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.