06/06/2026
The Army of Ibrahim
They did not come with swords of steel,
Nor banners stitched for earthly kings.
They came with hearts laid bare before their Lord,
And tears that washed away the dust of years.
From every corner of the earth they marched—
The young and old,
The rich and poor,
Black, white, Arab, Asian,
One army gathered beneath a single command:
“Labbaik Allahumma Labbaik.”
Selected from the nations,
Called from cities, villages and deserts,
Representatives of the Ummah,
Summoned by the King of Kings.
The battlefield was not before them—
It was within.
For the enemy was ancient,
Whispering from shadows,
Hiding in pride and anger,
In greed and vanity,
In every forbidden desire
That sought to chain the soul.
So they entered Makkah as soldiers enter sacred ground,
Eyes fixed upon the Ancient House.
Round and round they marched,
Battalions circling the Ka’bah,
Ranks moving as one body,
Like stars orbiting a heavenly command,
Declaring that Allah alone was worthy of worship.
Then came Mina.
A city of tents,
Yet more than a camp.
A vast encampment of weary warriors,
Millions resting beneath the desert sky,
Their armour replaced with ihram,
Their weapons with remembrance,
Their provisions with patience.
The heat battered them.
The crowds tested them.
The exhaustion humbled them.
Yet still they advanced.
Then came Arafat.
The Day of Standing.
The greatest assembly on earth.
An army halted upon the plain,
Not charging forward,
But raising their hands in surrender.
No battle cry was heard,
Only du’a.
No arrows were loosed,
Only tears.
The soldiers stood before their Lord,
Seeking pardon for every wound,
Every failure,
Every forgotten sin.
And mercy descended
Like rain upon a thirsty land.
Then came Muzdalifah.
The night march.
Under a sky crowded with stars,
The army rested upon the earth.
No palaces.
No comforts.
Only the ground beneath them
And the heavens above.
There they gathered their ammunition,
Small pebbles held in tired hands,
Preparing for the final assault.
Then came the Jamarat.
The enemy’s fortress.
Not of stone,
But of temptation.
Not of walls,
But of whispers.
And one by one,
Millions advanced.
With every stone they declared:
Not today, Shaytan.
Not my pride.
Not my anger.
Not my desires.
Not my soul.
The pebbles were small,
But the victory was immense.
For every stone was a rebellion against the ego,
A declaration of loyalty to Allah.
Then the campaign drew towards its end.
Then journeyed onward to Madinah,
To stand before the Beloved ﷺ.
The warriors who had battled their own souls
Now lowered their heads in reverence,
Sending salutations upon the Messenger,
Their hearts softened,
Their burdens lightened.
And when they returned home,
Many saw only travellers.
But Allah knew better.
For these were veterans of a sacred struggle.
They had crossed deserts,
Faced themselves,
Fought unseen battles,
And returned carrying scars no eye could see.
An army without weapons.
A victory without conquest.
A campaign without bloodshed.
The Army of Ibrahim.
Gathered from every nation.
United under one banner.
Marching against the devil,
Seeking only the pleasure of their Lord.
And among all the victories won upon that journey,
The greatest was this:
That a servant returned home
Closer to Allah
Than when they first set out.
Welcome back home Abul Yataamah and his squad......
