You shouldn't talk about your sins honey, for it's a curse!

A heavy Jummah day in the arms of the city drenched with chants and dust

A lil' early, the bird wakes, with dried soul, to say, the poetry of praise 

I dip myself in the wadhu water, that quench thirst of the weigh with which I wander

And when the takbeer fills my void ears

And I recall the time when I last heard prayer call with care

Folded arms entangled in shawl's threads 

Knowing that I'll sin and then I'll bow down to repent 

I look up the sky then at my raised palms, in which I pour about those I forgot to mark

Don't you forget too, to pray for those who asked

My prayer mat can't hold more of what my heart demands

You shouldn't talk about your sins honey 

Often, I'm too, a beholder, in a sinful city