The Ojek That's My Soul
Otewe...
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The sholawat's humming continued to roll on the sensual lips of the man whose hair was on the pigtail.
The tip of his lips occasionally pulled upwards creating an arch.
His happy romance was seen from the bright aura of his handsome face.
Although only wearing stretchy T-shirts and long shorts.
He continued to rub the body of his iron horse with enthusiasm.
Water it with foamy water.
No whistling came out of his lips.
Except sholawat chanting to the Prophet Muhammad.
That will intercede for anyone who always remembers Rosulullah.
He went around his yard next to the house.
Straighten the circular hose, then turn on the tap.
The last part of his ritual this afternoon, he also doused the body motor that has been faithfully accompanied him for five years.
With water flowing from the hose.
(Ahh..enak very crested in bathiin same very handsome in elus-elus, in soapin,eh_)
"Beuhh, Kinclong dah my cool pal!"
seloroh the tall and sturdy man.
While drying the motor body with a kanebo.
"Whoever napel us ntar malem bro!"
his little oddity ended his activities that afternoon.
He rushed into the motor to the terrace.
The sky has changed color to orange.
The sign of the day was already evening and Maghrib was coming soon.
The straight-bodied man took off his hair pigtails.
Black hair fell on his shoulder.
Although disheveled and not yet bathed.
But all that does not reduce the degree of fragility of his figure in the least.
"Bururs don't want to stretch first?"
he said while peeking at the living room.
The net leads to a round, numeric object that sticks tightly to the top wall.
Azan Maghrib will be reverberating in twenty minutes.
The man rushed to snatch his towel on the clothesline.
"Soap cake has a lot, too,"
"My sad girl, wait for your brother!"
his own monologue with a grin that continues to frame the face of the sumringah.
Not sparing black peci perched with full authority in his head.
Luckily, Musholla was not far from his house.
Until he could just in time release his wet husky voice in front of the pulpit.
Broadcast the call of the divine for Muslims and Muslims throughout the village.
The call that makes you successful is not only in the world, but also successful in the afterlife.
*Hayya...Alassholaah!
Hayya alal falaaah...Hayya alal falaaah!
Allah Akbar...Allah Akbar!
Loan.ha illallaaaah*...!
Finished as a muezzin, he retreated backwards to tidy up his clothes and close the row on the front saf.
Then, Rojali prayers qobliah two rokaat with the others.
After Magrib there will be a study while waiting for Isya to arrive.
Some of his friends who he knew in this village have arrived.
They are listening carefully.
One by one the material presented by ustadz.
After praying Isya congregated, Rojali immediately disbanded.
He remembered his promise to meet his parents and the idol.
When he remembers that happiness he will achieve in a moment.
Thank God he did not keep saying it in his heart.
Who would have thought that his struggle would be this easy.
Turns out to be right, the kikhlas will ease everything.
And, will widen our path to RidhoNYA.
"Kuy, bull!"
"We figure...!"
The man who was still wearing cocoa also drove his vehicle splitting the night.
The black jacket he was wearing this time was not a green jacket with the logo of an online motorcycle taxi company, where he was scavenging for change.
With a full face helmet, Rojali looks dashing and fierce even though he is perched on an old worn motorcycle.
"Sweet adek,Abang otewe!"
"Bismillahi tawakkaltu alallah...!"
Cius very dah ah handsome brother horrified the lecture.
His voice sounds to the heart deh bang, often yes adzan let adek sweet more diligent prayer, eh.
Support chibi keep yes dear...💞🥳
