Our Children

This is the story of a Muslim named Mo.
It’s a symbolic story that many of us may know.
He was born in a Muslim family but they were weak in the deen.
He was a lovely child, he was more precious then anything you’ve seen.
He grew up so quick; it was just a flash before his parent’s eyes.
They didn’t get to teach him about Islam. You know how the time just flies.

Before they knew it, they were sending him off to school.
They were so happy; he shined like a precious little jewel.
He was taught that he was a Muslim, but that’s about all he knew.
He wanted to know more but his dad had way too many things to do.
He had cute little cheeks; they turned rosy as he got tired.
He was a handsome little guy, he was always admired.

But with his parents so busy, he never got to learn about Allah.
The days past by and his parents never taught him how to do Salah.
Some more years past by, and by now his voice began to change.
He felt new emotions, and he liked them, even though they felt strange.
His dad finally took him one day to some Islamic Sunday school.
But he had already learned from his friends that religion just wasn’t cool.

Time passed by and the little man grew older.
With the passage of time his temper became bolder.
His mother was getting worried, he was found to be ditching school.
But she didn’t say anything, or else his temper would flare up like fuel.
He would go to parties and come home all drunk.
And in some of his classes he was now beginning to flunk.

Her cute little rosy-cheeked child had become a wild young man.
She cried every night because teaching him Islam was never in her plan.
He meet a pretty girl named Rose, he thought he loved her for sure.
She noticed how he felt, so she asked him to go out with her.
He thought it was love at first sight, she kissed him on the first date.
But she just wanted to sleep with him, yet to that he had no debate.

He would go out all night with her, sometimes without even saying good-bye.
“Why didn’t I show him the deen?” His father could only cry.
He kept on partying while his family kept on weeping.
And he meet other girls, and with them too he was also sleeping.
He started to look sick, and he wasn’t really felling so good.
His mother just had to cry, he didn’t look like the way he should.

He went to the doctor for what he thought was a cold.
“Young man, you got AIDS,” is what he was told.
When his mom found out she just couldn’t take the pain.
For not teaching him his deen, she knew she was to blame.
Mo got sicker and you could see him getting weaker day by day.
And he didn’t know Allah, so to Him he never prayed.

What could she do now for her once precious little guy?
She knew he needed the deen, but now she could only cry.
His time came one day so the Angel came for his spirit.
His dad told him to say la ilaha illalah, but Mo didn’t hear it.
“What’s that dad? I can’t seem to hear you, everything’s going dull.”
But before Mo ever heard it, the Angel was off with his soul.

His father fell to his knees and cried like he never did before.
He knew he should have taught him the deen, so he felt guilty to the core.

This is the story of little Mo. Lets not let it be the story of our kid’s
situation. So please, my dear brothers and sisters, take this deen to the next
generation with seriousness and its totality
and we must show it to them from our action inshaAllah.

May Allah azza wa jaal guide us all to The Truth Of Al-Islam, protect us from all evils and make us the carriers of Islam to the next generation and the rest of humanity Ameen.

3 thoughts on “Our Children”

  1. It may seem somewhat a very dissapointing and sad situation, but I guess that is what comes out of lack of educating our kids and more importantly our future Imams. May Allah Aza wa jalla help us to bring our kids (when we get them, insha allah) in the best of healthy, Aqidah and Iman (bi idnilahi kareem).

    Jazakumulahu kheyr brother for sharing with us such an interesting issues that is present in the most of Muslim household accross the globe.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *