Pray in Your Homes... A Poem by Essam Khalifa
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In his poem “Pray in Your Homes,” Dr. Essam Khalifa revisits one of the most fragile human moments of the pandemic, when fear entered homes, public spaces fell silent, and familiar rituals were suddenly interrupted.
The poem moves beyond illness as a medical event. It reflects on isolation, the exhaustion of patients and doctors, the longing for prayer and pilgrimage, and the human need for mercy when certainty collapses. Through its spiritual language, the poem turns fear into prayer, and suffering into a plea for healing, dignity, and peace.
Pray in Your Homes
By Dr. Essam Khalifa
Remove from the horizon that “mask,”
so we may glimpse a smile upon its cheeks.
These scenes have a wise narrator,
summarizing the events of Judgment Day.
Siblings flee from one another at meeting,
and the lover, by force, abandons his love.
Fear is your prison, so “stay in your home,”
or you will taste the bitterness of blame.
Your morning no longer brings joy,
and your night no longer desires its crowds.
My God, protect us when fear overtakes us,
for terror has already sent its arrows through us.
For the sake of the patient worn down
by breathing restraints that pain his bones.
And for the sake of the doctor whose strength has failed,
who has fallen to the ground, exhausted and broken.
For the sake of the worshipper consumed by longing
for the sound of prayer and the call to stand before God.
He longs for the Sacred House in a pilgrim’s caravan,
to wash its marble with tears of yearning.
My God, we have always known that hardship brings ease.
Has time poured out its anger in revenge?
Will the unjust town perish
after the privileged have understood the sign?
When church bells speak in sorrow,
and the face of gloom moves through airports,
when disease exhausts the patience of borders
and changes their laws with severity,
there is no difference in grief between countries,
nor between a simple servant and a person of rank.
Science does not yet understand the origin of the affliction,
and no wise person knows its end.
My God, we have suffered seven lean years,
and no shepherd has saved his food.
Is there a little grain left for us?
Is there a noble guide to show us his place?
My God, honor humanity with healing,
for dignity is humiliated when bodies wither.
Protect us when the plague spreads among us,
and casts its burning illness upon the body.
When the stream of breath grows troubled,
and the pulse of hearts declares its strike,
reassure chests that have begun to cry for help
from death as its sword pierces through them.
They have turned to a fertile endurance,
and worry has made words grow from them.
For those burdened by the difficulty of life,
yet still grateful for the kindness of shelter.
For those content with the bread of loyalty,
with modest covering and lasting health.
The servant has recognized the illusion of ambition,
and summarized what truly deserves his care.
He casts away the lie of wishes,
and asks today for nothing but safety.
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