The Cry of a Small Prayer Room

Yusuf achmad

The small prayer room shouts, as loud as the cry of small worshippers,
Sometimes mimicking the holy verses chanted by the imam,
Sometimes the sound of “amin” flows like a rap song, long and short in irregular patterns,
Sometimes the stomping feet echo like a Tap Dance.

Serious cries tempt the serenity of the worshippers,
Often causing annoyance,
The noise rises and falls like a chorus,
They are the spicy seasoning that seeps into the soul,
The holy soul gazes at the Divine, tested to find the meaning of patience and sincerity,
Sometimes the small worshippers’ movements make the prayer room sway,
Shaking the imam and other worshippers.

If the prayer room were to be enraged and then silent without them,
How would the meaning of worship blossom?
If mosques or prayer rooms forbid them, it would be like a holy house doused,
Worshippers deemed impure or unclean with teachings that do not align.
Then what is the meaning of worship, whose source is love and should water every soul?

I wonder, as if a house of worship is a royal palace, not owned by all,
Or a special house that only opens at certain times,
Even the gentle breeze is barred from entering.
I wonder, isn’t teaching always on the side of the majority, not the chosen few?
I’m confused, if houses of worship are full of rules and prohibitions,
Neglecting love and compassion.

Sometimes the prayer room is like a garden, where children run freely,
And later they will repay, enlivening the prayer room when they grow up.
But the garden turns into a fortress, blocking their joyful voices.
Imagine unlimited love, flowing from heart to heart,
Erasing all prohibitions, opening doors to true sincerity.

Surabaya, 13-1-2025