Muraqaba al Maut – Deep Awareness of Death

Muraqaba al Maut
Deep Awareness of Death

My breath is quickening.
My body is growing cold.
My strength is leaving my hands first… then my legs… then my chest.
My soul is being drawn out of me-
slowly… steadily…
exactly as it was written.

Someone whispers:
“Tell them to say the Shahadah…”
My tongue feels heavy.
My lips tremble.
My soul reaches my throat.
The world blurs.
Voices fade.
A fear rises in me deeper than anything I have ever known:
Will I be able to say it?
Will Laa ilaaha ill Allaah come to my tongue with ease…
or will I struggle in panic and silence?
Did I live in a way that makes the Shahadah natural now-
or will I be fighting for a word
I neglected all my life?
Did I even know what it meant… truly meant?

I always hoped for husnul khatimah…
but did I live for a beautiful departure?
Do I deserve a beautiful welcome into the barzakh?
All these years, did I build a heart that would naturally turn to Allaah now
without effort… without force… without fear?

This- this moment right now-
is the greatest moment of my entire life.

Not my graduation.
Not when I achieved what impressed people.
Not the day I married.
Not the day I became a parent.
Not the moments the world celebrates.

This is the moment I was created for.
This is the moment every breath was leading toward.

The world begins slipping away.
The light in the room becomes distant.

My soul leaves my body.

Silence.
Someone cries out.
Someone gasps.
Someone begins to cry.
Someone whispers, shaking:
“Inna liLlaahi wa inna ilayhi raji‘oon…”

Phone calls begin.
Names are spoken through tears.
Voice notes break mid-sentence.
Screens light up with the news:
“He passed.”
“She’s gone.”
“Make du‘a.”
“Make preparations for burial.”

Some sit down and silently cry.
Some hug and sob slowly.
Some drop everything and rush.
Some simply lower their heads in disbelief.
Some say nothing at all, withdrawing…
beginning a journey of loneliness, which lasts years.

Some feel guilty.
Some feel broken.
Some feel empty.

Yet others, are relieved.
And some- yes-
return to their day, indifferent.
Scrolling past the news,
Continuing with their day.

I see now who loved me for Allaah.
The truth of my relationships,
Exposed in a single hour.

Already, they refer to me as the mayyit.
Not my name.
Not who I was.
Just: the body.

My mother breaks in a way no words can describe.
She calls me by the name she whispered into my hair when she held me as a child.
Her tears are not just sadness-
they are a wound that will always remain a little raw.
A part of her, gone.
She is begging Allaah for one more breath for me.
One more moment.
Just one.

My father stands frozen.
His silence is heavier than any scream.
He is a mountain collapsing inward.
He has seen hardships, losses, storms-
but this is the first time he is truly helpless.
He has lost something he cannot replace.

My siblings are shaking, their hearts collapse.
Their world has shifted sharply, permanently.
We’re suddenly so far apart.
Their memories are flashing in waves-
when we fought, when we laughed,
how we shared rooms, clothes, inside jokes-
and now one of those memories is gone from time.
They stare as if they are watching a part of their own heart fall away.

My spouse is holding my hand or my face-
searching for warmth that is not returning.
Their sobs are quiet, raw, endless…
they fall quietly, heavily.
Their heart is fractured, confused.
This is the kind of sorrow that shakes a soul.
Deep pain, unexplainable, that only Allaah Sees.
Their entire future shifts in one instant.

My child, if I have one, does not understand death.
But they understand absence.
They look for me-
and I do not answer.

My friends message each other:
“Make dua.”
“Life is so short.”
Some gather, they reminisce, speaking of how i laughed, prayed, lived.
What is my story that I’ve left behind?
What do people remember me for?

Slowly…
the world will pull them back.

Relationships were never meant to exist for dunya.
They were not meant to be surface-level, entertainment, convenience, habit.
Every relationship was meant to pull me toward Allaah.

To remind me.
To soften me.
To prepare me.
To help me say Laa ilaaha ill Allaah at this moment.

If I used love for dunya,
it leaves me now.
If I used love for Allaah,
it accompanies me now.

I am washed.
Hands tremble as they turn me,
as water runs across the skin that once held life.
Just a shell now.

The shroud is wrapped.
Simple. Pure.
Stripping me of titles, roles, reputation.
I am equal now with every human ever buried-
Simple, silent, equal with king and beggar, sinner and saint.

They pray over me.
Some hearts are broken.
Some tongues are sincere.
Some stand distracted.
Some stand without knowing how to feel.

I am carried.
Heads bowed.
Steps steady.
My father’s shoulders sink… aged 50 years in one hour.
My mother is held up by others.
My spouse cannot lift their eyes.
My siblings feel the ground shift beneath them.
My friends whisper Qur’aan through shaking voices.

They place me in the ground.
The soil touches me.
Cold.
The sky disappears.
Footsteps drift away.

I am alone.

The silence is total.
The darkness is complete.

And then-
they come.

The angels.

Not gentle like dreams.
Real- beyond any fear I ever felt.
Their presence fills the grave.
My grave.
There is no pretending.
No performance.
No memorized lines.
No showing off.
Only truth.

They ask:
Who is your Lord?
What was your religion?
What did you say about Muhammad ﷺ?
If I lived for my Allaah-
the answers flow like breath.
My grave expands.
Light pours in.
A window to Jannah opens.
Peace and relief cover me like a soft garment.

If my heart lived for dunya, anything other than Allaah-
the words choke.
The chest tightens.
Darkness closes.
A window to regret and punishment opens.
And I know- too late-
that I built my heart incorrectly.
In this moment, I finally understand, with clarity sharper than anything in dunya:
Only Allaah mattered.
Only my Nabi ﷺ mattered.
Only my heart’s state at death mattered.
Only the deeds that survived the grave mattered.

And every relationship
was supposed to lead me to Him.
Only Allaah mattered.

O Allaah-
before this moment reaches me in reality:
Purify my heart.
Purify my love.
Make my relationships witnesses for me, not against me.
Give me tazkiyyah before death.
Let my final breath be Laa ilaaha ill Allaah,
spoken with yaqeen,
not trembling with fear.
Grant me husnul khaatimah-
the beautiful ending only You can give.
Make my grave wide and filled with Noor.
Reunite me with those I love in gardens of eternal safety.

And grant me the company and shade of Your Beloved ﷺ.

Let the reality of this destination, this muraqaba, be reflected in the way I think, intend, speak, carry myself, in every interaction, every decision- every single day.

Laa ilaaha ill Allaah