Five comas.

"From the trembling throats of men,

out through round open lips,

scattered

like an invisible mist

rolling from atop a tower,

high above the sins of the city.

The cry of the azan.

O strange serenade.

Neither happy nor mournful,

you defy definition.

You admonish, yet offer redemption.

You demand work at inconvenient hours,

but in the end, dispense rest.

O aria of hope.

You announce, acapella,

the end of night, the end of darkness,

as it passes into light.

Your stern voice stirs

eyelids of lead;

your melody calms

the quiver of dew-covered leaves

when they are anxious

for the coming of the sun.

O azan.

I knew your meaning

long before I knew your language.

The children understand you

whose parents have learned not to understand you.

You are five commas,

punctuating a day of nonsensical sentences.

Yasmin Ahmad,

Thursday, JuLy 28th 2005

Years and years spend abroad, this too, included in the things-i-missed-the-most list.

Hearing Azan out in the open air echoes in every direction is the luxury we couldn't afford.

Can you do me a small favour? Next time, you hear the calling, can you stop, close your eyes and let you attention drift to the words you've already heard thousands of times before?

And then please tell me, so I won't forget, that thats the only clock worth paying attention to.