university. He’s the one that teaches students. A professor in science. The man simply looked past.
Looked through.
Invisible to those who have not heard his words.
Words that he teaches, words that he preaches, the words screaming in his head.
He prays for what the lord wishes.
“As long as you believe in your capabilities, nothing is impossible” he says.
Except if the capabilities you strive for are not what the lord wishes for you.
The rules of his religion are strict.
No god but Allah.
No skipping the five daily prayers to Allah.
No eating during the fasting moths of Ramadan.
No missing hajj, or the once-a-life pilgrimage to Makah.
He agrees to all of the rules, regulations, and recommendations.
He prays for love.
A gold wedding band shines on his finger, the engravings in a language not interpretable to those unknowing of it.
On the fourth finger it sits, touching the digit with a vein connecting to his heart.
He prays for hope, the strength to hope.
Two parents dead.

No family followed this invisible man to the states.
Only him. Alone. But not quite.
It’s him and his lord.





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