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It is on a balance that I stand

My deeds deciding where I land

Even something of the weight of a sandcorn

could make that balance tip, causing me to mourn.

Do I get to Jannah or do I fall pray to my desires

that fires this drive towards consumerism

selling me a myth of gratification and of satisfication

A cause of depression and of false impression.

Soooo, either fall to materialism

or to asceticism?

I say, Nay

I’ll stay with Wasitiyyah

like a gangsta.

A straight path, two walls,

doors covered by curtains

From the end and above, two calls

that halts me from losing out on those fountains

and gardens of Jannah.

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