My first post on my new fiction blog. ❤
When the voices of Azan- the Call to Prayers- elicit hints of ecstasy from the far ends of the streets and the wheels of the bicycles turn recalcitrant outside the Masajid, every being in the vicinity wakes up to the mesmerizing darkness of the morn.
It was not exactly an exotic view from where she sat but it was enough to make her not covet to move away from there. It was altogether too impossible that such little sparrows could make her feel something entirely too strong and uncanny for every time she lifted her head up to wait for words, she realized they came naturally just as the leaves on a nearby tree made no effort to move and were moved naturally. That was when she realized the power of morning prayers.
The chirps started subsiding and the sun waited to rise from behind the clouds. It seemed…
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