Ramadhan: The month of blessings is almost over
Dr. Aftab Jan
Ramadan is slipping away, and so are we. The days of fasting are numbered, just like the breaths we take—each one bringing us closer to the inevitable. Yet, we live as if time belongs to us, as if we own the seconds ticking away. But time does not wait. Death does not delay. The grave does not show mercy.
Scary, isn’t it? Not just how fast Ramadan is moving, but how fast we are fading. The next Ramadan is not promised. The next day is not promised. Even the next breath is not guaranteed. Yet, we waste time as if we have an endless supply. We delay repentance, thinking we have years ahead. We postpone our prayers, believing tomorrow will come. But what if tomorrow never arrives?
The Illusion of Tomorrow
You sip your morning coffee, scroll through endless distractions, and promise yourself, “I’ll pray later.” But later is a myth woven by Shaytan. The Prophet ﷺ said, “Take advantage of five before five: your youth before old age, your health before sickness, your wealth before poverty, your free time before busyness, and your life before death.” (Al-Hakim). Yet here we are—Ramadan slipping through our fingers like grains of sand, and we stand idle, as if the Sirat Bridge is a distant myth and the Scales of Deeds a mere metaphor.
What if this is your last Ramadan?
Think about it—right now, somewhere in the world, a soul is taking its final breath. Somewhere, a body is being washed, wrapped, and lowered into the ground. That person had dreams. That person had plans. That person once laughed, ate, and slept—just like you. And now? Nothing. Just a name on a grave. Just silence.
The Grave’s Silent Scream
Close your eyes. Imagine the chill of the burial shroud. The weight of the soil. The darkness of the grave. “They will cry, ‘Can we be sent back? We will do good, we are now certain!’” (Qur’an 32:12). But the answer is silence. Somewhere tonight, a mother’s son will breathe his last. A sister’s laughter will vanish into the void. A brother who vowed to “change tomorrow” will meet a tomorrow without suns or moons—only the interrogation of Munkar and Nakir.
“Did you pray? Fast? Give charity?” What will your answer be?
The doors of mercy are open now, but soon, they will close. The gates of repentance are waiting now, but soon, they will shut. The Angel of Death does not knock. He does not send a warning. He does not wait for you to change, to become better, to pray one last time. When he comes, he comes. And in that moment, everything ends—your prayers, your fasting, your chances. No plea will bring back the days you wasted. No amount of regret will rewind time.
Imagine standing before your Lord with empty hands, looking back at all the chances you had. Imagine realizing you had Ramadan after Ramadan, but you let them slip through your fingers like sand. Imagine begging for one more day, just one more chance—to pray, to repent, to seek forgiveness. But it will be too late.
Ramadan: A Lifeline Drenched in Mercy
Allah opens the Gates of Jannah this month. The devils are chained. Every SubhanAllah is a jewel. Every prostration erases sins. Every tear shed in Tahajjud is a raindrop in the desert of your soul. Yet we trade these eternal treasures for Netflix marathons, gossip, and empty scrolling.
The Prophet ﷺ wept, “I seek refuge in You from knowledge that does not benefit, a heart that does not tremble, and a soul never satisfied.” (Muslim). Does your heart tremble? Or is it buried under the rubble of dunya?
This Ramadan could be your final audition before the Curtain of Eternity rises. Will you meet Allah with empty hands, or with a heart polished by Taqwa?
Your Last Suhoor? Your Last Iftar?
What if tonight’s Taraweeh is your final prayer? What if the date you eat at Iftar is your last morsel? A man once laughed at a funeral, saying, “Death is for others, not me.” By sunset, he was in the grave.
The Qur’an warns, “Wherever you are, death will find you, even if you are in towers raised high” (4:78). This Ramadan could be your last. The final chance to cleanse your soul before you stand before Allah.
The Clock Is Ticking. The Choice Is Yours.
The Qur’an cries out: “By time, indeed mankind is in loss, except those who believe, do good, and urge one another to truth and patience” (103:1-3).
Ramadan is your lifeline—a chance to erase decades of sin, to weep for the soul you’ve neglected, to fall in love with the One who gifted you life. Do not let Shaytan convince you, “You have years left.” The Prophet ﷺ said, “The wise one is he who humbles himself and works for what comes after death.” (Tirmidhi).
A Du’a for the One Who Wakes Up اللهم اجعلنا من عتقائك من النار، وارزقنا لذة النظر إلى وجهك الكريم.
“O Allah, make us among those You free from the Fire. Grant us the sweetness of gazing upon Your Noble Face.”
Ramadan is not a ritual. It is a resurrection. A rebirth. A final call to board the Ark of Salvation before the flood of death drowns all excuses. The Fajr you delay may be the one Allah asks you about. The Qur’an you neglect may intercede against you. The tears you withhold may become the fire that burns you.
So rise. Pray as if the Ka’aba burns before you. Fast as if Jannah’s gates close at Maghrib. Give charity as if your palms will never hold wealth again. And beg Allah—with the desperation of a drowning soul—to let this Ramadan be your key to eternal peace.
“O Allah, let us reach Ramadan”—they prayed. But you’re already here. Don’t waste it. The clock ticks. The grave waits. And Allah is watching.
