#44: The First Adhān Trefry Viaduct, Cornwall

We were sent.

But we forgot.

We were the light

And dimmed to not.

The trust was vast.

The path was clear.

But centuries have left it bare.

These lands—so soft, so kind, so wide—

We passed them all,

But stepped aside.

No call was made.

No truth was shown.

They lived and died

And never known.

I walked alone where forests sleep.

Where bridges arch and moss runs deep.

And felt the weight of all we missed—

A world uncalled,

A world dismissed.

The wind was still.

The stones were cold.

The trees stood watch

Like saints grown old.

I faced the sky.

My voice was thin.

But something deep began within.

Allāhu Akbar—

It tore the air.

And every leaf stood up in prayer.

They had not heard.

Not once. Not near.

But when I called—

They strained to hear.

The earth was raw.

The silence wide.

But in that cry,

It turned. It sighed.

Not with recall—

But something new.

As if the sky had split in two.

And then the peace—

That aching kind

That wraps the limbs

And stills the mind.

The bridge, the trees, the path, the stone—

They knew His name.

And I, alone.

But not with pride.

With quiet shame.

For all we lost.

For why I came.

We ate their bread.

We walked their shore.

But never knocked

On heaven’s door.

They lived with care.

They wept their dead.

But never knew

What God had said.

And I—

I stood with breaking chest

To lead a prayer

In Nature’s nest.

A first, perhaps.

And maybe last.

For all the time

We’ve blindly passed.

The mission sleeps.

The world still turns.

But deep inside,

A longing burns.

We were sent.

But we forgot.

We were the flame—

And now we're not.